Anyone Can Paint an Apple

"Anyone can paint an apple," said Pablo Picasso. The question is, are you a true artist? Can you paint an apple that is hanging from a tree, a tree that holds a tree house belonging to a sad little girl whose parents are constantly fighting?

What a challenge it would be to paint such an apple, an apple with a message, a story. Try to imagine such an image, an image of Eve sitting in her tree house with her dolls, coloring books, and watercolor paint set.

It was her sanctuary. She went there to escape from the turmoil--the yelling and screaming, with occasional bursts of broken glass and furniture. Her sweet almond eyes teared up as she desperately tried to lose herself in her world of make believe. Her parents' screams pounded at the door of her tree house, trying to break it down to gain admittance. But fortunately, the sounds started to fade and grew more distant.

A gust of wind through the window caught her golden locks off guard. She turned her head and peered out. What did she see? Why, a lonesome apple hanging on a branch at the end of a limb: red, ripe and ready to fall--a perfect metaphor to describe the way she felt.

It was hours since breakfast and she hadn't had lunch. Last time her parents fought, they lost track of time and space, and completely forgot to make any lunch or dinner. It could happen again, she pouted.

That red, ripe apple was looking mighty delicious, and it smelled delicious, too--her sense of smell heightened by her pangs of hunger.

She gingerly entered the world outside her tree house and crawled out onto the limb, inching closer to the apple. Sticky sap stained her hands and hand-me-downs. She's almost upon it..."Please don't eat me..." What? Was that the whispering wind? --she thought, gasping under her breath.

"Don't eat me, OK? It is--"

"Are you talking...t-t-to me?" she stuttered.

"Yes I am," said the apple. "As I was saying, it is bad enough that I am ripe and about to fall, proving Isaac Newton right once again, but if you take a bite out of me, that would be a super drag. I don't think I could be your friend after that."

"Oh," she said, "that would be drag, and I could use a friend right now, but I'm so hungry."

"Well then, lick the sap off your hands. That should tide you over until your parents order takeout."

"Eew!"

"Sorry, " said the apple, "that's all I could think of. Anyway, you shouldn't eat me. You might turn into a toad. Yeah...yeah... that's the ticket! You'll turn into a toad--"

"Don't worry. I won't eat you. After all, you are special: you're a talking apple! I can hardly believe it!"

"If I were you, I'd keep my voice down, and don't be telling people you talk to apples."

"Oh yes, I see your point. The kids at school already make fun of me. Why give them yet another reason?"

"Exactamundo! My name is Dave, by the way. What's yours?"

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Dave. My name is Eve."

"Huh? You're kidding, right?"

"(Giggle) No I'm not, but I can't eat you now because I want to paint you with my watercolor paints. Do you think you can hold perfectly still for hours at a time?"

"Uh...yeah...uh huh."

And so, Eve excitedly set out to paint not just another apple, but an apple her imagination brought to life, an apple that spoke to her and took her mind off her tumultuous family life. She was a true artist, and for her, painting Dave was as easy as apple pie.

"APPLE PIE?!!!!"

Whoops! sorry, Dave, that didn't come out right. As I was saying, Eve was a true artist, and her painting immortalized Dave. Dave now hangs in a museum, red, ripe and ready for all to see. (OK, the painting is really hanging on the wall of Eve's tree house, but I like happy endings, don't you? Besides, Eve's parents finally stopped fighting and ordered Pizza! Yum! Yum!)