The Apple

The apple was mealy and bland.  The kind that your teeth press into a bit before they finally pierce the skin, the kind that mushes between your teeth.  It was the most delicious apple I’ve ever tasted.  I had hepatitis and could hardly eat anything.  All I wanted was an apple.  Every day all I could think of was how good an apple would feel between my teeth, how the juice would fill my mouth and run down my chin, how I would crunch each tangy bite.  But apples weren’t in season.  My dad spent all day looking for one and finally paid three dollars for the only apple in the whole city.  Thanks, Dad.