Farren Gillaspie
“Take a bite,” she said. “Just a taste, there are so many. Look some have fallen on the ground and are going to waste! I think He is being selfish.”
“It might be more than that. Maybe it’s a test, Eve,” Adam responded.
“Quit being such a wimp, Adam. We have been doing everything He asked.”
At this point Adam was distracted. Eve was holding the apple out to him and it was just below her perfect breasts. His eyes fluttered between her eyes, the apple, her breasts and below. Her breasts were sure more abundant than his. Why would that be? They looked like they might get in the way but they were so inviting. His eyes went lower. Poor thing she did seem at least on the surface to be missing something. He definitely felt he had more in that department. But back to the apple…
Adam continued “I don’t feel good about going against His wishes. It does look tempting. Why don’t you go first?”
Eve smirked, “Of course. I have noticed that you have a bit of swagger about your lower parts, but I definitely have a stronger backbone than you. Life should be an adventure!” She took a bite of the red perfect apple. Juice dripped down her chin.
Adam leaned in but instead of biting the apple he licked the juice from her chin. He was hooked!
Well, the rest is history of course. Lives of debauchery filled with apples, fermented cider and the downfall of civilization. Not quite what the priest taught me in my one-on-one catechism but somehow, I filled in the spaces. Why did my mom insist on me eating an apple a day? Was she subconsciously trying to undermine the Pope? Why did my first girlfriend say I was the apple of her eye?
How could I be sure that it was the apple and not Eve that started that descent or was it ascent?
Why was I always attracted to apples? Was that a subconscious perversion?
Especially on the farm. Our fence lines all had at least one or two apple trees. They were all slightly different than each other, gifts from the birds in their droppings. Were the birds also purveyors of original sin?
I would gather the apples and keep each tree’s bounty separate from each other and make jellies from each of them. The jellies would have slightly different hues and I would generously share them around the countryside to our neighbours.
Oh dear. Could I have also been a part of the descent or ascent? I heard about Mrs. Jenkins running off with the gas jockey in the village and about the wife swapping fiasco that shocked our poor delicate neighbours. They attributed that to the influx of non-protestants into the countryside, but I secretly realized it was probably my jellies.
I made more!
