Just Now

Just now, attempting 

to slice the skin back 

from a small apple,

I find myself totally inept 

at spiraling the epidermis away

in one long helix.

Continuous failure

in short unrelenting segments.

Subtly unpleasant reminders of inadequacy.

Still, I persevere, full knowing

that my blade is dull, and that

having had a keener edge to start with

might have helped to prevail. 

Within this present endeavor, 

a childhood vision is 

released from memory.

Unveiled via the simple touch

of cutting edge to fruit.

There before me sits 

my Great Grandfather,

"Grandpa Jack," and there 

within his hands he holds an apple. 

Lo but by way of a concise 

flay via an ancient jackknife’s blade,

the skin uncoils in an unending strand

to trail down to the ground.

There upon his lips

a faint mischievous smile is present.

Note but such a 

magnificent accomplishment

has not gone without one child’s 

rapt appreciation.

Just now,

I can remember standing alongside him

as he serenely sits in the long back yard

of a home far away from home.

There, a warm Midwest sun baths us

in an angular light

as it arcs towards the horizon.

Grandpa Jack never 

seemed much for words

but rather communicated

through a wrinkling of eyes,

slight tilt of the head, 

or gesture of hand.

Just now, sitting there,

he directs my attention

to a mosquito that has chosen to 

settle upon his gray bristled forearm.

The long proboscis pierces the skin,

and yet Grandpa Jack does nothing 

but look from the small parasite 

over to me and back with that 

same mischievous smile upon his face.

There the mosquito has become

as transfixed as I at this moment,

yet while the insect's state

is due to his gorging on blood;

mine is in how I could ever 

possibly be standing next a man 

of such incredible mettle

as my   Great    Grandfather.

This was male bonding 

in the best possible way.

He now tenses his forearm ever so slightly

and with the proverbial twinkle in his eye,

nonchalantly brings his free hand over

and smears the mosquito

across the surface of his skin,

thus leaving to one small 

   child's amazement

a wet shellac of blood.

Childhood adulation grows 

from the strangest of seeds.

Just now (a later now), 

I sit watching television beside him

and a haze of dust

permits shafts of light to form

through the adjacent windows

and fall across a polished wooden floor.

A few years have past and 

I am older yet still that of a child.

A mere few years have past

and the man sitting beside me

is now simply acknowledged as that

which he is: 

an old man 

who happens to be 

that of a Great Grandfather.

What has been lost?

What separates that which we were

but a few years?

No. It is only I, the child,

that has established the separation.

A young boy's adulation 

has here now dissolved

before the inconvenience

of relating to the elderly.

The twinkle of the eye

does not catch my attention anymore.

The faint mischievous smile

does not communicate its kindred bond.

Words are all he has now

and because of his age,

their utterance comes 

as a muffled whisper.

What he has now 

is a communication requiring 

the effort of translation 

which one small boy 

is unwilling to make.

An effort, which

in comparison to the blare 

and pulsating images from 

the box across the room,

produces no benefit. 

There, just now he has spoken to me.

I turn to inquire as to what,

and again he repeats with a murmur

that remains unintelligible.

I struggle for a few seconds with

the required effort of this interaction,

and that of the television

which stands a short distance away.

Presently, from my lips 

comes the word, "yea."

There, a slight pause and then 

another question is directed toward me.

On the periphery of my vision

I can see the smile.

My response this time amounts to, 

"uh-huh," with a nod and 

then a few seconds later, "yea" again.

How is it possible that this same rapt boy

has become so indifferent?

Could it be that one of the questions 

he asked just now, required a 

response other than yes or no?

Is there not a chance

that I might have just been asked,

"So what did you do in school this week?"

or, "Where's your sister at today?"

and I, the true apple of his eye,

respond with the ultimate dismissive 

of    "yea,     uh-huh." 

There, just now, any return adulation

an old man feels towards a young boy

disintegrates and falls away, for 

there's no worse pain that can 

be inflicted upon the elderly

than to be      ignored. 

Would that I might hear at this moment

what he was saying to me that day.

Would that I had moved that much closer

and listened for one last insight

which was there forever lost

amidst the clatter of noise 

emitting from the box 

across the room. 

All I have is this moment just now,

as I look down to the ground to 

find that ants have set upon

the paring of apple skin 

I have just cut away.

There, just now,

they are devouring my past

as this memory 

devours my heart.

Ó95 Jack David Hubbell