The Apple

I left the coffee shop with my hands full: hot cross buns, two apples, and a skinny latte. I breathed in the cool, crisp Autumn air I had been longing for in the previous hot, unwelcome March days. The sun was barely risen. You could see rays of light just poking out of the clouds.

I stepped off the pathway and stranded in front of the drivers side of my husbands big blue Civic. I missed the keyless entry of my Jazz, where I can juggle so many items while also struggling with a wriggling baby. I placed my coffee on top of the roof of the car and caught a whiff of it's roasted aroma as the breeze drifted past me.

I held the keys in my left hand, the groceries in the other. I flipped around for the big, black key on the keyring laden with industrial counters and office keys on the single keyring that had no lanyard like my own.

Suddenly, everything went into slow motion as an apple, a Pink Lady, fell from my hand. The pink lady, the most expensive of the apples at Coles. The brand I decided over a Fuji, I considered a treat being an extra dollar, the whole $5.90 a kilo. I screamed, "no!" as it hit the ground.

I looked to see if anybody was watching. I looked back into the coffee shop in dispair to see if anybody had seen the tragedy unfold. But their cares were none less than serving the customers their morning medicine.

I bent down and picked up the apple. The asphalt had imprinted its once crisp skin, which now bounced and squished under my index finger.

 And this is what happens when I make the effort to be healthy...