by fleaflyfloo


ESSAY Personal #030


Sometime in the summer of 1954, Kiddo had gotten a lot of apples. He decided to make apple cider out of them. He put them is a rain barrel and let them rot. After smelling that awful rotting smell for a week or two, he put some of the juice in a gallon jug. He took the sample and put it in the refrigerator. When my mother and Kiddo went to town, seven miles away, my curiosity got the best of me.

Now, I liked apple cider, having had some several times before. I looked forward to it with delicious expectation. At last, it was here in the refrigerator.

There were two jars in the refrigerator, one directly behind the other. The one in the front had little pieces of apple floating in it and tasted pretty good. The one behind, however, was a lot clearer and tasted much better. I vaguely wondered how two completely different textures and tastes could come from the same source, but I shrugged it off. I was pretty ignorant at eight years old.

Well, I was at the house all by myself with nothing to do. I decided I’d just taste the apple cider and report back to them how good I thought it was.

When my mother came back, she had to coax me off the roof. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t talk. I was totally messed up. I climbed to the top of the tree by our house, leaning out and raving like an idiot, and taking chances I never would have taken otherwise. I kept trying to talk to her, but I couldn’t understand why the words didn’t seem to come out right. I was drunk.

My mother was so mad at me, I thought she was going to kill me. But she began laughing. She laughed so hard she cried. This was the first time in memory Kiddo actually told mother not to spank me. Mother told me later that Kiddo had put some real wine into a jar so us kids wouldn’t know it was wine, and put it in the refrigerator. He thought we wouldn’t find it. Well, I had drunk about two-thirds of a gallon of the wine he didn’t think I’d find. That wine tasted so much better than the cider.

They bottled up the rest of the cider. It took a long time for me to drink any more of it, but when I finally did, with every sip I kept thinking that it wasn’t nearly as good as the wine in the other jug. No wine ever appeared in our refrigerator again. Mother saw to that. For that matter, no apple cider appeared in our refrigerator for many years.


the wordmaster says:

❝It wasn’t funny to me.❞