What a Metaphor

I wasn't suppose to eat the grapes from the vine outside of our house, especially that first summer. But I couldn't help myself, just like my father couldn't help himself in "testing" the grapes in the supermarket when we went to town.

So I picked the plumpest one and popped it into my mouth. I had long learned the art of savoring food not often given. Even though I couldn't taste beyound the skin of the grape, I held it in my mouth and rolled it around as long as I could. No one was watching; no one knew.

With my back teeth, I finally punctured a hole in the skin and began to suck out the green "meat" of the grape. When I finally got down to the seed, my tongue felt something strange . . . something tight and coiled . . .

I quickly spat it out in the grass, in front of everyone, and saw the grey worm wrapped around the heart of the fruit.