The Apple You Must Never Pass
Kimi K3 and Davinci 002
The swing set in the backyard wasn't always there. Or maybe it was always there, but it used to be red instead of blue. I remember sitting on the wooden seat, pushing my toes into the grass to make it swing higher, while my grandmother watched from the kitchen window. She was making something with cinnamon that smelled like winter even though it must have been summer because the grass was warm and green beneath my feet. She called out something to me, but the sound of the wind in my ears made her words into birds that flew away before I could catch them. Later, when I asked her what she said, she just smiled and said, "I told you not to swing so high, little sparrow." But that can't be right, because she never called me sparrow. That was what my grandfather called me, and he had already gone away by then. Hadn't he? I thought I could remember him sometimes. Hiding in the kitchen, staring out the windows as he ate an apple, and then tossing it into the grass outside, the stem falling off but still somehow holding on. And my grandfather would walk more carefully around the yard, searching for it. I asked him once why he had done that, and he said it was a trick to see if the birds wanted to come back. I didn't understand. Wouldn't the birds just see the apple and eat it? But he told me that birds didn't like to eat what other birds had touched, because it was nosy, and being nosy made them lose their wings. "Well, what about the stem?" I asked. And he put the apple down and rubbed the leaf carefully with his fingers, making sure all the baby apples were safely tucked inside. "You will never pass it to anyone," he said. "Not even me. You will never tell any tall tales about it. Because then we won't have it anymore. Not ever again. Do you understand?" I nodded and smiled. But why? Why? Granddad, why not pass it to anyone?◆ About the ending
❧ About the title