The Apple Doesn't Fall Far from the Tree
The Apple Doesn't Fall Far from the Tree
I slowly walk into the room, careful not to disturb the deathly silence that fills the air. Everything looks the same, yet is completely different. The bed is the same bed that I used to climb into whenever I had nightmares not too long ago. The same plain dark blue cover on that bed. The same window overlooking the orchard that has been in our family for years. The same flowing cerulean curtains bordering the window. The same pictures of happy smiling ponies decorate the walls. Birthdays, the day my little sister Apple Bloom was born, family reunions, me getting my cast off a few weeks after I decided to try bucking apple trees for the first time, and many others. Why are they smiling; what do they have to be happy about? Don’t they know what is about to happen? Yes, everything is the same, but all of that is about to change. Soon, nothing will ever be the same again.
Granny Smith and Macintosh step aside to let me approach the bed, neither of them willing to look me in the eye. My hooves loudly shuffle across the wooden floorboards as I approach the bed, my head hangs low, my ears flat against the back of my head.
His once strong body has withered away to almost nothing; his once healthy orange coat and crimson mane have lost their luster and have become matted with cold sweat, wrapped tightly around his bones. He looks as if he is trying to hide his pain, but is failing at doing so. I have never seen him so weak. Not even that time a few harvest seasons back when he had to buck the whole orchard all on his own. His chest slowly rises and falls with each shallow breath.
His eyes open, and he gives me a small smile. As I try to smile back, he takes my hoof in his and whispers, “Now Sugarcube, you take care of them, you hear?” I finally manage to give a trembling smile at his pet name for me as he nods towards the other three ponies in the room. “Watch out for your brother, you know how he’s not exactly the most sociable of ponies.” He tries to let out a small chuckle, but only manages to wince in pain.
My voice begins to shake as I try to hold back the tears, “Yes, Papa, I will.”
All is silent for a moment except for the occasional sniffle that comes from behind, and the shallow breathing that come from in front of me. It takes all I have not to break down in tears right there in front of everypony I love, but that isn’t the Apple way. We stay strong, no matter what life throws at us. Whether it’s a swarm of fruit bats that costs us half of the season’s apple profit, a broken leg, so that we all have to work harder, or the passing of a loved one, we keep moving forward. It’s just what we do.
Eventually, I can’t stand the silence anymore; I have to say something, so I say what I know everypony wants to.
“Please don’t go, Papa, we need you. The farm needs you. I need you.”
“Everything has its time, Sugarcube, as does everypony. Your mother had hers,” I cringe at the memory of that day that seems not so long ago. The goodbye I never had the chance to say. He continues, “And I have mine.”
With a shaking hoof, he reaches over to the bedpost where his brown Stetson hat, his most prized possession after his family and the farm, always hangs and takes a hold of it. He holds onto it tightly for a moment and stares at it, thinking, remembering, and smiling. Then he slowly takes the hat and places it atop my head. I look at him with wide questioning eyes; questions that need not be voiced.
“You’re in charge now, Sugarcube.”
He takes my face in his hoof, and I rub my cheek against it, staining his coat with tears. His emerald eyes look into mine; everypony is always telling me that I have his eyes. He whispers, “I love you, Applejack, I always have…” his words trailed off.
“And you always will.” I finished the familiar expression. “I love you too, Papa.”
He smiles as his hoof loosens, and then falls onto the bed.
There is silence, complete and utter silence. Nopony dares to move, or even breath.
Suddenly, there is a sound. I don’t know how long it takes for me to realize that it’s the sound of my own crying. I collapse onto the bed, sobbing, no longer caring what the others thought of me.
I have no idea how long I am there until I finally quiet down enough to lift my head and look around, I see that everypony else has left to give me some time alone. It’s just me and the empty shell that used to be my father. No, he still is my father, he always will be.
Since nopony else is there, I start to cry some more when I hear a noise coming from the other room. It’s crying, but not my own this time. No, this time it’s coming from my sister Apple Bloom. She is still young enough to not understand what just happened. I just hope that I’m not the one that will have to explain it to her when she starts asking questions.
Without looking back, I walk out of the room and down the hallway, pausing in front of the door to Apple Bloom’s room. I trot over to her crib and look in to see a tear-stained face, much like my own. I wipe away my tears with the back of my hoof and try to smile.
As I pull a chair closer to the crib I say, “Sugarcube, I have a story to tell you. It’s about the strongest, bravest, most loving stallion that ever lived.”
