Wind Apples

Monroe stood looking through the mesh wire fence at the apple tree. Countless red, fat, orbs hung from every twig, glistening in the sunlight.

This fence isn’t too high to climb anymore, I think. When I was ten, it was, but now I’m eleven and a lot taller. Braver, too.

Monroe looked this way and that, checking for any sign of Mr. Cotton or his mean grandson, Gunner.

I don’t see ’em anywhere.

He reached up high, stuck his fingers through the wires, lifted himself about six inches off the ground, and then set his feet back down.

Yep, it’ll hold me. I can go ahead and climb over, anytime I want. Look–there’s about a million apples over there, and every year I walk by and watch ’em just lay on the ground and rot without nobody even pickin’ ’em up. Just wind apples–that’s all they are. Nature already picked ’em. Nobody’s gonna care. Yeah, I’m gonna go over there pretty soon and get me some.

Monroe looked at the apples, thought about it, looked at them some more and thought some more. Finally, his feet and hands began to climb, seemingly of their own will.

Ohhhh, dang! I’m really doin’ it!

Once over the top, he jumped down and ran to the apple tree.

Oh, boy, just look at all these here apples!

Taking a small paper sack from his pocket, Monroe began filling it as fast as he could.

“Hey, is that Monkey-Monroe’s bicycle I see there by the fence?” yelled someone with a much too-familiar voice.

Oh, no, that sounds like Gunner!

Monroe plopped down flat on the ground, then rolled into some nearby weeds.

“I bet he’s over there, hidin’ somewhere, and has been stealin’ yer grandpaw’s apples!” barked Gunner’s sidekick, Elbow McDaniel. “You gonna go over the fence and kick his butt?”

“Nah, I don’t have time for that.” snarled Gunner. “I’m just gonna smash his damned bicycle. Next time I see him, I’ll finish things up and smash his face!”

Gunner picked up a big rock from the ditch, lifted it high over his head, and threw it down on Monroe’s front wheel. Elbow grabbed a rock and joined in the destruction. Three minutes later, the bike lay in ruin with fenders mangled, sprockets bent, and spokes all broken.

“Hey, Monroe!” yelled Gunner. “How do you like them apples?”

Elbow laughed so hard that slobbers flew from his mouth. “Aaahh! Apples! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

Very proud of himself, Gunner added, “Looks like you’ll be walkin’ home, apple-thief, ’cause you sure ain’t ridin’ this bicycle!”

Monroe stayed low, and tried not to sob too loudly. When he was quite sure Gunner and Elbow had gone on down the dirt road, he walked to the fence, and, holding the very full sack of apples in one hand, began climbing. When he reached the top and tried to put his leg over, the sack ripped and most of the apples fell out, landing on Mr. Cotton’s side. Devastated, he half fell down the side of the fence to the ground.

My bicycle! They smashed it all to pieces!

Holding the ripped bag with only four apples in it with one hand, he used the other to drag the bicycle, and began walking toward home.

Uncle Gil gave me this bike before he died. Now, I don’t reckon I’ll ever have another one, ’cause the welfare check mama gets won’t hardly even feed us. Here comes Jimmy Dempsey down the road. I hope he don’t ask too many questions.

Jimmy’s eyes were big when he came face to face with Monroe and said, “Hey, what the heck happened to your bicycle?”

“Uh, well, I was gettin’ me a few apples down yonder, when Gunner and Elbow come by and bashed her with rocks.  I couldn’t get across the fence fast enough, or I’d a’ stopped ’em.”

Jimmy lowered his eyebrows and said, “Them two are a couple o’ stinky fish heads for doin’ that!”

Monroe agreed. “Yeah, I’ll say.”

Jimmy told him, “Well, at least you got some good apples. I always wanted to climb that fence and get some, but was afraid ol’ man Cotton would catch me and send me to the reform school.”

“Well, it took me quite a while to get my bravery up.” replied Monroe.

Jimmy looked in the torn bag and said, “You got four of ’em. Can I have one?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Monroe, handing him an apple. “They’re wind apples, but I reckon they’re still good.”

Jimmy told him, “Thanks.” took a big chomp, and then walked on.

Monroe said to himself, “Well, I still got three–maybe enough for Mama to make us a tiny pie.”

Fifteen minutes of walking and bike-dragging later, Monroe saw a girl with a goat coming down the road.

Who’s this? I don’t think I know her.

When the girl came close, she stopped, looked at the bicycle, wrinkled her nose, and said, “Golly, what happened? Did a train hit it?”

Monroe told her, “Nope.”

She nudged the busted bike with her foot and asked, “A truck?”

“Nope.”

“Well, what happened to it, then?”

“Some mean kids threw rocks on it.”

“Oh.” she replied. “They sure did mess up the paint.”

“Yeah, I recon they did. That’s a nice goat you got there.” said Monroe.

“Thanks, ” replied the girl, adding, “His name is Grover, and I’m Shirley Jo.”

“Hi. I’m Monroe. Do you live around here?”

“No, I’m from Danville, and just here vistin’ with relatives for the weekend. Grover let me ride him down that way, but he got tired, so I’m walkin’ him back.”

Monroe stood grinning, captured by her charms.

She sniffed the air and said, “Are them apples in that bag? I think I smell apples.”

Monroe replied, “Yeah, they’re apples. I aim to take ’em home so mom can make a pie.”

Shirley Jo nudged close and said, “I sure would like it if you’d give me one. I’ve been cravin’ a good, sweet apple.”

“Nope. I can’t.”

She batted her eyelashes. “Aw, c’mon.”

Monroe stood firm. “Uh, nope. Can’t do it.”

Shirley Jo lifted her skirt slightly above one knee. “Give me one, and I’ll show you what’s up higher.”

Monroe swallowed hard. “Okay, uh, how much higher?”

Shirley Jo got a wicked look in her eyes. “My thigh!”

He said he wouldn’t do it. He said he couldn’t do it, but do it, he did. Monroe reached into the sack and handed her an apple.

Shirley Jo took the apple, fed it to her goat, and cooed, “And now another one for lil’ ol’ me?”

Monroe could barely speak. “Bu…wha…you…”

Shirley Jo lifted her skirt about two inches above her knee. “Oh, c’mon, Monroe. Just one more. I didn’t have no breakfast.”

His will destroyed, Monroe handed her his next to last apple. “Alright, c’mon, let me see!”

Shirley Jo pulled her skirt up about an inch higher than she’d had it, then quickly let it back down. Walking briskly away, she rattled,  “Okay, gotta go. Cousin Gunner is gonna let me ride his horse.”

Monroe hollered, “Gunner? He’s the one… the… hey, you didn’t hardly let me see anything!”

Shirley Jo looked back, grinned, and continued on without a word.

Monroe stood in the road with a busted bicycle and messed-up mind.

Girls! Now I see why we men have to drink whiskey! At least I still got one lousy apple.

Monroe pulled the lone apple from the bag and took a bite.

Pa-tooey! A worm!

Monroe threw the wormy apple as far as he could.

Danged apples! Why’d I even steal ’em? All it got me was a bashed-to-pieces bicycle and hornswoggled by a goat-ridin’ girl! A girl! Why, I didn’t even want to see her ol’ thigh!

Monroe continued down the road, fussing, spitting, and kicking at small rocks.

Uh-oh. Here comes somebody runnin’ up the road, rollin’ a hoop. I really ain’t in the mood to talk to nobody, or even look at ’em.

“Hey, Monroe!” hollered Missy Bottoms, well before he could see the whites of her eyes. Kicking her hoop into the ditch, she came to a skidding halt right in front of him. Breathing hard and wiping away sweat, she looked at the bike and said, “Good Golly, Monroe Pennibaker, what in tarnation happened to your bicycle?”

“Oh, it got smashed up by some mean kids.”

“Well, shoot fire!” she cried. “Did you box their danged ears?”

“I would’ve, but couldn’t get to ’em before they run off.”

“Those cowards!” snarled Missy. “Looks like they didn’t ruin  the seat, though.”

Monroe told her, “Yeah, the seat looks okay. Ain’t gonna do me much good without a bike underneath it.”

“I gotta bike up at the barn without no seat on it. Can I have it?”

Monroe told her, “Yeah, sure. I don’t mind.”

“Weeeee!” giggled Missy, jumping up and down. “Come on; we’ll cut across the field!

Missy ran to the barbed wire fence, bent down and crawled through, exposing her very pink panties in the process.  “Come on, follow me!” she hollered. Monroe did just that, staying very close, in fact, as she crawled through three more fences before reaching the barn.

Once inside, she told him, “It’s up in the loft. You stay here while I climb up and get it.”

Monroe tried to act like a gentleman. “You want me to do it?”

“Nah, I’m plenty stout enough. I’ll lower it down to you, though.”

By the time Missy had gone up the ladder, lowered her seat-less bike down to him, then backed herself down, Monroe’s eyes were half out of their sockets. Continuing the work at hand, she grabbed a wrench, bent over and removed the seat from Monroe’s busted bike. Of course it had to be installed on her bike, so she gave Monroe another eyeful while doing that. Finished with the job, Missy stood back and admired her work.

“Don’t it look neat, Monroe?”

Silence.

“Monroe? Why are ye breathin’ like that? A-and there’s somethin’ wrong with your eyes.” Grabbing his hand, she told him, ” You look like a goggle-eye perch that laid up on the bank too long! C’mon, I’ve got to get you down to the creek and cool you off! ” Limp-kneed and wobbling, Monroe followed her as ordered.

“This ain’t no time for modesty!” she cried, and stripped him down to his skivvy drawers.

Missy got him in the water and began sloshing him up and down. Monroe moaned, “I think you might need to take off that… that dress of yours, too.”

Half an hour later, Monroe arrived home and dragged himself through the front door.

His mother looked up from her soap opera and said, “Geez, you look rough. Did you have a hard day?”

“Yeah, a little bit.”

Adjusting her glasses, she asked him, “And how’d you get that black eye?”

“Pickin’ apples.”