My favourite fruit. Since Ardbeg’s death they have never tasted the same, though. We used to eat them together, I had to peel one for him and he was happily munching on the crunchy flesh. So loud that my husband would come from another room just to see it. Every time I picked an apple Ardbeg was there, ready for his snack. I miss this extra sense of his, I miss sharing my apples, I miss feeling whole with his constant presence around me.
I needed this introduction, even if it’s still weirdly hard to even mention his name. But the significance of the fact that Brian likes apples can only be understood with the preface.
No fruit bowl is safe again. Oh, the joy of watching Brian stealing an apple and attacking it fiercely with his young teeth. The overpowering sensation of warmth, safety, pure happiness. I can laugh till my belly hurts again, all the shattered pieces fell into place, I have found me again.
And my signature saying can be used again, slightly modified but true nonetheless: There’s an Alex for every Brian (and a Brian for every Alex)