The Real Deal (go back »)

It was evening. We all sat in silence. Fred to my left, dipping a Chicken McNugget into some barbecue sauce. Ace next to him, munching on a Big Mac while looking at the table. Raymond next to him, who had finished eating and was wiping his mouth with a napkin. Umberto was dipping his hand into some French Fries, a solemn expression on his face. George’s hand bumped into May’s as they both reached for the bottle of Coke. She looked away. He took the bottle. Matthew finished his cup of Sprite and searched his McDonalds bag for another Cheeseburger.

I got up to turn on the television and browsed a few channels. Nothing interesting. I turned it off and sat back down. A second later Jessica got up to turn it back on, leaving it on a cartoon and sitting back on her seat. Joshua looked into his McDonalds bag, narrowed his eyes and crunched it up. Karl offered him some nuggets. He accepted.

We were soon all done eating. The cups and containers lay on the table in a mess, along with spilt sauces and juices. Eyes were half closed and legs were spread. Tissues were wrinkled into balls like art. We all sat in silence, looking at each other, slowly digesting fast food. The television was still on, playing the cartoon.

Fred suggested we order more. Marlene got up and left the living room, telling us to wait. We heard her ruffle around in her bag. Then we heard the wrinkling of plastic bags. She came back with a smile. She set four big bags on the table. Immediately we smelled stir-fried noodles in black bean sauce, sweet and sour sauce with fried rice, and curry sauce with shredded duck.

There were some oohs and ahhs. Six pairs of lips asked the same question to Marlene at the same time. Bodies leaned forward with hungry eyes and smiles spread across faces. The table was cleared of empty cups and wrappers as we prepared ourselves for more food. McDonalds had been the appetizer. Chinese was the main course. This unexpected yet pleasant surprise brought life on the table. Conversations sprang up faster than the takeaway containers were distributed. The sounds of the television were soon drowned by sounds of talking and laughing.

We thanked Marlene for her resourcefulness. She thanked us for thanking her.

Then we sat in silence. Fred again to my left, chopsticking some vermicelli into his mouth. Ace next to him, gobbling up the chicken fried rice like a dog. Raymond next to him, biting into a sweet and sour chicken ball coated with sweet and sour sauce. Umberto putting a chopstickful of noodles into his mouth, grease on his chin. George handed May the bottle of Coke. Matthew frowned at his empty takeaway container; he’d finished earlier than he’d wished.

 It seemed nobody watched the cartoon. I got up to turn it off. Jessica got up, her mouth full, ho fun leaving her chopsticks to splatter on Joshua. I listened to her muffling, looked at her shaking head and moving hands, and understood she wanted the television left on. Both I and Jessica sat back down while Joshua flicked the ho fun off him. Karl offered him some tissue. He accepted.

The main course took longer to finish than the appetizer. We reached the bottom of our containers, and sighed. Chopsticks and scraps lay scattered here and there. An empty bottle of Coke lay sideways. We were slouching on our chairs, our stomachs full like air in a balloon, our eyes unable to focus.

Nobody said a word. Nobody moved. Except for the rising of our chests and the blinking of our eyes, we were dead.

The cartoon on television ended. Another started.

The doorbell rang. On its third ring we stirred. I carried myself to the door. It was the pizza delivery man. He was lost and asked if this was Merchant Street. I looked at the 24” pizza box in his left hand, a real monster. I was about to say no, that he needed to turn the corner and keep going straight, but I nodded, saying this was the right address and, my nostrils quivering from the pizza’s irresistible aroma, paid him the money.

There were no ahhs and oohs when I returned to the table. Everyone looked as if they were about to collapse. A few shook their heads at the sight of more food. But desert was a necessity. I opened the pizza box. The smell swept across the table, making our eyes lust and our mouths water. We knew then that it was too late. It no longer mattered whether or not we were hungry or full. To hell with McDonalds and chinese. This was the real deal.

In Short Stories and Really Short Stories