Everyday at school Rachel uncovered the dreaded apple packed neatly at the bottom of her brown paper lunch bag. Everyday, mom’s fruit of choice was an apple. “How boring,” Rachel thought as she tucked yet another apple into the bottom of her locker. Everyday Rachel lied to mom when asked if the apple was eaten.
But today, today was a special day. “We have enough.” Hannah squealed, as the best friends counted the apples and placed them into their backpacks.
The scent of warm, freshly baked pie wafted through the house as the girls gleefully sang Happy Birthday to mom.
I, like Rachel, received an apple in my lunch bag everyday. It was what was affordable at a time when we were new immigrants to Canada. And in winter, back in the day there weren’t many options. Agricultural transport was expensive, and exotic fruits and vegetables weren’t prolific, so mom packed us each a sandwich and an apple.
I cherish those memories now, her in her nightgown at 7 am in the kitchen, packing lunches. Me heading out on the walk to school in the biting cold. The memories have all come rolling back, especially these last two months after having lost my beautiful mother.
On her last birthday we sang to mom over her favourite, apple pie. I hate apples!
Thank you for reading. Sorry for my long absence. It hasn’t been a piece of pie.
Friday Fictioneers is a place for flash fiction brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Visit Rochelle’s site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.