The Pizza Guy from Silver Springs
Work. Home. Work. Home. Work. Home.
These had been the two hells
that he had burned in for the last
three days and the smothering smell
of loneliness and tomato paste was enough
to throw him over the bridge down the
street that crossed Highway 40 and turned
into Silver Springs Road.
He walked in the sweltering Florida heat
wearing his black uniform,
and listened as the cars seemed to scream
over the almost unbearably loud music
he
listened
to. This was how he got his anger out.
Through the fifteen minute walk between
home and work
home and work
home and work
during an eight hour-shift day
as head chef.
As a pizza guy.
He hated pizza. He hated it more
than he hated the smell of loneliness
that took over him in his little dark
apartment. The 90 degree weather outside
his door was only comforting when his face
became numb and the taste of mango
smoke filled his lungs along with the skunky
smell of dried illegal leaves.
The electricity bill was over due yet he
still played his video games and left all the lights on
because it made him feel like she was still there,
and she was still going to yell at him for
using so much power
and then he would say sorry, walk around
with his eyes closed because he knew that
one bedroom apartment like he knew
the line of scars over her right thigh,
and when he went back to their small couch,
the only sounds are
the paused screen on the television,
she would be waiting for him with open arms
and she would demand he give her five minutes of
the video game.
It was past midnight on a Tuesday and he had made over
two hundred pizzas,
it was some school fundraiser night,
and his knuckles were dried and crusty
from the seasoning that irritated his skin,
and he could suddenly hear the screeching
of tires.
He turned to look over his shoulders as the three headlights
grew closer and closer,
the engines pushing the vehicles faster and faster
down Silver Springs Road.
The heat must have gotten to his head because
suddenly he was walking
in the road, in the direction that the cars were coming
and one of them laid down on the
horn just as he wished to lay down on the road
and wished for the car to just drive him away
from every pain that racked his body.
It screamed louder than the screams
in his music and suddenly
the music was replaced with that stupid little
ringtone she had set up for him three months ago
so he would know it was specifically her calling and would know
to pick up instantly.
The cars whizzed past him, some business man shouting
for him to watch where he walked.
The pizza guy, still dressed in his dusty blacks,
clicked the small green button to answer the call
and her silly, drunken voice played through like
the most beautiful drum solo that had ever
touched his ears.
"Hey, baby. I'll be home in two days. Having
fun at home by yourself? You should invite
one of the guys over. I hope you didn't leave
the bathroom light on again. I love you. I'll
see you in two days, okay?"
He tells her he loves her more, and she just laughs,
too drunk to ever remember the conversation that
saved his life and saved her from relapsing back into
old, nasty habits.
He goes home, and sure enough, he left the
bathroom light on again.
But it is his beacon of hope because in
two days she will be back, and the smell
of loneliness and tomato paste won't
be so bad.
These had been the two hells
that he had burned in for the last
three days and the smothering smell
of loneliness and tomato paste was enough
to throw him over the bridge down the
street that crossed Highway 40 and turned
into Silver Springs Road.
He walked in the sweltering Florida heat
wearing his black uniform,
and listened as the cars seemed to scream
over the almost unbearably loud music
he
listened
to. This was how he got his anger out.
Through the fifteen minute walk between
home and work
home and work
home and work
during an eight hour-shift day
as head chef.
As a pizza guy.
He hated pizza. He hated it more
than he hated the smell of loneliness
that took over him in his little dark
apartment. The 90 degree weather outside
his door was only comforting when his face
became numb and the taste of mango
smoke filled his lungs along with the skunky
smell of dried illegal leaves.
The electricity bill was over due yet he
still played his video games and left all the lights on
because it made him feel like she was still there,
and she was still going to yell at him for
using so much power
and then he would say sorry, walk around
with his eyes closed because he knew that
one bedroom apartment like he knew
the line of scars over her right thigh,
and when he went back to their small couch,
the only sounds are
the paused screen on the television,
she would be waiting for him with open arms
and she would demand he give her five minutes of
the video game.
It was past midnight on a Tuesday and he had made over
two hundred pizzas,
it was some school fundraiser night,
and his knuckles were dried and crusty
from the seasoning that irritated his skin,
and he could suddenly hear the screeching
of tires.
He turned to look over his shoulders as the three headlights
grew closer and closer,
the engines pushing the vehicles faster and faster
down Silver Springs Road.
The heat must have gotten to his head because
suddenly he was walking
in the road, in the direction that the cars were coming
and one of them laid down on the
horn just as he wished to lay down on the road
and wished for the car to just drive him away
from every pain that racked his body.
It screamed louder than the screams
in his music and suddenly
the music was replaced with that stupid little
ringtone she had set up for him three months ago
so he would know it was specifically her calling and would know
to pick up instantly.
The cars whizzed past him, some business man shouting
for him to watch where he walked.
The pizza guy, still dressed in his dusty blacks,
clicked the small green button to answer the call
and her silly, drunken voice played through like
the most beautiful drum solo that had ever
touched his ears.
"Hey, baby. I'll be home in two days. Having
fun at home by yourself? You should invite
one of the guys over. I hope you didn't leave
the bathroom light on again. I love you. I'll
see you in two days, okay?"
He tells her he loves her more, and she just laughs,
too drunk to ever remember the conversation that
saved his life and saved her from relapsing back into
old, nasty habits.
He goes home, and sure enough, he left the
bathroom light on again.
But it is his beacon of hope because in
two days she will be back, and the smell
of loneliness and tomato paste won't
be so bad.