Forbidden Fruit: An Unlikely Love Story

by Michelle Fondin

  “Has anyone here ever watched the show?” Jeremy asked.

  Again everyone nodded in agreement.

  “Does it appear that the audience is much bigger on TV than what you see here?”

  One obnoxious student shouted out, “Yes!”

  “Thank you,” said Jeremy. “That’s because we have a special way to pan the audience with our camera and it appears that we have more people here than we really do. To add to the mystery of television,” Jeremy continued,” you’re going to help me when you clap. When my assistant holds up the clap sign, everyone is going to clap double time. So that way, it sounds like more people are clapping. Let’s give it a try.”

  Jeremy’s assistant held up the ‘clap’ sign and the studio audience clapped very fast.

  “Great job! Now let’s practice again. I’m going to introduce the hosts of our show and you are going to clap fast and loud. Please welcome the hosts of Talk with America Today, John Cleaver and Sonia Bloom!” Jeremy shouted.

  The audience clapped like mad. A few minutes later, the show started, and Jeremy introduced them again but this time on air. It was magical. Marissa was awe-struck with all of the lights, cameras and most of all, the glamour of being on stage.

  “We’d like to welcome you to Talk with America Today,” announced John Cleaver. “We thank our studio audience for being here and we’d like to give special thanks to a group of journalism students from St. Mary’s High School for joining us today.”

  The audience clapped and the camera panned the students who instinctively looked up at their images in the monitors.

  Sonia Bloom spoke next in a serious journalistic tone, “A few days ago, Margaret Thatcher was quoted in the Washington Post as saying quote We are not in a Cold War now, but in a relationship much wider than the Cold War ever was end quote. Our question for you today is, “Is the Cold War over?” If you have any questions or comments, please call in by dialing the number on your screen. And for our studio audience, we will be taking your questions in a few minutes. But first, our White House correspondent will comment on the issue…”

  Marissa felt passionate about the issue at hand. She grew up in an era where fear of World War III was very real with the knowledge that the Russians had nuclear missiles pointed toward the United States and vice versa and that just one of those missiles could blow up the world. If the Cold War did end and every country got rid of their missiles, the world would be a much safer place.

  Before she knew it, she had the microphone and was speaking, unafraid, directly into it. “For me, the end of the Cold War would mean that the national budget could be used for constructive things such as ending poverty, quality healthcare or education instead of destructive things like missiles and bombs.” It wasn’t until she sat back down that she felt nervous about being on camera.

  “Very good point from a member of our studio audience,” John Cleaver commented before taking the next person.

  Ms. Prime leaned over to Marissa during the commercial break and said, “Good job! I’m really proud that one of my students spoke out.” Then looking over the rest of her students she said, “Is anyone else going to participate?”

  Harold turned to Ms. Prime and asked, “What’s the Cold War?”

  *****

  Marissa stood in the landing of Nick’s townhouse, shaking snow off her boots. “Hey there,” she smiled at him as she pulled off her scarf. “One good thing about southern Cal is that I won’t have to wear this stuff anymore.”

  The moonlight shone through the front window. Nick was on the couch grading papers. He chewed on his pen and looked up at her, “Guess who saw you on television today?”

  Marissa smirked, “You did? But you were teaching.”

  “No. My mother,” he said gravely.

  “What?” she questioned as her skin turned the shade of the snow.

  “My mother,” Nick uttered more slowly this time. “She called me up tonight and said, ‘Guess who I saw on television? Samira!’ She was really excited.”

  “You’re kidding me right? Because I was sitting with about fourteen other students. Every person around me was a high school student. The host announced that St. Mary’s students were in the studio audience.”

  Nick turned pale this time. “Oh. Well, I don’t think she noticed.”

  “You don’t?” asked Marissa as she slid into the couch beside him.

  “No. She didn’t mention anything. Maybe she missed the beginning of the show.”

  “Maybe,” said Marissa hopeful that Nick’s mother wouldn’t find out the truth through the television screen.

  “So how did it feel being at the television studio?” asked Nick.

  Marissa clasped her hands together. “Wonderful! Oh Nick, it’s so me. I belong there. I belong on stage, in front of the camera. I think I’m destined to be famous.”

  “And I’m sure you will be,” Nick smiled hugging her tightly.

  Marissa hadn’t even step foot in the door when it burst open from the other side.

  “Where have you been?” screamed Barbara.

  Her heart began to beat faster as she tried to think of what to say. “I was at work,” Marissa answered feebly.

  “That is a blatant lie!” Barbara roared. “Tell me where you were?”

  “I was with some friends,” Marissa said making a second attempt at lying.

  “How can I believe that you’re telling me the truth?”

  “I don’t know,” Marissa said quietly.

  “You know you’ve been coming home later and later during the week. I have a hard time believing that it’s work keeping you out this late,” Barbara lectured. “Am I right? Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Marissa, not knowing how much Barbara actually knew, decided in was in her best interest to be a little forthcoming, “No, you’re not wrong.”

  Barbara put her hands on her hips and spoke menacingly, “So where have you been?”

  “I just met somebody. That’s all. I’ve been hanging out with him,” Marissa confessed with the knowledge that she was not ready to give more information than that.

  “Well, who is he?” Barbara gawked in anger.

  Marissa couldn’t trust her. “He’s someone really great.”

  “Who is he?” asked Barbara raising her voice an octave. “Why haven’t I met him?”

  “Because I’m not ready to bring him here,” Marissa said matter-of-factly. Yet inside she was shaking uncontrollably.

  “You are my daughter and you are to obey the rules of this house. You are not to date a boy if I haven’t met him. Especially when he keeps you out past eleven on a school night,” Barbara scolded.

  “Mom, I’m eighteen. I think I can make my own choices,” Marissa yelled back.

  “I repeat. As long as you are under my roof, you are to obey my rules!” Barbara screamed.

  “I’m an adult. Technically I can do what I want,” Marissa snapped.

  “I’m the one supporting you. May I remind you?”

  This time Marissa put her hands on her hips. “So that gives you permission to control me?”

  “I want to you follow the rules and tell me the truth. That’s not controlling you.”

  “The truth?” Marissa screamed. “Tell you the truth? I would love to tell you the truth if I knew you wouldn’t use it against me because you would.”

  “I would do no such thing as long as you are following the rules,” said Barbara haughtily.

  “I want to tell you the truth Mom. I really do. In fact I need to tell you. But you have to consider my own happiness if I tell you,” Marissa pleaded.

  “As long as your happiness includes following the rules, I’ll consider it.”

  Marissa cried, “You are impossible Mother! Is that all you care about, the rules? Don’t you care about me?”

  Upon hearing this, Barbara pulled out her secret weapon. The tears started trickling down her face just like every other time an argument wasn’t going her way. If Marissa had to bet on h
er mother’s next tactic, it would have to be the guilt trip. Barbara would spread the guilt so thick one would have to use a chisel to remove it.

  “I don’t care about you? How could you say that?” Barbara squeaked out through her tears. “I work my fingers to the bone for you and your sister. And this is the thanks I get? How dare you say I don’t care about you?”

  Barbara’s tears never worked on Marissa. In fact, an opposite effect occurred. Marissa felt even more annoyed and despised her mother all the more. “Well, I don’t feel like you care. And that’s what counts right, my feelings about the matter?”

  Wiping her tears Barbara looked up at her daughter, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that teacher would it?”

  Upon hearing those words, the thumping in Marissa’s chest could not have been louder. “What?”

  “That teacher? What is he an art teacher or something?” Barbara questioned as she wove a tissue around in the air.

  In that instant, Marissa decided she would play dumb until the end, “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Mrs. Kowalski phoned me today and told me that I needed to keep an eye on my daughter. And she told me that in the beginning of the school year, you were hanging around the art teacher’s room a lot. But she also told me that other girls hang out in the art room too. She’s afraid he might be flirting with those girls. They are keeping a close eye on him this year. Please don’t tell me that you’re involved in this.”

  Marissa was stunned at the description Mrs. Kowalski had given of Nick. He wasn’t some freak that went after teenage girls. If she could tell Barbara the truth, she would tell her that she pursued Nick and not vice versa. And if girls hung out in the art room, it was because of his looks. If wasn’t his fault he was so good-looking. In her heart, she wanted to defend him. She wanted so much to tell her mom that what Mrs. Kowalski said was a blatant lie. “Involved in what?” Marissa asked meanly.

  “Involved with this art teacher at all,” began Barbara. “I want you to stay away from him, do you hear? He could be dangerous. He could be a pedophile or something. Don’t go near the art room at all!”

  The anger from all of those false accusations boiled in Marissa’s stomach. And yet, she couldn’t say anything.

  Barbara then began spouting off orders like bullets, “And furthermore, you are to be home before eleven on school nights or else you are quitting your job! And you are to present this boy to me before you see him anymore but not on school nights! And you are to stop lying to me! And you are to speak to me in a respectful tone! Do I make myself clear?”

  Finally, Marissa could take it no longer. “First of all, you can’t make me quit my job. I’m eighteen. This is how I’m going to pay for college. Second of all, since you can’t accept the truth, I will continue to lie to you. And third of all, respect is earned Mom, and you certainly don’t deserve my respect!”

  Regaining her composure Barbara announced, “Well, then you can just go move in with your dad. Because I don’t want you here anymore, unless you are willing to follow the rules.”

  “Fine!” Marissa screamed and stomped out of the kitchen.

  She entered her room shaking and full of tears. In a way, this had been the moment she had been waiting for since she could remember. To escape the clutches of Barbara had been her wish and her intent. But some part of her was not only terrified but also sad. The tears that streamed down her face were tears of anger. She wished her family could have been different, more loving and supportive. Part of her wanted her mom to accept her for who she was, to love her unconditionally, the way parents were supposed to love their children. As she threw clothes into a bag, she mourned for the loss of the family she never had.

  “Marissa?” a faint voice called out from the door.

  Marissa started a second bag, more fiercely this time. She wanted to get out of there.

  “Let me in,” the voice called out again.

  Marissa wiped her face on her sleeve then opened the door a crack. Pamela squeezed through the small opening.

  “Quick close the door!” Marissa ordered.

  “What are you doing?” Pamela asked.

  “I’m moving in with Dad.”

  “Why now?”

  “She kicked me out,” Marissa said quickly as she threw books into a plastic bag.

  “It’s like twelve thirty a.m.,” Pamela said sleepily as she squinted at the clock.

  “I know,” answered Marissa impatiently.

  Pamela mouthed to Marissa, “Does she know?”

  “Not really. I mean, I don’t think so. Listen Pam, it’s late, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow at school.”

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving me here,” said Pamela sadly.

  “Pam, I’ll be fifteen minutes away. You’ll see me everyday in school and on the weekends.”

  “It won’t be the same.”

  “I’m sorry O.K.”

  Marissa flung her clothes bag over her shoulder and lifted the plastic bag in between her arms. She marched briskly out her bedroom door, down the hall and into the kitchen where Barbara was still standing. Without so much as a good-bye, Marissa sped right past her and out the front door when Barbara called out, “I called your father. He’ll be waiting for you.”

  Marissa slammed the door as hard as she could. Opening the hatchback of her car, she threw everything inside. Once she got into the driver’s seat, she realized she had forgotten to take her coat. It was freezing. Quickly, she turned on the engine, put the heat on full force and backed out of the driveway.

  At the end of the street, she started to turn right in the direction of her father’s house. But instead, she turned the steering wheel abruptly to the left, making the tires squeal, and headed in the opposite direction.

  Nick had just drifted off to sleep when he heard a soft tapping on the front door. Ignoring the sound, he turned over to his other side dozing until he heard it again. When he had heard the tapping for a third time, he got up from his futon to look out the window. Under the falling snow, he spied the red Rabbit convertible parked on the side of the road. He rubbed his eyes, pulled on a T-shirt and ran down the stairs trying hard not to make too much noise. Upon opening the door, he saw Marissa shivering. Her eyes were red and puffy. She sniffed before she choked out, “I got kicked out of my house.”

  “Just one minute,” Nick said quietly as he closed the door.

  Marissa jumped up and down to get warm as she waited for Nick to come back. A few minutes later, Nick came out of the townhouse, fully clothed and said, “Maybe we should go talk in your car. I don’t want to wake up my roommate.”

  Until four in the morning they talked non-stop about what had happened and what was to come. After which Marissa felt much better and was ready to face moving to her father’s house.

  As Nick kissed her good-bye, Marissa laughed, “We have to be up in three hours for school.”

  “Maybe I won’t sleep,” answered Nick pensively. “Maybe I’ll just meditate for the next three hours. I’ll meet you on The Bridge…”

  Marissa’s father groggily opened the door for his eldest daughter at 4:15 a.m. Without a word, he hugged her and said, “We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Marissa smiled wearily, dragged her feet up the stairs, plopped onto her bed and fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next few weeks passed by in a dreamlike state. After spending eighteen years with her dictatorial mother, Marissa felt liberated from her reign. It was as if she could breathe again. Her father trusted her to go about her business the way she pleased. He generally didn’t keep track of curfews or of the friends she hung out with. He figured that a young woman of eighteen should have the freedom to make her own choices.

  To her father, Nick became her new boyfriend “Mike”, whom she met through a mutual friend. As far as he was concerned, Mike worked at an art gallery, which he did. They omitted the part about Nick being an art teacher.

  Even
though they both suffered from sleep deprivation, they continued to see each other as much as possible after school and work. And it seemed that every time they were together, time flew by and before they knew it, it was two or three in the morning. But addicted to the blissful feeling they had in each other’s presence, the next day they would do it all over again.

  Since Barbara had spoken with her father about Marissa’s excursions after work on school nights, he asked that Marissa come straight home after work during the week. These restrictions put a damper on Marissa’s nightly visits to Nick’s house. So he began coming to her father’s house under the guise of “Mike”.

  Most of the time her dad fell asleep at around ten at night, so he really didn’t get to know Mike as a person.

  On Nick’s side of things, Marissa remained “Samira” to his parents and “Marissa” to everyone else. Once Nick’s mother realized that Nick was dating her seriously, she asked him to bring “Samira” by more often. And so it followed that Marissa went to Nick’s parents’ house the day after Thanksgiving, to make Christmas cookies in December, and to a couple other family events leading up to Christmas. To Marissa’s relief, Nick’s parents were simple people who never dug further into her private life, which would have made their lie even more complicated. Marissa really enjoyed their company and felt like she belonged.

  School almost became a thing of her past, a faint notion of who she was in a previous life. She attended school five days a week but in reality she wasn’t there. She couldn’t relate to anyone around her with the exception of one or two teachers. The life at school became trivial and meaningless. And like most seniors halfway through their last year in high school, Marissa couldn’t wait to get out.

  It was the last day of school before Christmas break. Marissa was anxious to spend more time with Pamela, as they would both be at their father’s house during the holiday.

  “Mail call!” Pamela rang out waving envelopes in the air.

  Marissa heaved Pamela’s heavy duffel bag into the trunk with a grunt. “What do you have in there?”