Apples: Part IISince the apple didn't fall far from the tree, he too felt bound by the same fate: parties, drama, dancing, celebrity, romance, heartache, and
lots of rebellion.
Until something happened, to change all of that.
Sinjon: "You were out all night, drinking mixed drinks and partying!?"
Devon: "But Gramps, I was just--"
Sinjon: "No excuses! I expected better of you, Devon. You're turning out just like your mother."
And that was the last thing his grandfather ever told him. They never got the chance to reconcile.
Sinjon just stepped out of the shower one day and felt a little light-headed.
And just like that, he was gone.
Just an ordinary day, just an ordinary shower, and then . . . an afterlife? nothingness?
Grandma Gwenyth says the dead remain, that they speak to us if we will listen. That didn't seem to stop her from feeling loss.
He wanted to make some sense of it all.
He tried to hear the voices Grandma Gwenyth spoke about, but they were silent. There was only one voice he could hear, saying the words over and over.
You're turning out just like your mother.No offense to her but, what if he didn't
want to be like his mother? I mean, she was great and everything, but sometimes her life was just a little
too exciting, you know? I mean, what if he wanted to be like someone else? Or only be be like certain parts of his family? Or be someone completely different?
Alone in his room, listening to music, a sudden memory came back to him.
A present Gramps had given him on his birthday.
Sinjon: "Don't think I have noticed that little ditty you keep whistling, kiddo."
Devon: "Huh?"
Sinjon: "I think you'll enjoy it. Go on, try out those strings."
He made a decision: no more parties, no more late night antics. Just music.
As they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
But who's to say it's got to stay there?
This one's for you, Gramps.