A Meat Lover's Pizza

Man, that rain is really coming down. Probably pretty dangerous to drive in that. I hope the pizza guy isn’t having problems getting home. It would be a real shame if he got hurt or something. I mean, I already have my pizza, but I’d still be pretty bummed. Or maybe I’d never find out.

I eat the first slice.

This has to be the best one yet. Meat Lover’s Pizza, a large. I didn’t get an extra large because that would be absurd for just me, but I am rewarding myself. I lost five pounds this week, 5% of my total goal. Lots of miserable walks in the sun and laying off the late-night sweets got me back down to my triple XL shirts. So, I got the best pizza I’ve ever had. Italian sausage, pepperoni, ham, bacon and there’s probably onions in there somewhere to tie it all together. Onions are an equalizer for me; that’ll be my serving of vegetables for today.

But, that rain keeps me from staying focused on the task at hand. Sheets of rain are hammering into the window, then the quiet thuds turn solid and loud. I think that’s hale. I get up to the window and...yeah. Definitely hale. And a lot of it, too. If I were that pizza delivery man, I’d be extra careful driving in this. It would be a shame if someone else didn’t get their pizza tonight.

Then, the smell of the sausage fills my nostrils, putting my mind at ease for the guy’s safety. He’ll be okay, but I need to eat. This has been the longest week. I can smell the onions delicately riding the pepperoni on the air, then the savory dark meat forming a trumpet line that I can’t ignore. The bacon and the ham and all the meat I could ever want. It’s almost like the pig is in the room with me.

I eat the second slice, sitting myself on both cushions of my loveseat.

I actually can’t remember the last time I had to share this space with anyone. No one asks, so I’ve come to like solitude, loneliness and all that stuff. I kind of like not being wanted. I couldn’t fit anyone else on my loveseat even if they wanted to. They would have to be on the couch, a physical distance standing in for the metaphorical distance I keep from everyone. On purpose, I might add.

A quiet drip starts on the carpet. I look up to the ceiling to see a little splotch of yellow, a vomit kind of color. Water drips slowly from the center of the yellow stain while stain spreads, quietly and intently through the rest of the ceiling. The yellow around the water is sagging low, filling with rain.

The yellow spot and the leak grow while I eat the third slice.

The roof won’t cave in. I’m confident in the structural integrity of this house because that was part of the reason I bought it. I didn’t ever want to have to do work on it. Of course, if work has to be done, I’ll just hire someone else to do it. I don’t work at all. I only recently started working out. This is my first cheat day, three days into my diet, and I’m taking advantage.

I already love cheat days. I know its a regression and that I’m putting weight back on after I’ve lost it, but I’ve also heard it resets my body. I’ve also been told that eating bad after a few days of eating healthy has little impact because my metabolism is improving when I’m exercising. It’s also a mental health thing; I need to be mentally strong to deal with all the names my siblings call me. 

I eat the fourth slice, right as the leak expands to a full pour.

This pizza is decadent in every sense. The smell is still stronger than the dirty water coming from the ceiling, than the old soda cans crammed between the cushions beneath me, even than the ranch stains on the carpet. There are hints of basil, way deep in the onions and right on the surface of the sausage. It's a nice touch, unique to this pizza, I think. I’ll go ahead and dig in some more.

I eat the fifth and sixth slices like a sandwich as the beams in the roof break in and open up the ceiling.

The smell of rain is starting to poison the air and I can’t help but think how big of a bummer it is that there is a hole in my roof. But, the pizza is safe. I’m more than a few feet away from the downpour. A flash of lightning brightens up the room and startles me, but only for a second. I’m finishing off this piece of pizza so I have a little distraction as the roof caves in.

You know, it's funny that the last time my dad visited he told me two things and I ignored both of them. He said to fix the roof and to get a job. I’ve done neither and I’m happy. If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again: my mental health is important to me and I’m mentally strong when I’m eating this pizza. 

Yes, there is a hole in my roof and the yellow that once stained the ceiling is now the same color as my bacon and it’s stuck to my carpet. I can feel the rain starting to splash on the walls and some on my legs. It’s for my mental health.

I eat slice number seven when the water pools and reaches my ankles.

At some point the power went out. I must’ve missed that while I was working on the crust of numbers five and six. I can still smell the pizza, though, so I’ll have no problem finishing it.

The gallons of water pouring in my ceiling sound like a giant bathtub. Rain from the sky is quiet drips on the puddle below, but the rest of it is all cascading in sheets. It’s almost deafening, but I chew with my mouth open to drown it out. I really don’t feel like moving, though I probably should with the water about to meet my seat. I’ll move when the pizza’s gone. My legs have been in water before. It’s all brown with bits of the tiles from my roof floating around on top of the dirt, but it’ll be fine for a few more minutes.

When I was a kid, I would’ve loved this. My whole house has become a pool. Disgusting and probably dangerous, but I probably would’ve swam around anyway. I was kind of skinny back then and definitely more adventurous. I played sports, rode bikes with my friends, climbed the tree in the front yard. I ate a healthy dinner every night with my family, too, a nightly ritual that I used to miss. It was fun back then, but I can’t imagine wanting to do any of that now. Especially at my current weight. But, maybe after a hundred pounds lost. And definitely after this pizza.

Instead of dwelling on those memories, I eat slice number eight.

A lot of water dumps through the roof and onto the TV. The sparks from the back of the TV spray the wall behind it. Great, I’ve lost the TV. That’s much worse than the pictures on the walls. I can’t stand up to get it, though. Not until the pizza is gone. I’m leaning over the box to protect it from the splash of rain in the puddles that now cover my carpet. It’ll be safe as long as I finish it before the rain covers my lap. The loveseat is sinking lower to the ground, the carpet softening beneath the hard, wooden pegs. I guess I’ll eat faster.

I power through the crust on this slice and start to think that it would be nice to have someone here to help me out. Salvaging the TV is out of the question, but I think the PlayStation might survive. I’ve also got a lot of things in my kitchen that I’d like to keep. The pictures on the walls can always be taken again, and my Dad’s guitar in the corner is a relic at this point, but I’ll need to rescue some of the other things.

Before I can eat the ninth slice, another flash of lightning slices through the wall behind the TV. 

In the dark, all I can see is flames congregating on and through my wall until I think it’s about to crumble. Then, the ceiling catches fire. One of the beams from the ceiling is consumed in fire and water and falls on top of the TV. There are tiny pieces of drifting TV and the stand that sit aflame on top of the water. Crackles of small and large flames start to overlap with the sound of the pouring rain into my house.

This flood is really a huge burden on my mental health. The only thing that helps me is another bite of pizza. I don’t even really taste the pizza anymore because I’m eating so fast. What a shame.

With no small effort, I stand up. I sink to my knees in hot water, a sparking wifi router bumping my legs as I stand. So, I gather up my pizza and take small bites as I wade through the water. To my right, another burning beam falls into the growing pool of water and is extinguished. Smoke fills the room, then my lungs. I carry all my weight through water, slowly but surely, until I reach the front door. The handle is hot, burning my hand as I tear the door open and fall out onto the porch.

I’m able to crawl away, ninth pizza now finished, and sit down in the street. I lost the box somewhere in there, but the last slice sits safely in my hand. Hale pelts my head and back and I’m freezing. My only source of warmth, aside from the now blistering fire all over my house, is the lonely tenth piece of pizza. I’m cradling it in my arms, almost like a child, keeping it safe from the rain.

I feel a few neighbors make their way down to me to check if I’m okay, tell me the fire department’s on the way and if they can do anything for me. They can’t. It’s raining all over my last piece of pizza until it’s soggy. Some people lift me up to my feet with a lot of grunts and sighs and maybe a couple of little kids giggling away their disgust. The rest of the roof finally gives in, sinking slowly down into the house, surrendering smoke up high into the night. 

I’ve heard it said that rain is a beautiful smell. To me, it’s just old, stale water. And hale is worse. The pizza was a lot better than the rain.

My pizza is now soaked through, retaining not even the ghosts of the smell it used to be. Most of the cheese is bloated and falling off the edges of the jagged triangle. Almost all the meat is littered in the street, sure to be eaten by some fat little critters later. The sight of this poor, poor slice of pizza fills me with despair. If these are the fruits of dieting, I’ll never do it again.

Rain covers my body, sticks to me as I stare at the charred remains of my house. I shake my head and sigh at my terrible plight. I’m most hurt because the final slice of pizza tastes so much worse when it's wet.