Apple of Mind's I

The Apple of Mind's I

by Ken Lutes

It, having one-nightly been chilled then gently plucked from its branch so that scarcely a dew drop did roll off to be lost among grass blade drops far, far below, did one fall morning find itself red-and-white-ginghamly surrounded. And so strong an invitation sweetly sent its scent to me that I gave in to temptation. Slowly, I walked toward the apple, careful not to heavy-walk or disturb its wet dew beads in any way.

The party was here, but neither did I prehend faces nor costumes - only whirling sounds and colors.

I shook my head and blinked. Once more I took up interest in the apple; I approached it as delicately as a new love. The party became a constant over-seer, not leaving and not coming forth. I could not rid its vigilance from my mind, yet neither cou1d I ascertain whether I really wanted it to leave.

I picked up the apple. Its roundness filled my palm with its power; my fingertips caressed contours of firm, rolling-red hills; and as I brought it to my face, I smelled its damp, honey; white meat piercing through the pores of its peel. My vague party impression transformed into a slow-motion carousel, beginning its piston-like spinning motions. Full faces crept before my mind, their lips moving, eyes flashing like blue-green metallic sequins. My mind was split. Allusions to the past called her to me. She hurried past my kaleidoscopic merry-go-round, her lips quivering, trying to speak, her arms outstretched like taut branches.

I bit the apple hard. The slow-motion carousel sped its pace and Calliope sang her first song to me. I felt the apple's velvet food as my teeth slit deep to its core. Calliope sang faster and faster to match the spinning carousel, and my mind, too, became a whirligig lost in her cacophony.

My teeth yanked a chunk of the apple's meat; I chewed and churned it 'round in my mouth.

The party was in full fete, the carousel a whirling blur of faces and sounds; and I chewed violently, savoring all its sweetnesses. The juices swirled over and under my tongue and through my teeth, then slid down my throat and flowed into my veins, causing my body to convulse and reel like a storm-bound vessel.

And when at last Calliope had ceased her song, the carousel had slowed to a stop like a record on a turntable slurring its sounds into gradually depleting tones. Then I knew that I was the apple, and the apple was I.

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