Orange-Peel Perfume

 "...and the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume." (John 12:3)

An Open Letter to My Mother, 

posted by Rebecca Jill Glassco Figert on Mother's Day 2020

Dear Mama,

"Do you want to share an orange?" 

I remembered those words last night after dinner. Stephen had made orange chicken—a family favorite. I noticed that he didn't use one of the oranges. I started thinking about what we could do with the leftover orange. 

That's when your words came to my mind: "Do you want to share an orange, Rebecca?" You were usually sitting in the living room with a paper towel spread across your lap. Football was on TV, and Daddy and the boys were with us. It was dark outside—the time of day when, for some reason, families like to be together, to come close. Probably because all the work is finally finished, and probably because we had been in the habit since I was little. 

I would say yes to the orange. We would eat it slowly; we weren't in a hurry. I would examine the inside of each slice and notice the tiny tear-drop pockets of citrus bursts—how organized and how pretty they were. You showed me the secret of natural orange perfume. You would squeeze the orange peel and a spritz of citrus sprayed out. I held out my wrists and drenched myself with orange-peel perfume.

Mama, did you know that I can't see an orange without thinking of you? It is a sweet memory I cherish, but it's more than a memory. I cannot even eat an orange without wanting to share it. Did you know that you taught me that an orange tastes better when it's shared?

It just occurred to me what I am going to do with this leftover orange. I am going to peel it, pull apart the slices, and ask the kids, "Does anyone want to share an orange."

I love you, Mama!

Your daughter,

Rebecca