I was told I would have a “small part,” but that was my only line? “Apples?”
Never mind, Melanie, I told myself as I drove home from the set after a hot, sunny day of filming. You are going to be the best apples-sayer there is. Make those apples proud.
I stood in front of my mirror, chin up, smile on my face ready to rehearse my line.
“Apples.” I stated.
“Apples?” I asked the mirror.
“Apples!!!” I yelled, self-amused by my reflection.
“Aaaaapllles. APP-les. a-PPLES.”
All of a sudden, my husband appeared in the mirror with me. I could see his angry eyes behind me as he stood in the doorway of his office. He held the phone up to his ear in one hand and extended his other arm dramatically to question why I would possibly be shouting at fruit while he was clearly on an important call.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
As Andrew walked back into his office, I skipped over to the fruit bowl in our kitchen, lifted a bright red apple to my lips, and kissed it.
The school year rolled around quickly burying the sun-filled days of filming in a rainy fog, but I had not forgotten about the movie. I may have been the only person to sign up for the part of “teacher 3”, but I was the first teacher at Green Lakes High to be in a big Hollywood production. I wanted people to see it.
So, I got creative in advertising.
10.1.11. The day the movie opened in theaters.
Therefore, 10.1.11. The first three answers on my geometry class’s first quiz.
And consequently, 10.1.11. The subject line of an email that I sent to my family, friends, and co-workers.
Before long, I found myself scrambling to get out of bed on a rainy Saturday when “10.1.11.” displayed on my alarm clock.
“Wow, that’s really it,” I said while taking a picture of the billboard in front of the entrance of our local theater. I wanted to have proof to show my two-year-old daughter, Sophia, that her mom was once a big deal.
The theater slowly filled with a motley crew composed mostly of people from my email list and my students. After 13 commercials, the opening scene began to play, and I beamed with excitement for my appearance.
An hour and 48 minutes went by before I found myself staring blankly at the credits.
“Great movie, huh!”Andrew said as the credits rolled.
“Andrew, I wasn’t in it,” I squeaked. I had never made such a humiliating mistake.
I walked to the front of the theater and got everyone’s attention.
“Hi, everyone. I don’t really know what to say…”
“It was great!” One of my students, Henry, shouted.
“We all saw the back of your head in that one scene with that one celebrity!” my mom exclaimed.
“Really?” I said mostly to myself. But why did I not say “Apples?”
As it turns out, there was actually an answer to that question even though for once in my life I almost wish there would not have been a logical explanation.
“Congratulations,” Rob, the film teacher at my school, said to me as we filtered out of the theater. “Sorry you got the pity part.”
The answer.
“The part that’s given to extras so that they will feel useful,” Rob continued.
“The directors know they can’t get smart people like you to take the job any other way,” he said while playfully hitting me on the shoulder and walking away out the door.
And there it was again, but this time featuring me almost losing my balance as his words hit me both literally and physically.
“Am I really that obvious?” I asked an astonished and underlyingly amused Andrew.
“Melanie,” he replied. “You googled ‘famous mathematicians who liked apples’ the day I found you screaming at the mirror.”
He was right. I laughed hysterically at my pathetic attempt to discover what I thought was character development. I was a textbook case for dorky teacher and we both knew it.
Ten years later, Sophia would put the red “my mother” card into the pile in a family game of apples to apples. It won for the category of “famous,” as a joke, but I was beyond satisfied.
“How about them apples?” I said to Andrew across the table and we all shared a good laugh.
I think that was the best way I have ever said it.