Queen of Apples

A short story.

She looked small and pale in the brilliant lights of Carrington Hall. Standing alone at centre stage, she seemed much younger than her untried seventeen years allowed. The polished microphone stand balanced indifferently before her lips, the diminutive, leather-bound notebook shaking conspicuously in her delicate hands. Kate. The fairest of them all. She raised her eyes, took a breath; ready to face the throng. She began.

“Go back, right back, remember
That day in mid November
When you first came to me
Under the apple tree…”

~~~

She sat quiescently, pen in hand, absentmindedly feasting on an apple while studying the blank page before her. Write. Write. The words began to form, slowly rising until a burst of inspiration brought them crashing down in a pen’s flurry. She wrote solidly for five minutes, tearing her eyes from her work only once to retrieve a new pen she’d had tucked behind her ear. She finished abruptly and, setting notebook and pen aside, leaned back on the tree and closed her eyes.
I was besotted. A mere ten minutes had she been within my sight, and I was wild about her. I sat motionless on my bench, just looking at her. She looks so familiar. I knew I’d never met her before, but I desperately wished that I had. Everything about her was ethereal; blue eyes, apple-red lips; she was far too beautiful to belong here. Her raven black hair fell precipitously over her shoulders, decorated with a simple yellow ribbon with the form of a bee presiding elegantly on the right side. I thought it odd that a bee would be the choice of such a pulchritudinous young woman. Wouldn’t most girls choose a heart or a flower over a bee? No matter; the bee suited her perfectly. I chuckled to myself. Anything would suit her in my eye.

I looked up to see that the ribbon seemed to have moved. She must have shifted. But she hadn’t. As I watched in horror, the bee moved again, this time into her hair. The hero within me jumped up at the same time as I did, and we were both by her side at the speed of light. Should I wake her? No. I didn’t have time. I reached swiftly into her hair and plucked out the bee, flinging it away, but not before it stung my wrist and woke the girl. She sat up quickly as I fell back, sitting down hard.
“Oh! Are you okay?” I looked up to see her kneeling over me, genuine concern playing across her enthralling visage.
“I’m fine,” I managed, averting my eyes, lest she see how stupidly enamoured I was.
“Hmmm.” She reached out and took my hand. “I wouldn’t be so fine if I’d been stung like that.” I looked down. Drat. My wrist was swelling up already.
“It… it always looks worse than it actually is. I’m fine. Really.” I must have been blushing like a nun in a lingerie store.
“Really?”
“Really.” I reluctantly withdrew my hand and moved to stand.
“Ow!”
“You’re not fine.” I had to admit defeat.
“Okay, I’m not fine. But I will be.” She nodded, and stood, taking my other hand and helping me up.
“Come with me,” I could argue, but I wanted to go with her. I followed. She led me by the hand, out of the park, across the road and into a coffee shop. She sat me down at a high table with two mahogany stools and told me to wait there. I couldn’t have done anything else if I’d wanted to. I was dizzy. My hand was tingling where she had touched me, and I was shivering despite the burning in my stomach. She came back a moment later with a cup of ice.
“Put one of these on your wrist. It’ll help with the swelling.” I gladly obeyed. She went away again and returned with two mugs of steaming hot apple cider.
“So,” she began. I could see we’d be here for a while. “How long were you watching me?”

~~~

Thus began the love of a lifetime. We shared everything with each other, adored each other, lived each day as if it was our last together. Kate wrote constantly, priding herself in her poetry, throwing herself into it and sometimes forgetting everything around her for hours at a time. In May, I decided it was time. I went out and bought the most beautiful ring I could find. I hid it in my pocket, waiting for the opportune moment.
I arrived at the park on the perfect day. The sun was shining brightly and the leaves were just beginning to fall from the apple tree. She was there, just as she’d promised; my radiant queen of the apples. One glance at her smiling face and I knew today was the day. I knelt beside her, ready to ask, when she leaped up and hugged me, pulling me over.
“I got accepted!” I was confused.
“Accepted? For what?”
“Carrington University, silly! They said there was one place left, and they chose me!”
I couldn’t believe it. My beautiful angel was going. There she would meet writers and poets, businessmen and professors. They would be skilled, rich young men, so very unlike myself. They could give her the world, anything her heart desired; I could only ever give her my heart.
I stayed with her for the rest of the day, and when it was time to go, I kissed her for the very first time.
“I love you, Katie,” I said, fighting the urge to weep.
“I love you too,” she replied, her eyes sparkling, full of joy. I walked down the dimly lit street until I reached its end. The ocean in my eyes overflowed and tears streamed freely down my cheeks. Dearest Katie, you will always be the apple of my eye. I turned back to look at her one last time, denied my heart, and dropped the ring.

Author's Note

This was written back in grade 11, so I understand that there are a few too many adjectives and a few too few good solid word pictures - critique them anyway!