Lemon Trees and Spanish Tunes

When I was eleven my parents took me and my little brother to New York City so we could see what it’s like on the other side of the US. But, to save some cash, we stayed an hour away in a little hotel out in Long Island. I never complained.

In order to get to the train station from out hotel, we cut through a little suburb to make the trip shorter. “You know, mis hijos,” Dad had said in a thick, spanish accent, “Levittown was the first suburb ever made.” For some reason, my eleven year old self found this fascinating; my little brother simply brushed the fact off.

But there was this corner, you see. A special corner—at least it’s special to me—and it was at this red house that reminded me of a farm house. Across the street were a series of stores, and across from that was a public pool plus a playground. My dad told us they called it a ‘Green’.

But about that corner.

The first time we ever passed that corner, someone had set up a lemonade stand. It wasn’t top-notch or anything, just a fold out table with a sign that said, in all caps, “LEMONADE: FIFTY CENTS!” It was a colorful sign, at least, with doodled stickmen happily drinking doodled cups on lemonade.

“Papa, Mama! Can we stop to get lemonade?!” My brother suddenly shouted on the top of his lungs. He continued with a repeated drawl of, “porfavorporfavorporfavor,” till my dad gave in and turned the car around to go back to that corner.

My mom instructed me to take my brother over to that corner and buy him some lemonade. She even added an extra fifty cents so I could get some, too, even though I didn’t ask. But what else do you expect from mothers, right?

So, I got out of the car and took my little brother’s hand, murmuring spanish to him and telling him to keep quiet so I, being the older brother, can do the talking.

But when we got there I froze. Behind the table was the cutest girl I have ever seen in my eleven years of living.

Till that moment, I had never seen a girl quite like her back home in southern California. She had messy brown hair in pigtails that were kept in place by large, black bows. She was possibly wearing a boy’s shirt judging by how large it was on her, but it had a cartoon version of a skull and crossbones on the front that was smiling brightly, had a bunch of pirate accessories, and had a little speech bubble that said, “ARG<3”

My mind instantly snapped a picture of the little girl, who looked to be at least ten, and saved it for years to come.

“Hi!” She chirped happily, “My name is Kristina, but you can call me Kina! Would you like some lemonade?” She pointed to her sign, “Only fifty cents!”

“…Uh,” My young mind was too overwhelmed by her cuteness to function, so my mouth just blurted out anything, “Y-Your shirt is, uh, cute. Yeah, cute, uh…”

“Thank you!” She beamed, “What’s your name?”

“…I-I, uh, don’t remember.”

I wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box back then, obviously.

She giggled at my stupidity, and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. She had giggled more, which made me think that she noticed.

“His name is Victor, and he’s a culo cara!”

My face dropped when I heard my brother’s voice, and suddenly I was hoping the girl didn’t know spanish. I glared at my baby brother, “¿¡Mike! Io que te dije!?”

For a moment, I had forgotten where we were. Mike made a face at me, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, “¡Quiero que mi limonada!”

“¡Lo sé! Deja hablar a mí—“

“That is so flippin’ cool!”

I turn to the girl namedKristina Kina and shot her a confused look. “Huh..?”

“That was spanish, right?” She asked me eagerly. I dumbly nodded, and she continued with excitement, “That’s so awesome! I wish I knew more than one language. That would be just so… So cool!”

This interest of hers gave my young self some confidence, and I put on a smile, “Well, I would teach you some—“

“But we live in Cali, dude!” Mike threw his hands up, disobeying me again, “We’re on vacation!”

Kina pouted, “Awe, that sucks! I would have loved to learn…”

I would have loved to teach you. I sighed quietly to myself before placing the four quarters on the table, “Um, we do want lemonade, by the way…” I sheepishly grinned.

Her eyes brightened at the request, “Sure!” She reached for the pitcher filled with fresh lemonade, then two cups. “Not gonna lie, you’re actually my first real customer of the day outside my mom.” She handed us two filled cups happily, “Enjoy!”

Mike took his eagerly and I took mine with hesitance. Just as I was about to sip it, my eyes locked onto hers, and I flashed a small smile before taking a sip. “Oh!” I blinked, “This is good!” And despite the situation I was in, I wasn’t just saying that for her.

Kina leaned over the table, grinning from ear to ear, “Really?!”

“Yeah.”

“Oh yeah it is!” Mike laughed, and he almost ran for the car before I stopped it.

“Wait a second, bro! What do you say?”

“Uh… Gracias?” With a nod from me, I watched him go off to the car and climb in with his lemonade.

“That meant thank you, right?” Kina asked. I nodded and she smiled, shouting out to the car. “You’re welcome!”

I took another small sip of my lemonade, “Um, I best be heading back… My parents will be wondering why, uh…”

Kina laughed, “Yeah, you don’t want to keep them waiting in the car.” There was a pause before she continued, “How long are you on vacation for?”

“Um, three more days.”

“So you’ll be passing by again?” Her voice sounded as if she was holding back something—as if she was hiding her eagerness—and it made my childish heart flutter.

“Yeah, probably!” It was my turn to share a bright grin, “Will you, uh, be selling lemonade tomorrow?”

Kina pulled on her bottom lip and played with one of the plastic cups, “Now I will.”

My brows raised against my forehead and I ducked my head down to hide my blush. “So, I’ll be seeing you?”

“Right!” Kina nodded, “I’ll even make you a special cup, just for you! Extra sugar for a sweet guy.”

I swooned on the inside.

“Okay!” I nodded. “So…”

“Bye?” Kina giggled.

“Right, bye—oh! And thank you again for the lemonade. Er, I mean, gracias!”

“Oh, you’re welco—hm…” She frowned, and I instantly knew what she wanted to know.

“You say ‘de nada’.” I whispered.

“Oh! Oh, okay! De nada, then!”

We both gave short, awkward waves before I ran back towards the car, making sure I didn’t spill a drop of my lemonade. Once I was in we were off, and I was staring out the window, wanting one last look at the cute little girl from Levittown—the first suburb—who held her own lemonade stand on that special corner.

And I caught her watching me back. I knew she couldn’t see me through the tinted windows of the car, but I drowned in happiness anyway. I turned away to see my brother snickering at me. I glared and sipped my lemonade, which instantly relaxed me.

“So, mi hijo pequeño,” my mother smiled at me, “Was she nice?”

“Mom!” I groaned, “Yea, yea, she was.” Like any boy at that age, I didn’t wish to speak to my mom about girl-involved scenarios, but she gave me a knowing glance anyway.

After that, there was some silence as Mike and I drank out beverages. Mike carelessly threw his emptied cup on the floor while I kept mine safe and close, determined to keep it.

The city ended up being fun, with its lights and glamour, but she was on my mind all day (not that I was complaining, then or now).

And the next day, I was the one that made my parents stop for lemonade.