The Orchard at Mile 17

There was no orchard on any map, and yet everyone in town could give directions to it. Drive seventeen miles west, turn where the road forgets to be paved, and keep going until the radio loses its voice. The first time Leena went, she found trees heavy with fruit that had no names and colors that looked wrong in daylight. The second time, she found a handwritten sign nailed to the gate: PICK ONLY WHAT YOU ARE READY TO REMEMBER. She laughed and filled a basket anyway. That night she dreamed of a boy she had never met, then woke with his birthday in her mouth. By Sunday, five people had gone to the orchard and come back carrying memories that belonged to someone else.