Buying apples is a tricky business. They can’t be too hard, squishy, bruised, misshapen, small, green, red, or yellow. I considered myself a pro at apple analysis – that is, until I got back from my most recent trip to the produce section, bit into the apple I purchased, and realized it was an ever-dreaded and ill-named Red Delicious.
I never thought something like this would happen to me.
The moment I bit into it, I knew I fucked up. All I tasted was cleaning wipes and despair before I promptly spit that abominable excuse for a fruit into the trash.
My mouth, of course, had to be disposed of. The unbearable taste and waxy texture coating my teeth and tongue was a complete sensory nightmare. The procedure was inordinately expensive – I had to get my entire mouth removed and replaced with a new Red Delicious-free mouth – but it was worth it to erase the physical evidence of my mistake.
My mind, however, was not such a simple fix.
The moment I bit into that apple, memories of childhood cafeterias, soccer tournaments, and lackluster fruit bowls at the doctor’s office came rushing back. Memories I had thoroughly repressed until this moment.
I had visions of my mom picking up my soccer bag in fourth grade and being like, “What’s that smell?” before unzipping it and revealing six rotten Red Delicious apples I had been hiding there all year. I was hit with memories of the receptionist at the doctor’s office being like, “Take something for the road!” and having to choose between a bruised, shriveled banana and a gleaming, demonic Red Delicious.
I thought I had repressed these tortured memories for good, but even just five seconds of trying and failing to chew through the rubbery skin of a Red Delicious brought them flooding back.
Followers of the Christian doctrine subscribe to the belief that the Original Sin was Eve stealing an apple from the Garden of Eden. However, I am of the opinion that the first sin was growing a Red Delicious in the first place. God should’ve gotten down on his hands and knees and thanked Eve for taking that monstrosity off his hands.
I guess this mistake cost me my faith as well.
While I know I’ll be forced to reckon with the impact of my mistake for years to come, I was able to rediscover God in the form of a ripe Honeycrisp, so at least the path forward doesn’t look quite so bleak. I just hope I never accidentally stumble across a Granny Smith – there’s no coming back from that.
