Pineapple on Canvas: The Odd Adventures of a Toy in the City

The one where Maher questions his Sanity

It was 5:30 in the morning and Maher was seated in the empty conference room. He ran a hand through his hair and removed his glasses. With a sigh, he began to wonder how in the world he had gotten here.

Whose idea had it been to start a venture capital fund, he wondered to himself. Was it really his hare brained idea? Why had he left his cushy position at the investment bank, where he was slated to become the youngest Managing Director in the firm's storied history? Oh, right, he recalled, he had wanted a challenge.

He picked up the letter of resignation from the table, the second he had received this month. He couldn't blame them, there were no investors or even potential investors on the horizon. He would have considered handing in one of the very same letters if it wasn't his own company. How would he tell Ella that he was a huge failure?

Maher scratched his head. Of all the things on his mind, the little yellow orb was also a constant fixture. How did his life get so weird? Was he really the owner of a talking stuffed toy? Or perhaps was "babysitter" a more appropriate title? He remembered once when Papple had accidentally called him "Papa," which had resulted in an awkward silence. The following conversation had taken place:

"You so funny, Papa!" said the fruit after Maher made a joke about something on the television.

"What did you just call me?"

Papple looked up shyly, "Ummm . . . me call you Ha Ha. 'Cause you funny."

"Oh, I thought I heard something else."

"You hear bad," said the pineapple, giving Maher a slight side eye before turning back to the television screen. He subsequently blushed so much he became almost entirely pink in color.

Both contemplated the exchange and although they wanted to address it, the window to do so soon passed and the whole issue was never brought up again.

In a way, Maher did often feel like he was Papple's dad. They did pretty much everything together and Maher had taught him all the basics--how to clean himself, how to order delivery, how to make sure his system was fully charged to avoid freezing up, how to use the iPhone, and such other things. Was he in fact the foster father of a pineapple?

One of things that took quite a lot of getting used to was Papple's constant need for companionship. He would silently follow Maher everywhere, including waiting outside the door if ever Maher was in Wash Wash room. On more than one occasion, Maher had felt a fuzzy grasp around his ankle and had looked down to see Papple hugging his ankle. It was weird.

Another bad habit the little guy had, was that he had no concept of personal space. Perhaps, Maher had contemplated, it had been because of all the time the plush fruit had spent at the airport gift store. As he recalled, the toys had been packed together on that shelf tighter than sardines. Maher was teaching Papple the concept of personal space, and the exchange between the two would often go as such:

"Papple, what did we learn?"

"Mursmal mspace," Papple would return, his words muffled because he had waddled his way up to Maher's cheek and was talking directly in his face.

"Ok, now what does this mean?" Maher would prompt.

Taking a few steps back, which didn't add up to more than two or three inches due to the stubbiness of Papple's legs, Papple would then immediately continue his jibber jabbering.

"No, Papple. More."

"Oki dokie!" the little toy would reply cheerfully, with a few more bounces back.

Finally, after a few more rounds of this conversation, Papple would be at a relatively comfortable distance from Maher's face whereby they could continue their conversation. In truth, Maher didn't mind the personal contact, he adored the plush after all, but what he did fear was Papple's integration with other toys, especially the little British snob, Kitty. God, he was worried about whether or not a stuffed toy's feelings would be hurt! What was happening?

Maher was also surprised at how proud he was at the progress of Papple's learning from the various apps and books and treasured the time they spent together when they went through the various English, math, and geography lessons. Papple's look of pure joy at the most innocent and trivial of things made the lessons go by very quickly. It was Maher's little oasis in these stressful times.

Feeling renewed, Maher got up, pounded hisfist on the desk and looked out at the Manhattan skyline. Papple's motto,whenever a new lesson was to begin, was "It gonna be good. Real, real good!"and Maher felt convinced that somehow, some way, his new venture would be aswell.