Orange on the Quad

By Lilianna Smith

Sitting on the quad, I pull out an orange—a kind Trader Joe’s employee at the sample station sold to me—and a dining hall butter knife. The spring air smells of damp grass and blooming flowers. My eyes scan the quad. It is filled with students in skirts, open toed shoes, t-shirts, shorts and sunglasses. People hug each other and lay in cuddle-clumps, making sure
to stay out of the shade. Just the other day, the now sunny patch of grass I sat upon had been covered in a blanket of snow.

I put on my favorite album and dig the blunt butter knife into the top of the orange, decapitating the nub of the stem. I set the medallion slices I just cut into the grass. When I cut into the orange, a sweet spray of juice hisses and vaporizes into the air. I roll the orange fibers across my tongue. I close my eyes for just a few seconds and let my face take in every ounce of sunlight it could. I can feel the freckles forming on the bridge of my nose and the slight burning sensation on the tops of my ears.

Lilianna Smith is a sophomore majoring in graphic design and French.