She lived in a mango tree and so Rosa grew to hate her once favorite fruit. At first it was perfect; a rent free home in her parent’s backyard. Her father took on the project out of boredom. Her mother was so glad to have Rosa back after her long absence, she refused to take board and cooked all Rosa’s meals. The one draw back came once a year, in those steamy final weeks of summer, when the most inaccessible of the brilliant orange fruits would drop with an unpleasant plop onto Rosa’s roof and begin to ferment in the mid-day heat. The scent was nauseating, and though it lasted only weeks, she could never look at a mango again without recalling the distinctive, sweet smelling overripe mush she was forced to scoop from her gutters and sponge from her steps.
And was the inconvenience worth it? Hell yeah!