The song of sizzle and clang fills the air alongside the sweet scent of sauteed onions, browning meat and melted cheese. A low rumble of murmurings, chomping and satisfied “Mmmmms” embodies the low end of frequencies in the symphony of Dalessandro's. Diego had only ever heard of it, seen it on TV. Next in line he debated filling it up with all the extras or being a purist and only getting it with onions and cheese.
“Next!”
Ooh, that's me. Lemme get a Cheese Steak Hoagie. Straight up.
“Do they say that here? I just want it as it comes. No extras.” he thought to himself.
Without skipping a beat the order was in, he paid and stood to the side in anticipation of filling his belly with one of his bucket list meals. Being able to blink and find himself in a new place had its perks. He could get steamed dumplings from a street side stall in Beijing or a bifana from a counter in Lisbon. All that was decided now was whether or not he was going to try to visit places he'd never been.
“Diego?” The employee shouted offering up happiness in a paper bag. He pulled it into his chest feeling the warmth against his shirt and transferring some of the grease too. It didn't bother him. Some things were worth throwing out a two dollar tee shirt. That just made the sandwich 11 dollars instead of nine.
Bobbing and weaving his way through the swarm of people on this busy Friday afternoon he headed out to the street deciding where to eat. He could take it back home and eat in peace, he could poof to one of his favorite teams' ball parks. Was anyone playing right now? Did it matter? He mulled over some of the foreign countries he'd been or some of the sites along Route 66 he'd seen as a child.
I know where, he muttered as he closed his eyes. Conjuring up in his mind was the playground to the elementary school he attended. It was a fondness he had not remembered having. A nostalgia he didn't realize he harbored. Just before willing himself back home and to that now empty playground (The school was underfunded and held together for years by a few teachers and the principal while their students attended and as soon as they all graduated junior high and moving on to high school, they left and it shut down. He only made it through 5th grade there, but his friendships made good memories.), he looked about and noticed a few people nearby that would absolutely notice a man disappear so he headed off down the street to a more quiet stretch of road. When he felt free from eyes, he blinked and with a poof willed himself back to Jackson Primary School.
The school grounds had seen better days. Leaves and refuse and graffiti littered the exterior of the main building which housed the faculty offices and lowest grades. There were chains on the doors and a few of the windows had been boarded up as a result of some of the stick balls that had been hit from the tiny adjacent field meant for three and four year old children. The older kids didn't mind as it made them feel accomplished smashing home runs into the building. Most of them long gone by now as the population of the quiet suburb dwindled as the children aged and moved away and didn't return to start families.
He made his way to the part of the yard where he remembered recess. Monkey bars, horizontal ladders, tire swings. The monkey bars remained, but there was little else. Where the chains he held so tightly as the other kids took turns spinning him round and round on the trusty tire swing testing his fortitude after lunch, only the clips remained. The ladder had been removed after a girl balancing her way across the top after dark lost her footing, fell to the ground and knocked herself out. She was found hours later still unconscious from the fall. He pulled up next to a bench and pulled his sandwich out. Peeling the wax paper back exposing everything he imagined it would be, he reached in and took the biggest bite his mouth would allow. The juice from the meat slid back on his tongue and the flavor filled his nostrils. Pausing to savor the olfactory experience and not waste a single moment, he slowly chewed through his meal. Eyes closed so as not to distract him he listened to the sounds of the wind playing with the leaves strewn about. The gentle scratching sounds they made as they traversed the cement sidewalks, the creaking of the chains on the traditional swings a few yards away. The steady pounding of his heart even, though he likely felt that more than heard it. Gulping it down his eyes welled up. He opened them up and pinched himself fully expecting to wake up.
My god that's good. I don't deserve this. When's the ball gonna drop already? Am I in a coma? Why me?
He briefly entertained all the doubts that raced through his mind before pushing them down and moving back to his lunch. Second bite in he decides to try and skip a rock or two in the pond over by the junior high building. Gathering up his sandwich he poofs himself over. The sun feels warmer over here for some reason. The stillness of the pond, which was much smaller than he recalled, suited him. “It's great for skipping if it's glass,” he thought and set out to grab a few stones.
Ammo in hand, he takes a third bite, each as much as the last, and steps to the edge of the water eyeing a small patch of grass on the other side of the 15 foot across pond. Placing all but one of the stones in his hoodie pocket he rears back and with perfect form side arm tosses the smooth flat stone onto the water. It takes a huge jump and three subsequent smaller skips and bounces onto the opposite shore. Thrilled he shouts in triumph and without thinking poofs across the pond to retrieve his stone. His perfect stone. The greatest stone ever found for skipping.
Across the tiny pond he sees many pebbles and rocks and even a few insects but he can't find his perfect stone. Feverishly sifting through the roughage and stones he grabs and discards several before finding one that looks similar but isn't quite the right one. He poofs back to his original side and at his feet lies a stone. Smooth. Aerodynamic. Perfect. His perfect stone. Unsure of how it made it back he looked around attempting to reassure himself he was on the appropriate side. Looking down to his left he locates his sandwich, up he sees the building in which he and his friends never got to attend class. For no reason other than not being able to, he looks on the building with a slight sense of fondness and longing and regret for not finishing where he started. He doesn't remember his first two years of schooling were in a different county.
He grabs the stone and it seems there is a bit of a wind that has come to play. Ripples in the water form away from the timid gusts and splash against the shore to his left. Determining it more a nuisance than anything he rears back with his perfect stone and flings it across the water. Just like before, it makes a hearty jump upon first making contact with the crest of a tiny wave forming in the wind and just like before bounces three times landing with a thud on the other side. Satisfied with his two tosses he drops the rest of the pebbles down at his feet and returns to his sandwich.
Feeling the blood in his body draining from his face and the air in his lungs he stands aghast. His sandwich is covered in jalapenos. Unsure if whether they were always there or not and he didn't notice gives him pause. He was sure he said straight up. Three bites in, most of the sandwich, he felt, was in his belly and there was no site of jalapenos. None. Where the hell did they come from. He begins frantically searching the grounds. Looking for someone, anyone. Some trickster that dumps hot peppers on his food. But why though? He grabs his food and transitions to the roof of the junior high building. It's filthy up here. Littered with cigarette butts, beer cans and trash of all kinds, remnants of bad decisions and youthful indiscretion are strewn about. He tucks beneath the small rise of the walls along the edges of the roof. Scanning the roof top for a culprit. Maybe there's someone else like him. His mind fills with fear and dread and he immediately poofs himself home.
His heart beats through his chest. His mouth is dry. The volume of air flowing in and out of his lungs, matched by the speed of his blood coursing through his body begin to fatigue him. The adrenaline rush takes its toll and he collapses onto his bed.
Two hours later he jumps awake, startled by the echoing sound of the front door closing. Head pounding and his hands still shaking he slowly gathers himself and regains his bearings. Going over and over what he saw on the roof, in the recess yard and at the pond he does not recall anyone else, certain he would know if there was someone there.
Resigned to overreacting to what amounts to little more than nothing, he calms down breathing a metered breath. Placing his hands on the small of his back and straightening up, leaning his head back and stretching full he notices he is wet. Defeated he begins palming his pants at the crotch area and up his torso. There is no wetness so he turns on the light and sees a meaty, cheesy mess. He slept on his sandwich.
Damnit.