Fruits Forbidden

Mom always says ‘Cherish every new morning, because most don’t live to see it.’ But when it comes to Sundays, I could never. I sighed in exhaustion; the cheap “blackout” curtains barely kept the morning sun from peeping inside my room. Every Saturday I slept with the hope that the next morning would be cold and dark and comforting, but no. That could never happen to me. “Wake up, May, and stop grumbling like an old hag! It’s already late enough, and I need to leave for my shift!” my mom’s voice echoed from across the hall. I thought her shift was in the afternoon today? “Ugh…” I tried to move my body, but to no avail. I still had a lot of sleep to catch up with. “Just five minutes, Ma!” I pulled the blanket back over my face. “No no no no no–” The blanket was pulled off me, the cool warmth replaced with the heat of the sun. “Ten times, you’ll say the same thing only! I have to leave and if you don’t wake up now, you’ll sleep until I come back home tomorrow.” “Arey mumma, I’ll wake up after you leave, no? Pakka.” The whole world knew—it was an empty promise. “I am so going to hit you with my slipper if you don’t wake up now–” she growled and smacked my foot playfully, having zero effect with her hollow threats. “—besides, weren’t you going for that football practice thing today?” That woke me up for good. s**t. “One day I’m going to hire that boy just for waking you up on Sundays.” My mom giggled, her dark curls bouncing off her warm tanned skin. Just gorgeous. “I’m gonna leave now. Bye!” and skipping down with her shoes in her hand, she was gone. I looked outside the window. It would have been 9am or something. I shrugged, I had more than an hour to fix my bed, lie around and eat till I was stuffed. I brushed my teeth, pushing all of my hand muscles to work faster than the speed they had assumed. I would lose in a race with ‘Flash, Flash Hundred-yard dash’. After finishing my business, I skidded down the stairs towards the kitchen. After fracturing a couple of my bones on these railings over the past years, I could now be called a pro at stair-sliding. As my feet touched the wood flooring of my living room, the bell rang. Just when I was about to get some food. Begrudgingly, I dragged myself towards the door, ready to cuss out whoever was on the other side of the door. When I opened the door, an angry man stood in front of me, his eyes tauntingly ablaze. I gulped, already aware that I was in for a scolding. “Whatever it is you think I did, I didn’t!” I defended myself, eyes flinching and hands up in surrender. “Oh, but you did.” He scowled, arms crossing. “You forgot, didn’t you?” Of course I did, but he didn’t need to know that. “I didn’t! I even got dressed so that you won’t have to wait! See?” My Mr. Peabody and Sherman printed pajamas were proof enough for him. He raised a brow. It’s the thought that counts, right? “That’s your pajama top.” He deadpanned. Who even was I kidding? This boy knew me like the back of his hand; my best friend in the whole world. I couldn’t lie even if I tried hard. It’s not like I was too good of a liar anyway. “Yeah, but I was dressed in my head! You know how hard it is to convince my mind to do something this draining on a Sunday.” Clever reason, May. Daniel sighed; he knew that too. “You missed my practice anyway; so now get your stuff done before we leave to go see Mom.” “No I didn’t?” The football practice began at 10, so I was pretty sure I had a lot of time— I glanced at the hallway clock. “It's three?!” Figures how mom left for the hospital. “Are you going to stand there staring at the clock all day or move it out of here?” Daniel, who was probably sick of my shenanigans, finally got me to shut my gaping mouth. “Tch, of course not! What do you take me for?” I huffed, rushing towards the kitchen, stuffing three cold pancakes in my mouth at once. I should really learn to use my Sundays productively instead of sleeping it all off. But sleeping’s nice too. “You can eat later, you monster!” He laughed at my miserable attempt at swallowing the food all at once. I had grossly miscalculated how much I could fit in my mouth. Crumbs fell as I spoke, but I still spoke. “Jusht a second! I am olmosht done!” “I am going to count till 60, and then I am going to leave you here to rot by yourself. ” He declared, smug, knowing I would always want to beat a challenge he put up for me. I did not like losing, and he knew that well. Clever Bastard. I looked at the second hand ticked away from 2 towards 3 on the wall clock and ran, planning to wear whatever I first landed on—No time to waste. Luckily, I found some clean clothes. I pulled my mustard Ms Marvel T-shirt over my head and dashed downstairs, still squeezing into some black tights. I pulled my hair up in a ponytail, no brushes or combs—I knew it was a waste of time—not to forget that I was on the clock. He was still counting his 50s when I stomped towards him. Disbelieving but still proud of myself, I smiled smugly at him. “Don’t be too glad, this is the second time I’m counting.” I pouted and he laughed. “Very funny, Nellie.” We always had weird nicknames for each other growing up, but somehow Nellie stuck, because no one in the world would call Daniel ‘Nellie’. It was my thing, our thing. He was Nellie and I was Mavey. “It really was funny.” He patted my head in a patronizing manner. “Don’t touch my artistic hair, tinkle monkey.” I teased jokingly, pulling him out and locking the door behind me.