The Story of Her Holding an Orange

by Milos Bogetic

  About three months passed, and Rose hadn’t paid me another visit. I had trouble forgetting about her, though; she’d often come to visit my mom, and of course, she acted normal in front of my family. By that time, I had decided that Rose had mental issues and was most likely suffering from a multiple personality disorder or something similar. My theory was that, for some reason, I triggered one of those individuals inside her head. I avoided any conversation with her since the last thing in the world I wanted was to deal with a crazy child-mimicking lady offering me a fucking orange.

  Four months after the last living room incident, my brother’s birthday came up. Every year, he’d organize a huge party at our house. We were good, trustworthy kids, so our parents would go away for the night, and my brother and I would celebrate it with his friends and no adults. The party started off really promising; there were about fifty people at our house and it wasn’t even 10pm. We were all having so much fun; the music was good, the food and drinks were plentiful, and the atmosphere was absolutely amazing. Until about midnight, when the doorbell rang.

  When I saw her standing at the front door, I nearly dropped my drink. Luckily, she hadn’t noticed me yet in the crowd. I ran to my brother.

  “Mijo!” I hissed, grabbing his arm, “Mijo, what the fuck is Rose doing here?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, looking as surprised as I was. Then he looked over to the door and saw her. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Did Mom and Dad have her come to spy on us?”

  “I don’t think so… man, go tell her to fuck off. Please.”

  My brother could see how unsettled I was. It was then that he probably realized I was telling the truth this whole time.

  “Hold on, are you serious? She actually did stalk you?” Mijo asked, looking intrigued.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you people! That woman is batshit crazy, man.”

  Mijo winked at me. “I got you,” he said and walked over to the door. Rose was just standing there, smiling and scoping the crowd. I watched them talking for a good five minutes, wondering why the conversation was taking so long. Then my brother moved to the side, letting Rose into the house. He came over to me, carrying a box.

  “What the fuck are you doing, why’d you let her in?” I nearly yelled at him.

  “Look, she said she was nearby and heard it was my birthday, so she brought me a gift, see?” Mijo said, opening the box he got from Rose. It was an mp3 player. “And, it’s exactly the one I wanted!”

  “Dude,” I said while battling the temptation to knock the gift out of his hands, “did you forget what I just told you? She is fucking crazy; she’s here for me.”

  “Look, I don’t know what is going on between you two, but I can’t kick Mom’s friend out of our house when she brought me a gift. You work it out with her. Besides, there are like 75 people here. You’re safe.” Mijo walked away into the crowd, and I stood there, surrounded by people, feeling lonelier than ever.

  I spent most of the party sitting in the corner, looking out for Rose. I saw her here and there, like when she went to get a drink or when she talked to some of my brother’s friends. I suppose she quickly became the highlight of the party, and I could see why; she was a hot, mature lady who hung out with young people. Guys were all over her, and girls loved her. I fucking hated it. It was killing me that I was alone in my own house full of friends. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I walked outside. Sitting in the dark in my front yard, I half expected her to pop outside into the blackness and offer me an orange. Who knows, maybe I even wanted her to do it. That way, I could draw other people’s attention and then all 75 people could see how disturbed this woman was.

  Fortunately or unfortunately, depending how you look at it, she didn’t come. The party started winding down around 3am, and by 3:30, most people were gone. When I walked back into the house, the final group, including Rose, was getting ready to leave.

  “Milos, I haven’t seen much of you tonight,” Rose said while putting her coat on. “Is everything ok with you?”

  I didn’t answer. I just stood there, looking her straight in the eyes, almost as if I wanted to send her a message saying, “Fuck you, bitch, you’re not intimidating me.”

  “Um, he’s been acting strange all night, don’t pay him any mind,” said my brother while helping Rose with her coat, “and thanks so much for the gift; it’s exactly the one I wanted.”

  “Oh, you’re most welcome, Mijo,” she said. As she walked out of the house, she turned around, looked at me, and said, “And I’ll see you soon, Milos.” Her creepy fucking grin was the last thing I saw before she shut the door.

  “Did you see that?” I asked my brother.

  “See what?”

  “You didn’t think that was weird at all?” I asked, almost begging for some sort of confirmation that I wasn’t the one going crazy.

  “Dude, you need to chill out with this whole Rose thing. She was awesome tonight. And she didn’t harass you, did she?”

  I hung my head in defeat. “No,” I admitted.

  “See? It’s all good. Now, let’s get some sleep; we gotta get up early and clean this place before Mom and Dad come back.”

  I slowly walked to my room, feeling the frustration build inside me. I felt so helpless. Not even my own family would believe a word I said. I walked into my room and collapsed on the soft bed. I was so tired that I fell asleep immediately, without even taking my clothes off. At some point during the night, I got really cold, so I rolled under the blankets without really waking up. I was all set to go right back to sleep when I felt something cold and wet underneath me.

  “What the fuck…?” I said out loud. I jumped and flipped the light switch.

  In my bed was a crushed orange.

  Tears started pouring down my cheeks. At that moment, I realized that there was no escape for me. I had nowhere to run, and Rose’s persistence was so convincing that I had no doubt she’d eventually get what she wanted.

  I stood looking at that crushed piece of fruit for a good ten minutes. I wanted to look through the window, but I was afraid of what I’d see. I walked over to my brother’s room.

  “Mijo,” I said, shaking him. “Mijo, wake up. There’s an orange in my bed.”

  “What?” he asked, sounding angry that I woke him up. “What’s happening?”

  “Rose left an orange in my bed, man.”

  “Go back to fucking bed. I swear, you and your fucking oranges,” said my brother as he turned around and went back to sleep.

  That was when I knew that this would be a journey that I’d have to take alone. Rose was far too good to give away her monstrous nature in front of others. What bothered me the most was that she harassed me in the subtlest of ways. On the balcony, she acted crazy right until my mom walked in, then switched back to normal. She stood at my bedroom window and got away right before my dad was able to spot her. In the living room, she was a child-puppet who turned into a normal adult only in my mother’s presence. And finally, she was the center of my brother’s party but had managed to leave a message strong enough to make me cry, yet not big enough to make my brother think anything strange was happening. She always danced around the edge of being discovered but was too good (or experienced) to actually reveal her true self. And that is what was driving me insane.

  THREE

  The Final Incident and Farewell Rose

  One full year had passed since the first time Rose had offered me the orange. While I was always on the lookout for her to show up at my window, I had other things on my mind. Since I was making a name for myself in the basketball world, many American colleges had heard of me and started the recruiting process. Wanting the degree, but also secretly wanting to get away from the discomfort of always having to have my guard up, I decided to head to the U.S. After much debating, I chose Penn State University as my school. I had about four weeks to get ready for my American adventure, so I headed over to a basketball camp in a city some 40 miles away from home.


  Training and mental preparation went according to plan. Multiple workouts a day and studying for the SAT in my hotel room was my routine for weeks. Three days before the end of the camp, my roommate was injured in practice and his parents came and took him home, so I had a whole room to myself. I didn’t mind this at all since I had to study and I enjoyed peace and quiet.

  The last day of camp, I decided to take a break from both studying and working out. My hotel was only a ten-minute walk from the beach, so I spent the whole day laying in the sun and swimming. I got back to my room, took a shower, and collapsed in bed, exhausted. You know how sometimes when you’re too tired, you can’t sleep? Well, after a good hour of turning and flipping in bed, I decided to go out to the balcony and get some fresh air. I opened the door and sat on one of the chairs. The view overlooking the ocean was beautiful, and I started getting sleepy again.

  “It is really time to take it now.”

  I nearly shat myself. I mean, it’d been a while since I’d heard that voice, but something like that stays with you forever. That childish, mechanical tone. I turned to the right. Rose was standing on the balcony rail. Mind you, she wasn’t sitting at the balcony table nor was she standing in a natural position; no, she was standing on the balcony rail. This probably wouldn’t be as shocking if the floor we were on wasn’t some fifty feet above the ground. To make things more absurd, she was holding an orange.

  Try to imagine it. Go ahead, just try for a second. You’re alone in your hotel room. You walk outside on the balcony at maybe 4am. Suddenly, you hear a child’s voice say something to you. You look to your right and see a grown woman standing on the rail of a third floor balcony, holding an orange, telling you that it is “time to take it.”

  Two different kinds of fear overcame my suddenly sobered up mind. First, I was obviously afraid of this fucking lunatic standing on the balcony next to me. Second, I was terrified that she may try to jump. Only a few feet separated our balconies, and such a jump would be entirely possible, but if she didn’t make it, I was afraid I’d somehow be blamed for it. I had no idea what to do.

  “It really is time, you know. That’s the only way to transfer,” she whispered in that goddamn child-like voice without ever opening the teeth that looked even whiter in the dark of night. I remember the orange looked dark, almost rotten, and certainly not as “orange” as the first time she took it out.

  “What the fuck do you want from me?!” I screamed at her. I screamed because of all the frustration that had been building up since the day she started the orange horror. I screamed because I wanted someone to hear and come to witness the madness this woman was putting me through.

  “I only want you to take it,” she said, widening her grin to nearly inhuman proportions. Her teeth remained clenched, and her head tilted to the left.

  “Fuck you, you crazy bitch,” I said after realizing that no witnesses were going to show up this late at night. I opened the door and walked into my room. As I shut the door, I heard, “You will take it,” from the outside. I spent the rest of the night keeping an eye on the terrace, but she never came. I wasn’t brave enough to check if she was still standing on the fence of the neighboring balcony. Morning couldn’t have come soon enough. Right as the first sunrays hit my window, I carried my bag out to the reception desk and waited for my father to pick me up. I decided not to say anything about this incident because I was sure I would, yet again, be blamed for an over-active imagination.

  I was leaving the continent in a day. The night before the trip, my mom made me call my grandmother in Bosnia and say goodbye to her. We talked for a long time, and she gave me all the pieces of advice you’d expect your grandma to give. Her instructions ranged from “Americans are crazy, be careful” to “find a good girl and get married so I can see my great-grandkids before I die.” Towards the end of the conversation, though, she noticed there was something wrong with me.

  “You’re being awfully quiet, Milos?” she asked.

  “Eh, it’s nothing, grandma. It’s all going to be all right tomorrow when I leave.”

  “What is it?” she persisted.

  “Well, you won’t believe me anyway,” I sighed.

  “Try me.”

  “Okay, okay. Here comes the product of my wild imagination, as Dad calls it. So, there’s this woman, Mom’s friend, right? She comes over all the time, but whenever we’re left alone, she acts strange. I mean, really strange.”

  “Strange, how?” asked my grandmother, sounding quite interested.

  “Strange as in she talks in a child’s voice, her motions are mechanical, and… I don’t know, Grandma, there’s just something wrong about her.”

  About a good minute of silence came after that last sentence.

  “You still there?” I asked, checking to see if the line had disconnected.

  “Listen, Milos. You’ll be all right. Tomorrow, you leave for America. Whatever that woman was doing to you will stop,” my grandma said, sounding energetic. I wasn’t sure if the fire in her words was coming from excitement because she believed me, or because she wanted to end the conversation soon.

  “So… you believe me?” I asked, hoping that at least one adult would acknowledge my misery.

  “Yes.”

  I wasn’t sure if I got an affirmative answer because she wanted to get rid of me or she actually believed me, but it was good enough. We said our goodbyes, and I hung up and continued packing. The next day, I was going to start a new life far away from all the supernatural, fruit-bearing crazy people. It would be fine.

  I’ve never been more wrong in my life.

  FOUR

  The Land of Opportunity

  Coming to America was a life-changing experience on many levels. My world had completely changed; none of my family was close by, and I had to experience an entirely new culture all by myself. All of the difficulties I’d encountered, however, were offset by the peace I found. I was no longer stalked by a woman who wanted me to take her orange. Sure, for the first few months after my arrival, I kept an eye out for Rose. I was sure she didn’t follow me this far, but I wasn’t going to relax just yet. After all, she had proved to be insane on many occasions before.

  Every time I’d speak to my parents over Skype, I’d sneak in a question about Rose just to make sure she was still in Europe. As time passed, my mom mentioned that she was seeing less and less of Rose for some reason she couldn’t understand. I assumed it was because I was no longer in the house, but I said nothing.

  Seven wonderful years passed since the first day I landed in the home of the brave, and it had been one hell of a ride; I’d received two degrees and had gotten to experience many amazing cities and everything that America had to offer. On top of it all, I met a wonderful girl who soon became my girlfriend. In a nutshell, life was good, man. My girlfriend Trish and I moved to a small town in Cape Cod to spend the summer. It was one of the best summers in my life, all the way up until September 21st.

  I’m a massive technology geek, and some of you would probably label me an Apple fanboy. What can I say? I fucking love their products. So, September 21st - the release day of the much-anticipated, new and improved iPhone 5. The town we lived in was about a two-hour drive from Boston, where the closest Apple store was located, so I rented a car and got there really early. Even though I was in front of the store way before the sun even came up, I was about 15th in line. About four hours into the wait, the main door opened and the line started to move slowly. When I got close to the entrance, I looked to my right and instantly froze. People ran into my back, and I could hear some curses, but that was all white noise to me at the moment.

  Across the street stood Rose.

  There was no doubt it was her: white dress with red shoes, long black hair with pale skin, and a red lipstick so bright, you could see it from a block away. In her hand, she held an orange. A million and one things raced through my mind. Was it really her? How the fuck did she find me? What was going to happen now; am I
back into my old life?

  Someone behind me couldn’t take my pondering anymore and pushed me. I was still frozen in shock and fell down, never taking my eyes off of her. Rose dropped the orange and walked away, disappearing behind the nearby corner. I gathered myself and got up. Thinking that I may have been just making this shit up, I walked into the store. Unfortunately, there were already no phones left, so I decided to walk across the street and see if I could see something to confirm what I had hoped was a hallucination.

  And there it was. There it fucking was. In the spot where I had thought I saw Rose standing was now an extremely rotten, squished orange. A flood of emotions overcame me, and I broke down and started crying, right in the middle of Boylston Street in Boston.

  After a few minutes, I dragged myself into a nearby Starbucks. I spent the next few hours drinking gallons of hot tea and contemplating what was happening. I simply couldn’t believe that she had found me. I mean, sure, me being in America was no secret; every one of my friends and family knew that I was here, and there’s always Facebook. But even if she knew that I lived in the U.S., even if she knew my fucking address, how, or rather, why would she travel across the planet? Just so I can take that fucking piece of rotten fruit? I was baffled at these events. I decided to go back home and hope that Rose wouldn’t find out where I lived. I decided not to tell Trish anything. Nobody believed me before this, and there was no reason she would, either. And even if she did, all my story would do is terrify her, which would be pointless. Plus, there was always an off chance that I just imagined Rose being there, and the orange in the street was only a freakish coincidence.

  It took me two days to convince myself that I couldn’t have possibly seen Rose from that far away. That it was some random lady who just resembled her. That the orange was a fluke of the universe that had decided to fuck with me. Trish did suspect that something was wrong with me, but I refused to open up. Then, four days later, a letter came in the mail. Receiving a letter isn’t strange in itself since I get a lot of mail. Sorting through the endless envelopes offering credit cards and coupons, I came upon a strange looking one. This particular envelope had no return address but sure as hell had my name on it.