Forbidden Fruit

They call it “misophonia” – when the sound of people eating induces disgust, repulsion, or even rage.

People tell me I suffer from it with apples, especially on the commuter trains when there’s no escape from the slow, sloshy, crunch of someone taking a deep bite and then masticating with the juices from the fruit from which all sin came.

Indeed, apples should be forbidden. Newton would agree. Healthy? No! Even doctors keep away!

Apples are an enemy attack on my senses. I wish I was brave enough to defend myself with the orange.

The orange – sweet and simple. Named after its fragrance; a fragrance that would reach the other passengers in my train carriage and make their mouths water. They’d crave what I have!

They’d watch me peel the dimpled skin and place it on a napkin. Great taste comes to those who prepare well, and the orange awaits like a present wrapped in its pithy wool.

I'd delight in their horror as they watch me scrape the fluffy pith with my fingernails, and then pick out the bits that got caught underneath. Heck, maybe I’d even bite my nails, give them a good chew, just to make it last longer!

I hold my naked orange aloft, like a priest with a Communion chalice, so that everyone can see what I’ve prepared - and will enjoy in a few precious moments.

I part the segments and place them ready in a Tupperware tub ready for eating. No! This is orange ammunition! Each segment is loaded with juice, and some are Easter eggs with a special hidden something inside.

I tear apart a segment, juice running down my wrist and dribbling off my elbow. I have what I sought – the pip. I hold it between my thumb and forefinger. So small, so slippery, so… it 'escapes' from my hand!

It arcs upwards before gravity takes hold of this little weapon, and brings it down towards the apple cruncher.

Bullseye! He stops chewing his apple and looks around. Nobody notices. I do, of course, but I’m pretending to be busy wiping the sticky juice from my arms.

The train stops, and so does my dreaming. Mr Apple cruncher leaves. I relax and I return to my book in sensory peace as the train pulls away.

I hear something; the pop of a Tupperware lid.

Paul Sterlini
Sep 14 2020

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Just brilliant!

Rod Webb
Sep 16 2020