© Bruce Goodman 6 July 2015
Marlene sat in the pew at her husband’s funeral. After fifty-two years of marriage, this was the time she had dreaded. Fifty-two years, and now all over.
“An apple a day keeps the doctor away”, Fred used to say. And, indeed, that was the case. They’d both eaten an apple a day. And they both always had excellent health. Except for the one time he’d broken a toe in the middle of the night trying to kick the door shut before the cat got out.
The number of apples devoured came to about thirty-eight thousand apples between them, Marlene figured. Of course, occasionally they’d missed – it was always the first thing for breakfast, an apple. Cored and peeled and sliced of course.
Once (it was so funny to remember) Fred had purchased a bag of apples and when they peeled and sliced two for breakfast, it was discovered they were sour cooking apples. That was one of the days they missed on their apple, although Marlene did use them to make an apple crumble.
Fifty-two years and an apple a day, thought Marlene. It’s funny the unimportant thoughts that come into your head at such an important time. But I suppose it was natural enough for Marlene to think of apples while sitting in the pew. After all, he’d died at breakfast when he choked on a slice of apple, hadn’t he?