Chapter Text
I hated the orchard. Although it was titled as a garden of Eden- truly it was no garden of Eden. Everything there was nothing but dullness. Each day more grey than the last, hope for any interesting change occurring slowly died out as I got older. It was undeniably difficult to refrain Gracie from worrying about me too- our separation made the both of us exceedingly uneasy. I had a small chat with Gracie about it just recently and we clarified it was plain, cruel separation anxiety. I was mad desperate for any slight connection or pure communication with at least just one, normal non apple worshipping person. We'd send plenty of letters to each other- I’d often sob uncontrollably when she'd rant about her issues. I’d of course never tell her, I didn't ever want her to worry, she was going through enough trouble- why have her worrying about me to top it all off? But I enjoyed our ability to communicate through letters, regardless of the time I’d take to write as neatly as possible. It was something at least- thankfully that something was plenty. Though nothing beat how regularly I’d mourn the all so sudden loss of our Dad. The separation only worsened it all after I’d gotten over his death, it was like enduring a blizzard with one lit match; surviving off of her letters. Deeming hopeless really.
Yet the desperate strive and beg of incapable survival remains no matter how low one would get at the moment.
No matter how low
.
At first I had concluded that all the Applebys were entirely brainwashed by their sicko religion. Although I eventually discovered that their youngest son, Ben, was truly something . I already noticed his heavy and long yet soft stares since the beginning but- I never once saw it as interest . All sprouted by his family was lone judgement, disgust, hatred, and apples; didn't think he was any different at first. The day I noticed his innocent and precious little giggle when I'd irritated Ruth for the thousandth time had me blazing, purely out of joy. I can vividly recall the way his face would illuminate with a wobbly smile, followed by those beautiful and pure giggles of his. Ruth shuddered her usual ticked-off expression, though all I could eyeball was my Benny and his little round, yet toothy, smile.
I attempted brightening chat with him from time to time; what also seemed as my thousandth attempt in getting along with the Applebys . Though I knew there was something about Ben. He wasn’t like them. I just couldn't put my finger on what made him so.. special ? At the time of course. Ben would avoid me, almost as if he was afraid of me . Not necessarily afraid just.. afraid. I'd often wonder what was going on in his stubby onion-like-head when we were younger. Unlike when we were teens- he'd only stare.
And so I was left duelling and betting on the possibility of peace with his horrid , towering , and rather braindead brothers. They soon gleefully proved to not at all be peaceful; instead just have terrifyingly strong grip.
(would've been SO DEAD without Ben and his glorious bird angel)
(mwah we love you Benny)
Though one exhaustive day when we were young teens, about sixteen, I was given the opportunity to speak with Ben, properly. His mother, Ruth had gotten literal food poisoning because Benny hadn't scrubbed the kitchen plates efficiently.. apparently. I later joked to the boy she just couldn't accept that her cooking sucks- ass. His fit of laughter after was everything to me, we were nothing more than stupid teens, well I was nothing more than a stupid teen. I suppose it was a playful way to get her burdening and scolding weigh less on his back. I also truly hated that Ben was scared of her, hated. Only those fucked apples know just how much I despise her. So he was then punished by occupying a more difficult job. And with Ruth not death glaring me plaster stickers on heavily contrasted red apples all the time- I was basically granted a day off if you think about it. Really I just wanted to thank the boy, regardless of how ridiculous it'd sound.
I stood there, idly daydreaming of all types of things. I snapped out of my daydreaming session once I spotted the short onion-headed boy standing awkwardly by a tree.
On his tippy toes
,
reaching out for an apple.
Hey- it was a rather adorable sight . And so I stood there idly, now silently inspecting him, he was extremely frustrated . I couldn't help but chuckle at the scene, I really do remember it vividly. He then eventually gave up shamefully and drifted over to another, shorter , apple packed tree. Gleefully returning to my daydreaming- I turned over to face my photo of Gracie and I as kids. Regardless of the photos crummy physical shape and quality; didn't and won't ever get fed up with that photo we took together. I looked like a mad dumbass , truely ridiculous, wasn't even facing the camera or Gracie herself . Just stood there clueless. Though it still gave me a spoonful of hope seeing Gracie and her iconic snail hat. It also somehow fed.. motivation ? Talk about strange excuse for one of those encouraging cat posters.. “Hang In There!”
I remember muttering such with a lame and unbothered cough of enthusiasm with my hands, motioning them up curled into fists. I silently returned to my daydreaming, looking down at the stickerless apples racing by. Dropping one by one into the crate, sure I felt pathetic - but I liked and preferred not having to pretend I was stickering them anyways. Though my daydreaming was once more cut off when I had noticed Ben sloppily wandering over in my direction- alongside a basket of apples. Clearly exhausted . Unlike me, he had valid reasonings.
For the purpose of not looking strange; standing with an arched back and an undecided face expression , I return to faultily pasting stickers onto various lucky apples. In all honesty the colour red ticks me off now. So much for being a fire-eater in Paris, busking out on the streets with confidence and glee . He drops the basket, filled to the brim with apples, onto the askew desk behind me. I stop for a moment to clearly hear his devastated sigh; the boy then puts away the various apples into boxes. I remain with the burdening silence, afraid of getting similar criticism I got from his brothers. Although, soon enough , I slope my back and turn over to him; keeping my eyes directed upon a sticker-less apple in my hand.
“ Aren't you also exhausted ?” I blurted out, gradually nervous, but determined.
The boy stammers and whips his head back, his body swiftly following as an apple gets clutched in his grip.
“Oh uhm.. yeah I uh, I am pretty tired. ”
We stood silently for a moment, glancing over to one another. Ben told me later on about his troubles of properly speaking, I adored that feature of his the most; he heavily despised it. I can also recall his habit of constantly fidgeting with sections of his shirt - it was specially cute . I remember how flustered he got knowing I had noticed; I brought it up once we were older.
I wonder if he still has that little habit.
He stood upright, fiddling with his uniform collar, “Why? I mean- are you also tired ?”
Bens awkwardness was evident and utterly laughable , I once more couldn't resist a chuckle. His face rapidly glinted and began to gleam with a wobbly ear to ear, lovingly delightful , grin. He hung his head low, shadowing his face once I had begun to observe his expression- retreating his gaze back to the gravelly ground. I finish up my laughter session and he begins to pick at the end of his shirt. Before I could drag on the conversation and answer- he does so for me. Pointing at a large wooden crate containing all my , totally not stickerless, apples.
“Im guessing not even one apple there has a sticker on?”
“Nope ; don't expect anything anytime soon though !” I snicker as I stagger around the shed sloppily. Out of pure pettiness- I give a slight kick to the crate. Ben clasps his hands gently together just beneath his chin, with a small smile, beautifully mixed with laughter and joy. An apple or two roll off the brim and slowly trot out the widely opened gate. He chuckled silently, he always seemed so quiet . It felt as if he was always whispering.
I continue, straightforwardly questioning the boy, “So.. do you spy on me for Ruth ? Err- your mother I mean.”
As stupid as it sounds I did ask so - Ben spluttered with a nervous and hurried chuckle .
“Hey- hey I'm serious !”
“ Sorry, sorry !” He once more whips his head around and covers up his face flushed with laughter, “I uh- didn't expect a question like that- but of course not!”
“Well.. then?”
“Ah well- uhm..”