Weeks after she had turned eight and before her family left Sri Lanka, Asha visited her grandmother, Aachchi, in Kandy, a favorite colonial holiday site. The English often fled Colombo’s incessant heat and found comfort in the cooler, highland interior. Nostalgic, they replicated English homes, cultivated gardens, and introduced names like Aloysius, Violet, and Felix to a new hybrid population peppered with pale eyes and fancy top hats. Although retreating in the end, the English left vestiges of their occupation, like Aachchi’s house and garden, among others.
One day during that final visit, Asha crouched under the shade of Aachchi’s avocado tree, writing in the dirt. Located next to the neighbor’s yard, the tree’s leaves touched those of its twin on the other side, branches intertwining to form a canopy over Asha’s head. Laden with fruit, the two formed a fertile arboreal world for the chipmunks scurrying across branches.
“Nice job,” said an amused but kind voice near her. Startled, Asha jumped. One of Aachchi’s new neighbors, a boy about ten, tall and golden, stood about three feet away, green eyes glistening with innocent mischief.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I’m Sydney.”
Asha frowned, anxious, but offered her name.
“Sujatha is going to make some fresh chilled sugared avocado for me,” Sydney said, pulling down the most low-hanging fruit. “Ever eaten any? It’s better than ice cream.”
Asha said no. Yet, she lingered, admiring Sydney’s sociability and articulation, qualities never sprinkled on her at birth.
Satisfied with his bounty, Sydney turned to Asha. “We have some fruit left over from yesterday in the fridge, if you’d like.”
Asha hesitated. She knew she should probably ask for permission, but this time, she decided to cross the hedge on her own. She followed Sydney to the set of steps leading to the kitchen. They sat down, and Sujatha handed them bowls of sugared butter fruit, cool and melting in their mouths like frozen cotton candy. Left alone on the steps, Asha and Sydney finished their treats. When the final spoonful disappeared, Asha said thanks and snuck back through the hedge.
Not long after, Asha and her family left, settling in California. There, new contraptions like VCRs, microwaves, seatbelts and paper towels greeted her awestruck eyes. The avocado tree in the community garden, however, beckoned her with familiar branches, cementing an eternal bond across oceans.
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