The Apple I Loved.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: Booksie Classic
I love apples!

Submitted: November 10, 2011

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Submitted: November 10, 2011

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  • “Take one more” , my mother said as I grabbed the golden apple from the crate. I remember thinking this is the one. This is the most perfect apple in all the bunch. It’s shiny, there are no dents, bruises, cuts, or any of the common faults found on the surface of all the others. No not this one. This skin was perfect. This had to be the best. Any fool can see that. Perfection is staring at me in the face and all I needed to see in that was right there on the surface of this golden delicious apple.
  • So when I got home and my mother had put the perfect shiny apple in the fruit tray along with the rest of the secondary, underdeveloped, misshaped, misguided, imperfect looking “bad apples”, Idecided right then and there that I will eat all the others first and save the best one for last. Of course this wouldn’t be hard because there was clearly one odd best one out that even a blindman’s fingertips just by touching it could feel it’s perfection.
  • So as the days went on without much thought I would take an apple to school and eat it. And once I got past the discolor or dents and took that first bite it tasted…well…just like an apple. And then I would take another and like the one before it tasted just fine and just like an apple. And as the days went on and the once abundant crowd of apples in the cold fruit tray gradually diminished; and every apple tasted just as good as the last, there finally came the day where there remained but one. The one. Sitting there all alone in all it’s magnificence and glory was the best of the rest. To beautiful to eat and much much to glorious to not. So with full admiration and excitement my two small underdeveloped hands wrapped themselves around this symbol of perfection and brought it over to the sink to wash carefully. No not carefully. That is wrong. Carefully suggests handling as not to break or hurt. This apple was strong and bold. A natural born champion created and crafted by God himself. There is no breakage or fragility with such a creation. No not this. Better yet it was with loving tender care I washed the apple under the tap. The cool water gliding over the apple and my hands. Wonderful. Not like the others whom without regard or purpose were given a quick rinse and shake. This apple was to be wrapped and dried with a clean tea towel. I would wipe away and smooth out the clinging water drops that remained. And why wouldn’t they cling. Not like the others whose imperfections didn’t deserve the time of the tea towel but suffer the painfully slow drying from the air. Air drying treatment for the others; Royal tea towel treatment for the royalty. The Royal King Delicious himself. “Yummy” I must have said. Though I don’t really recall, I’m positive this is a standard word in the limited vocabulary of the five year old’s lexicon.
  • “AND NOW LADIES AND GENTLEMAN. THE MOMENT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR. THE MOMENT OF TRUTH THAT WILL REVEAL ALL TO YOU AND CHANGE YOUR LIVES FOREVER….”
  • “PLEASE MAY WE HAVE SILENCE IN THE AUDIENCE?” “THANK YOU.”
  • “Shhhhhh”
  • “And now ladies and gentleman I am pleased to present to you for your eyes only…
  • The first…Bite.
  • A hush. A quick grin of delight. A rosy blush of the cheeks. A closing of the eyes as the hands slowly bring the apple closer to my tiny teeth. Closer…closer…and then….I bit.
  • The audience waits in suspended anticipation. Knuckles going white clinging the torn fiber of the seats. Afraid to take a breath. Better to go blue in the face. The suspense in the air is so thick no one can move. It’s unbearable waiting for the verdict.
  • Finally after an eternity of silence a sole faceless voice cries out in the dark, “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! WHAT’S THE VERDICT?!” And like a sprung leak that eventually floods the basement the entire dark sold out room was filled with hundreds of similar cries and pleas to the solitary boy on stage with the golden apple.
  • “IS IT HEAVENLY NICHOLAS?”
  • “YEAH NICHOLAS IS IT THE GREATEST APPLE EVER?!”
  • “IS IT EVERYTHING YOU’VE DREAMED?” “I BET IT IS.”
  • As I opened my eyes and the stage once again transformed into my kitchen floor and the tapping of the presenter’s cane became the rthymic drips from the tap. As the hundreds of voices crying out in the dark theater slowly dissolved into one voice. A distant voice calling, “Nicholas! It’s time for school.” Drifitng back to reality from the fantasy I took another bite to complete the process. And as matter of factly and real as a child standing in the middle of the kitchen with his He-Man backpack on his back, velcro reeboks sized 10 in kids on his feet, holding a golden delicious apple with two hands. With great simplicity and without dissapointment, regret, or great epiphany I thought, “Huh. Tastes good. Just like all the others. Tastes just like an apple.”
  • “Nicholas you’re going to be late for school!”
  • “Coming Mom!”
  • And as I climbed the stairs of the big yellow school bus with apple in hand and found my pal waiting for me on the big brown leather seats. Sitting where we always sit, he says, “Whatcha got there an apple?” “Yeah.” “Is it good?” Taking another bite I reply “Sure. It’s just an apple. Like any other apple I guess.”
  • Just an apple. No more. No less.

Moral of the story: We're all the same underneath. Same hopes. Same fears.


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