Longing For Apples

burnt forest

Love is like a tree.

That's what my mother always said. If you want it to survive, you have to protect it. If you want it to grow, you have to water it.  If you want it to grow you apples, you sure as hell better hope you've planted an Apple tree.

My mother knew love so deeply, I was sure she was made of it. Like the angels themselves had chosen her as the carrier of the purest heart this Earth would ever know. And when I was young, I saw this as a gift; I couldn't imagine being so lucky as to be born from such light. Such pure goodness.

Then, I grew up.

I saw how that saintly heart weighed down her chest - it pressed against her lungs and made it hard for her to breathe. It tripped her, made her fall fast. Faster than most would call healthy right into the soft arms of my father. Married within six months of their meeting, no one knew how a tree could grow so fast.

It took my mother too long to realise she was waiting for apples to come from a Pear tree.

So close, close enough to love and not be hurt by it. Close enough to learn to love the taste of Pears and be thankful they still grew after so many years. But, when she was tired and I was nearly full grown and my father was working late again, I saw her longing for Apples.

And I began to loathe trees. Loathe love, for all its power in this world. Because even as my mother knew love so deeply, she did not get to feel it. Not as she should.

My father was not a bad man. He was loving and caring and kind. But he wasn't passionate. He did not burn for her. He did not nurture her, as he should have. Their love was plain and simple; kindness exchanged, civility fully explored, daughter born and marital cage locked.

So, the day my mother died, love died with her. It was bitterly ironic; heart attack at 41. She'd been feeding the dog one moment, gone the next. It made me sick I wasn't there. I'd been 22 days into my second year of uni, what felt like a thousand miles away, when my distraught father called me. Six days later, I watched them lower her body into the ground where a giant Cherry Blossom tree became her headstone, it's petals raining along the coffin. I cried.

That was the last time I'd gone home, back to the tiny coastal town I'd been raised in. 8 months ago. Then Summer came and I was spurned from my university accommodation like every other student. I had considered going travelling with friends just to avoid the inevitable return, but money was tight as every penny I earned went straight to the piggy bank. My mother has taught me the sensible way of saving money when I was too young to even have a credit card, but it was engrained in me now. I was saving up for something - something big. I just didn't know what it was yet.

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I'd been staring out the window, watching the outside world pass in a blur from grey, to green to blue, when the shrill ring of my phone had me jumping in my seat.

I shot an apologetic smile to my stranger busmate, and quickly flicked the screen to answer.

"Hiya, sweetheart"

My dad's voice was croaky, like he'd caught a cold he had never been able to shake and the familiarity felt like warmth.

"Hey, Dad" I muttered, hoping not to disturb the few people resting their eyes around me. "I'm almost back. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, honey, I'm fine. Just having a bit of trouble with the old rust bucket on wheels".

The sound of my forehead hitting the window was nearly as loud as the sigh that left my lips.

"You should really just get a new car, dad. It would cost less than you fixing this one every week".

"No way, me and this tin can go way back. She's not let me down yet and I won't do the same to her".

I bit my lip to avoid telling him it was literally letting him down right now, knowing it would be of no use. I knew why he kept that car and it certainly wasn't for its trustworthiness. I blinked the thoughts away as he continued.

"She just needs a little TLC, and she'll be right as rain" he chuckled, "Thing is, hun, that won't be - "

"Don't worry about it. I know the way home from the station." Although it was a hefty trek from there to my home. And the sky was already spitting down at my presence. I winced "I'll try and catch a bus".

There was a pause, filled with something I couldn't name, before he continued.

"I'm sorry, honey, really. I wanted this to - "

I cut him off.

"It's really fine, dad. I promise".

It was getting harder to ignore the hateful stairs from her fellow coach passengers.

"A walk would do me good, anyway. Been sat down too long as it is"

"I could ask the neighbours to - "

"I gotta go, dad. I'll see you soon. Love you".

I heard him echo my words as I hung up and took a slow breath. Just as I slipped my phone back into my pocket, the entry sign to my small town whizzed past the window, leaving only the harbourside and dark blue waves in its wake.

I ached to breathe the ocean air; I guess I didn't realise how much I'd missed it till then.