Turns

Milly held the silver platter in her hands. It was covered with fresh fruits for dessert. Grapes were spilling over the edges like ivy, oranges, pomegranates and apples appeared like bright glowing orbs, and cherries, strawberries, and raspberries surrounded them like jewels. The platter was so heavy for her birdlike arms that she was frightened of the tray falling over. This was her first time serving the elders of her tribe. Unlike the other children who had already become age, or like the teens and adults who had already gone through the practice of service, she did not know how to correctly hold the platter.

            Milly did not know that the correct way to carry the platter was to rest the part with the grapes parted like a veil against her shoulder and neck. She did not know that it was like playing a violin, or a fiddle. She considered the task like that of carrying a platter with dirty dishes atop it for cleaning. It is good, however, that she did not think of it like the task of carrying clean or dirty laundry, she would have most likely have let fall the delicacies that her lips could only touch once a year, until her wedding day and until she reached the age of seventy and after. Those were two occasions when the fruits would grace her lips at a continuous movement.

            Unlike most tribes, who left their elders behind when traveling, Milly’s tribe honored their elders, and made sure that they made the trips to new territories. They knew that they were the reason that they had lived for as long as they had, so they protected them. Each parent, uncle, aunt, grandfather, grandmother, and so on was an important part of the tribe. And to thank them for their teachings, the elders were the only ones who were able to eat fruits every night for dessert. Children from the age of eight to thirteen were to carry the fruits to the elders. Teens from ages fourteen to sixteen were to prepare for marriage and family making. Adults from ages seventeen to sixty-nine were to help the tribe in any way needed. At age seventy, tribe members became elders and were able to relax and be taken care of until they died. They could continue helping in any way they wished and the rest of the tribe would never leave any of them behind and would help them if they were too slow.

            Milly, now eight years old, was on her way to the elders for the first time. She had seen them around, had spoken to them, had been told to honor them, and felt pride in being able to know them and take care of them. She saw them as great teachers and comrades. And as she entered their tent, she saw all of their white withered heads look to her. She felt like she had meaning and purpose, and this made her heart light with joy.

            Bending down to the first withered head, so that the woman could take the fruit of her choice, the woman giggled, “Oh dear! You’re holding it all wrong!” and the woman moved the platter a bit and showed Milly how to handle it. “My mother taught me that,” the woman smiled, plucking an orange from the tray and sending Milly down the circular line.

            The next man shook his head at the old woman and at Milly while taking two grapes and popping them in his mouth. He waved her on and found that the elders each took either one small item or two tiny items, like two grapes, a raspberry and a grape, an apple (which some would cut in half and share with another elder who would then wave Milly on because they were receiving a share). At the end, when she had gone to each elder and was back at the opening of the platter, there was still many fruits left on the platter.

            Milly looked around in confusion, seeing if there was a stand somewhere when she heard the first woman giggle again.

            “You take some for yourself and chat with us a bit, dear. We love having company,” The woman smiled as she chewed a bit of an orange slice, some of the slices having been passed down while Milly had been passed down.

            In the end, Milly only took a raspberry, the smallest one left on the platter and nibbled on it like a hare does a carrot. The elders talked on and on about the way things were in their days, some told war stories, hunting stories, and parenting stories. They all seemed to be giving Milly life lessons, and she wished she could remember every word that they spoke. And then, crystal bells started to tinkle and ring in the distance. The birth of a child. Milly had forgotten that there was a birth ceremony going on, and the elders faces grew bright. They ushered her up and out and put her in front of them as they marched to the birthing hut.

            “It’s tradition,” The old woman giggled, as she took a pomegranate off the platter, broke it open, and entered the hut.

           

            In Milly’s tribe, everyone played their part. They felt joy in this, and anytime someone would thank them, they would shake their head and say, “No, thank you.” The elders celebrated births, the children celebrated their elders, and the teens and adults celebrated everyone equally. Milly didn’t understand this cycle until she saw the old woman squeeze some of the pomegranate juice into the newborn’s mouth. And afterwards, when the old woman had thanked the mother and had kissed the child on the forehead, she couldn’t wait to become a mother or an elder so that she could celebrate such gifts from their Goddess.