Tamarind Sticks

It was 1988, and I anxiously looked at the clock. It was nearing four, and I had two plastic bags rolled tightly in my little hands. It was one of my favorite activities, picking tamarind with my mother and one of her girlfriends. Approaching the tree made my heart go pitter-patter. I could smell the acid tamarinds from a distance because the leaves carried the aroma of the fruit, and the crushed shells mixed in with mud and grass also joined in the choir of scents. My job was to get out of