Standing alone among the frail leaves of the only apple tree in the orchard, it hangs like a bright red beacon of hope, a sign of harvests yet to come. Here in Leominster, Massachusetts, our family has grown acres of trees for generations, and now we’re left with only one. After countless droughts, monsoons, waves of pestilence, and the suburban boom of the 1960’s, it hangs, still, in defiance of the seasons and pressure from the vultures disguised as real estate agents, who would love nothing more than to see the literal fruits of our family’s labor finally hit the ground they hope to claim. It has become a symbol that has held our family together since it was decided that the day it fell would be the day we left the orchard for good. The agents knock at our door, wielding brochures advertising large, cold strip malls they disingenuously insisted would “fit just perfect” where our once green, fertile land provided food, shade, and commerce for years. But every time they stand at our doorstep and pitch their ideas, dad just takes a glance through the window at the little beacon 20 or so yards away, smiles, and politely declines. Some days he would stare just a liiittle bit longer, almost as if he were waiting for it to fall, so he could finally just sell the land and be done with everything.
“You lookin’ extra hard today, Paw”, mom would say from the kitchen down the hall, with her head tilted slightly, standing in front of the window facing the orchard while she washed.
“Yur thinking aaaany minute now, aren’t’cha…”, never taking her eyes off the plain white, grease- stained dishes peaking from the mounds of white bubbles in the sink, as if to defy the last straw that hung outside.
“It’s a stubborn one” dad’d say. “It’s a Winston alright”, and burst into laughter as he walked back to his old, plaid recliner, picked up his paper with one hand, and proceeded to take a bite of the turkey sandwich made of the Thanksgiving turkey left overs, which wouldn’t have been a problem had it not’ve been for the fact that Thanksgiving was 3 weeks ago.
“Don’t know what’s older, that there hangin’ apple, or that couch yur sittin’ on” mom said with a smirk, as dad sprayed out a turkey sandwich-coated
“BEH!”, followed by a shocked yet light hearted
“I’LL TELL YOU WHAT”S OLDER THIS DANG TURKEY SANDWICH! Check the expiration dates on those cans of gravy, anything before December 69’ is getting tossed!”
Mom and dad have been through so much, and yet they still joked and flirted like they’d just met. Sometimes I think it’s their love for each other that keeps that apple hanging on that tree. And it’s because of this I go outside every morning to fight off the dragons and serpents that try to consume it. They’re just fruit flies and the earth worms that spent the whole night slowly creeping up the branch, but it’s more fun pretending I’m slaying monsters instead of just spraying bugs off an apple with a squirt bottle full of water and a little apple cider vinegar. Sometimes my imagination gets the better part of me and I lose track of time, end up missing the school bus, and get an earful from mom and dad. Sometimes I sit in my class room, gaze out the window, and wonder what adventures the apple was having.
On the way back from school, I felt a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach, like I had just eaten a whole left-overs turkey sandwich. As my school bus pulled up to the house, my stomach started to drop more, as I caught a glimpse of dad shaking hands with one of the real estate agents. I dropped my bag and ran towards the apple tree… but something was wrong. There was no clear beacon perched on the horizon in the distance. The bare branches of the tree now looked like long, withered hands with fingers reaching for the sky in despair.
“It was all my fault”, I thought.
“I should never’ve left my post! Was it a dragon? A serpent??” No. There was only gravity, and the apple it had left laying at the foot of the tree. I was so devastated by the situation that I didn’t even notice dad walk up behind me, smiling, and putting his hands on my shoulder.
“What’s the matter buddy?”, he said in his regularly light-hearted voice.
“It’s all my fault” I said, on the verge of tears.
“Well then I guess we have YOU to thank”, he said and let out a big laugh.
I was so taken back by what I had thought was the end of our family that I didn’t noticed the rows of little green leaves poking out from the dirt.
“The new harvest’s a-comin’”, he said. “We just signed an agreement with the agent to renew our deed.”
And That was that. The ground has become fertile, and our family will have its orchard again. Soon I’ll have a field of new beacons to protect from the elements and ravenous earth worms. It’s a colossal endeavor, but I’ll just have to take it an apple a day.
