Apple Core

One: Reasons

In this world, everything happens for a reason.

Sometimes, when we fail to see the reason, we assume that it isn't there, that the event happened simply to hurt us.

But the truth is, we can't see everything.

We live our lives thinking these reasons do not exist.

If only we knew.

I feel that I should start this story with 'once upon a time,' because although it's only fourteen years ago that I met Ralph, it feels like centuries.

Let's start on the day I moved to Circleton. My name is Clyde, and on the eighth of September, two thousand, I felt like I was the unluckiest person ever.

"But mother!" I said for what must have been the twentieth time that day, "I want to stay here!"

"Enough, Clyde!" she replied, picking up both our suitcases and placing them in the trunk of the taxi, "I am the adult here, and I say what we're doing. Now get in the car!"

My mother wasn't exactly the person you'd want to disobey. She was taller than me back then, and very strict, so that I never called her 'mom' and always called her 'mother'.

I took one last look at the place I had always called home. The small, one bedroom house I grew up in. I was never going to return again. I turned away and followed my mother into the taxi.

The trip was going to take a long time. My mother sat next to me. The seats were grey and hairy, as solid as blocks of wood. They were very uncomfortable. "But why do we have to?" I muttered. "Clyde!" she replied, "I told you a million times. I miss the place where I was born, okay? My mother lives there, she has a pretty big house. You'll like it."

I remembered the last glimpse I had of our house. It was tiny. I never really met my grandmother either, so who knows? Living there might be better. Maybe she's like the grandmother I imagine, who bakes cookies everyday.

I sighed and looked out the window. Trees, houses and cars whooshed by. Every once in a while there was a glimpse of red or orange or blue; bicycles, toys, swings or clothes. The sun was beginning to lower, and so were my eyelids...

"Clyde," came my mother's voice,"Clyde, we're here!" I opened my eyes. The sky was black, glittered with stars and decorated with a round, white full moon. I didn't recognize the neighborhood we were in.

I opened the door and got out. The driver was getting our luggage from the trunk. I went over to the other side of the car, where my mother was. She was looking up at a great, pink house. A couple of black marble stairs led to the front door. From the size of it, it had at least two floors. A light was on in one of the high windows.

The grass in the front garden didn't look overgrown. Was my grandmother healthy enough to mow the lawn? I didn't think so. My grandmother must be very old, because my mother was already starting to get white hair.

"Here?" I asked. I still couldn't process the thought that I could live here. My mother nodded.

She took her bag and mine from the driver, thanked him and payed him. He drove away, and was soon a speck in the distance. My mother walked up the steps, and I followed her.

She rang the doorbell. Seconds later, a woman opened the door. She was as tall as my mother but younger, maybe in her twenties. Her black hair was tied back. She was wearing a white shirt and white pants.

"Kate!" said my mother, shaking the woman's hand.

"Ann!" said Kate,"I haven't seen you in a very long time. How long? Five years?"

"Seven," said my mother. "How's my mother doing?"

"Oh, she's fine. Is that Clyde? He's grown so much!" I didn't even know this woman, and here she was telling me how much I've grown.

"Clyde," said my mother, as if reading my thoughts, "this is Kate, grandmother's nurse." I nodded. We went inside, leaving our luggage in the hall. We followed Kate up some stairs and into one of the rooms upstairs.

"She's in here," said Kate, remaining outside. My mother and I went inside. The room had white walls. Facing the door was a bed, which looked like a hospital bed. On the other wall a wardrobe. Next to the bed were a pair of closed lilac curtains, and in the bed lay a woman with creamy white hair and a wrinkly white face.

My mother went towards the bed. The old woman in it was awake. "Hello, mother," she said.

"Who are you?" said my grandmother. My mother looked towards Kate. "It's worse, isn't it?"she asked,"the Alzheimer's?" Kate nodded sadly.

My mother turned back to my grandmother. "Mother," she said, "it's me, Antoinette,"

"Antoinette," repeated my grandma, "Antoinette.. I think I heard that name before." Kate stepped into the room.

"Ah, Kate," said my grandmother, "And just in time, really. Kate, who is this woman?"

I wondered how a person could forget her daughter. Will my mother forget me one day? "She's your daughter, Jane." said Kate.

"My daughter Jane!" said my grandmother, "She just said her name was Anabelle!"

"No, your name is Jane," said Kate, "and her's is Antoinette. And that's her son, Clyde. Isn't he cute?"

I didn't appreciate being called cute. After all, I was ten. A man, basically. My grandmother, to my relief, didn't acknowledge the question, but said she was hungry. Kate went downstairs to fetch her dinner.

"Come on, Clyde," said my mother, "I'm going to show you your new room,"

I didn't know how to feel about having a room. The only bedroom in our old house was shared by my mother and I. We took turns sleeping on the small, creaky bed. Sometimes, when it was my turn to sleep on the ground, I went to the living room and slept on the couch instead. I used to stay up all night, with a movie, the volume very low, and a couple of snacks. My mother didn't really mind, and it was comfier than the floor.

But now, it was different. My new room was empty, and so was my mother's. They were definitely bigger than the room in our old house, but the empty space made them look even bigger. The floor was covered in faded blue carpet, worn away with time. We borrowed a few of grandmother's spare pillows and sheets and put them there, then went downstairs for some dinner.

My mother prepared dinner while Kate fed my grandmother a meal low in sugar and salt, because of grandmother's health problems, which she had made earlier. I sat down at the dining table, taking everything in. None of it seemed real.

Kate came downstairs just as my mother was setting the table. "Oh, you didn't have to cook!" she said, "You must be very tired. I was going to order."

"Never mind that," said my mother, "let's eat now."

We ate. I couldn't taste the food in my mouth. I didn't even know what I was eating. I ate slowly, and finally my plate was empty. I drank a cup of water before ascending the stairs. There was an open door, which led to one of the two bathrooms on this floor. (The other was next to my grandmother's room, and was only hers).

I went into the open bathroom. My toothbrush wasn't there yet, as we were too tired to unpack. I stared at my reflection. It had brown eyes. No, not exactly brown, but the color of honey. My hair, which was blond when I was little, was then light brown.

After changing into pajamas, I went into my new room. I lay between my blankets. If this was a dream, I'll wake up and find myself at home. At home. At home.

And so I drifted away, not knowing what the new town held for me, not knowing the secrets that would unravel in the following decade.

If I had known, I would have either ran away and never looked back, or awaited the events impatiently. And to be honest, I don't know which option would have been worse.