I wrote what came out for the third time.

Apple trees.

It’s Wednesday, July 2^nd at 4:57 p.m.

I’m about to leave for church (well, at 6:30, I will be), but I was just thinking about a thing or two.

Last night, I watched Sleeping With The Enemy starring Julia Roberts and some unknown guy who I fell in love with. Maybe I’ll look him up IMDB.com later. You may not know about that site. It’s www.imdb.com, and you can look up movies on there and see everything else the actors have been in. It’s really neato basquito. I mean, the more you use the site, the more AWESOME things you find out about it and FROM it that you just love it more and more.

Anyway, I was watching that movie, and there’s this part where JR’s character is wanting some apples from her new neighbor’s tree, so she sneaks over and gets a bunch of them off the ground. He catches her, and they end up in love, but that’s not what I was going to tell you.

See, the apples were big and pretty, like store quality, and it made me think of something I’d nearly forgotten. When I was young (no telling how young… 5 or 6?), we had an apple tree in my back yard, and I swear, it consumed my summers. I was always going out to pick apples and pretend to set up a stand and sell them. My apples were the talk of the town, and I became famous. A cute neighbor boy fell in love with me, news crews were always wanting an interview, you know the story, right? My stand had a line from here to Timbuktu all the time, I’ll just be honest. Well, when my sister found out, she started to try to get in on the action, but I didn’t really like it.

See, though, my apples, they weren’t big and pretty. They were about the size of plums with tons of wormholes. They weren’t even fit to eat when washed. Usually, they just rotted and I made homemade applesauce with and on the bottoms of my good shoes and got in trouble. It was fun and totally worth it, though.

Well, the thing that I came here to report, though, is that it’s sad that I almost forgot about that. I shouldn’t have, but it wasn’t my fault. After a while, Mom got tired of the mushy, mini apples all over the place and the baskets full I had all around the yard for my entrepreneurial efforts (which, I must say, proved me a prodigy), so she had my daddy cut the tree down and dispose of it.

When I first started thinking about it, I had forgotten my reaction to the removal of my milk and honey, so I imagined myself, as a little girl, standing next to the trunk of the tree, waiting for my father to come out with a dreaded chainsaw, nobly attaching myself to base. “You can’t take my tree!” I shouted.

“Honey, sometimes we have to let things go,” my father gently explained.

“No way! It’s not just a tree! It’s my friend!”

“Get away from the tree.”

“Never, father,” I protested dramatically.

Eventually, he untied me, and the cops held me off as he murdered my beloved apple bearer.

Then, though, I awoke from my reverie, and remembered the truth. See, my parents were sneaky devils, and my mom had my dad dispose of my friend while I was gone. I remember coming home and noticing that it was gone. “Where’s the apple tree?” I demanded.

“Dad got rid of it.” Mom answered.

“WHY?!”

“It was in the way. Plus, all those rotten apples all over the place were driving me crazy.”

I ran out to the site of the carnage and found no evidence aside from a stump. I cried, missing the tree desperately. All my random crates of apples were gone from the yard, as well as all the ones that had undoubtedly fallen to the ground since I’d last checked. As I meandered sadly around the yard, though, I found one brown, mushy piece of what my tree always offered left. I picked it up mournfully and chucked it over the fence and into our neighbor’s pasture.

“Hey!” Mrs. Kaywood shouted. “Come here!”

I just knew I was in trouble for defaming her yard, but I walked to the edge of the fence anyway. Her short blonde hair looked like I always remembered it looking. “Huh?” I said more than asked.

“Sorry about your tree.” She handed me something. “You want a Fudgecicle?”

“Thanks,” I said, tearing off the wrapper.

She was one of my favorite people when I was little, and I probably only talked to her about three times in my whole life, and the other two were to sell her useless junk from a school-issued catalog, and that was because I wanted to win cheap, worthless prizes.

Anyway, if you ever have an apple tree, never leave it alone with your parents, and parents, if you ever have an apple tree, don’t kill it.

Reviews

[...]

I actually read this, like... yesterday, but never reviewed it! ^^

This sounds like it could be a short movie. XD Cute and, well, kind-of sad story. But it has a good moral at the end! ^^ Hopefully, your advice will be followed! Oh, and it should apply to raspberry bushes, too! :]

[P.S. I love IMDB! :o]

[None]

What a shocker to lose your tree but you still have the memories. At least you had an apple tree for awhile anyway. I used to take for granted the fruit we would pick off trees as kids. I have many fond thoughts and your writing helped bring them back to life. Great story!

[Kristin Brecoe]

awwww. that was saddening...but i was slightly expecting more...
here are other comments i made while reading:
It's really neato basquito [ i like it. =] ]

..err, rather just one.

but this was cute. and now i shall go into my past [while i set the stupid table...] with trees. I was reminescing last night too. Teehee. How funn these things come up...
Speaking of our writing and the odd pop ups here and there... I gotta tell you something. But I think I'll wait for the picture. =]

Kristin