I was testing another version of my American pizza last night and it was wonderful. After cleaning up, we went shopping at Wally World and scoffed at the frozen pizza as we past the freezer section much like Lombardi might have done if he were still alive today. When we got home two hours later, the pizza ambiance was still charismatic. My appetite bloomed into a swell of pizza cravings as if the pies were stringy-hot. I opened the freezer door with my left hand having my Wally world purchase in the right. I touched the night’s pizza and it was stiff. My right hand trembled until the Wally World bag spilled it’s contents on the floor. The newly purchased bathroom scale stared back at me as if the full moon shaped lens was one large eye. In that moment, I think it winked at me. I let the freezer door close remembering the seemingly callous telephone message reminding me of my annual medical checkup in the morning.
This morning, per the doctor’s scale I had lost three pounds. I was delighted. He seemed unimpressed.
“You’ve been eating pizza again,” he said.
I gasped; first wondering how he knew then considering if a lie, a tiny lie, would pierce his omnificence.
“I ah, ah.”
Before I could manifest, in my way of thinking a perfectly innocent lie he opened the door and yelled down the hall. “I want blood from this man.” When the echo stopped, he twisted his finger towards me in a manner that left me feeling cold. “Pizza, I thought so. Lots of cheese, pepperoni, sausage, maybe even sweet pineapple.” His arms, folded, his eyebrows curled, as he waited for my confession.
“How did you know?”
His eyes cut to my shoes.
On top of my shoe, next to the seam, was a dollop of pizza sauce held in place by a string of cheese surrounding a tiny piece of pepperoni that made it look like a tiny pizza butterfly.
Well, maybe that was not quite tyhe way it happned.