The Sandwich - A Short Story
Annabelle looked through the dim light for clues as to why she had come into this room. .
"Turn on the light, you fool."
Her voice in the still darkness surprised her, but she was impressed by the authority she heard.
The room looked vaguely familiar, like watching a movie for the second time and remembering only bits and pieces of the plot. An image came: of noisy children, not all hers, pausing on their way through to more important things, grabbing a cookie before disappearing again.
That was it. She came downstairs to make herself a sandwich.
Did Sally wake me up for dinner? Probably not. Glad, no doubt, to have dinner with that man alone. Tony? Fred? Oh well, she seemed happy with him, which was good. Sally so often wasn’t happy: the sullen one.
She opened the fridge and something fell to the floor. She bent to pick it up but it was too far down. Ah, Sally can get it in the morning.
On the top shelf was the uncovered carcass of a roast beef. She pulled it out but on closer inspection, it looked like the man had eaten most of it and left her only the bones. Carrying it over to the counter, she kicked the mustard that was on the floor leaving a trail of bright yellow in its travels. She thought it looked pretty against the red linoleum.
Turning the bones over she discovered some “treasures”, as her father used to call them: chunks of juice-soaked beef, tender and close to the bone. A loaf of white bread lay on the counter and she pulled several pieces from the plastic bag.
The butter sat exposed on a saucer, but she couldn’t think how she was meant to put it on the bread. She poked the butter. It was pleasing to the touch. Taking a glob with her fingers, she spread it around the bread till all the surfaces were covered. Holding her hand up like a surgeon, unsure at first what to do with her greasy fingers, she absently wiped them on the shoulder of her bathrobe.
The shelves on the fridge door overflowed with mayonnaise, mustards, chutneys and pickles. One by one she arranged them in a circle around her sandwich. It reminded her of those big rocks in England.
Way at the back of the fridge, she spied a package of deli ham. With mounting indifference she tossed several plastic containers that hindered her path to the ham onto the floor. Reaching past the orange juice, she knocked over an open milk carton, but was proud of her reflexes when she grabbed the ham before it got wet. With care she had to navigate her way back to her sandwich at the counter and it annoyed Annabelle that Sally didn’t clean up better at night. Someone could trip.
Placing the ham on the buttered bread, she then dipped into the mayonnaise with her fingers, followed by honey mustard and horseradish which stung her eyes. In defense her eyes began to water till streams ran down her cheeks. Wiping back the tears which tickled her nose, the meld of condiments smeared her cheeks and plastered back wisps of hair.
Roast beef! Where did that come from? She tore at the juicy bits and placed them on top of the ham. Something is missing.
She pulled out the vegetable drawer and it slid to the floor. At the bottom was a tomato that had seen better days. As she picked up the tomato, it fell apart in her hand. Laying it on top of the meat she squished it down, making a satisfying squelching sound. As a finale, she went to place bread on top but discovered there were two pieces left. Did she forget to put a piece on the bottom? She turned the sandwich over and saw that it was there. Shrugging, she placed both pieces on top.
Her sandwich was complete. She grinned at her masterpiece.
And Sally talks about me going into one of those old age prisons because I’m “too much work”. Wait till she hears how I made my own sandwich.
Her legs felt tired. She grabbed the sandwich. Much of the inner workings spilled onto the floor beside her. She hung on to the side of the counter and sank down to the floor, finding a comfortable position against the cupboards. The scattered, half full, containers surrounded her like protecting soldiers.
She took the first bite. It was delicious. She could not have been happier.
Looking up, she saw Sally standing at the door.
Annabelle looked through the dim light for clues as to why she had come into this room. .
"Turn on the light, you fool."
Her voice in the still darkness surprised her, but she was impressed by the authority she heard.
The room looked vaguely familiar, like watching a movie for the second time and remembering only bits and pieces of the plot. An image came: of noisy children, not all hers, pausing on their way through to more important things, grabbing a cookie before disappearing again.
That was it. She came downstairs to make herself a sandwich.
Did Sally wake me up for dinner? Probably not. Glad, no doubt, to have dinner with that man alone. Tony? Fred? Oh well, she seemed happy with him, which was good. Sally so often wasn’t happy: the sullen one.
She opened the fridge and something fell to the floor. She bent to pick it up but it was too far down. Ah, Sally can get it in the morning.
On the top shelf was the uncovered carcass of a roast beef. She pulled it out but on closer inspection, it looked like the man had eaten most of it and left her only the bones. Carrying it over to the counter, she kicked the mustard that was on the floor leaving a trail of bright yellow in its travels. She thought it looked pretty against the red linoleum.
Turning the bones over she discovered some “treasures”, as her father used to call them: chunks of juice-soaked beef, tender and close to the bone. A loaf of white bread lay on the counter and she pulled several pieces from the plastic bag.
The butter sat exposed on a saucer, but she couldn’t think how she was meant to put it on the bread. She poked the butter. It was pleasing to the touch. Taking a glob with her fingers, she spread it around the bread till all the surfaces were covered. Holding her hand up like a surgeon, unsure at first what to do with her greasy fingers, she absently wiped them on the shoulder of her bathrobe.
The shelves on the fridge door overflowed with mayonnaise, mustards, chutneys and pickles. One by one she arranged them in a circle around her sandwich. It reminded her of those big rocks in England.
Way at the back of the fridge, she spied a package of deli ham. With mounting indifference she tossed several plastic containers that hindered her path to the ham onto the floor. Reaching past the orange juice, she knocked over an open milk carton, but was proud of her reflexes when she grabbed the ham before it got wet. With care she had to navigate her way back to her sandwich at the counter and it annoyed Annabelle that Sally didn’t clean up better at night. Someone could trip.
Placing the ham on the buttered bread, she then dipped into the mayonnaise with her fingers, followed by honey mustard and horseradish which stung her eyes. In defense her eyes began to water till streams ran down her cheeks. Wiping back the tears which tickled her nose, the meld of condiments smeared her cheeks and plastered back wisps of hair.
Roast beef! Where did that come from? She tore at the juicy bits and placed them on top of the ham. Something is missing.
She pulled out the vegetable drawer and it slid to the floor. At the bottom was a tomato that had seen better days. As she picked up the tomato, it fell apart in her hand. Laying it on top of the meat she squished it down, making a satisfying squelching sound. As a finale, she went to place bread on top but discovered there were two pieces left. Did she forget to put a piece on the bottom? She turned the sandwich over and saw that it was there. Shrugging, she placed both pieces on top.
Her sandwich was complete. She grinned at her masterpiece.
And Sally talks about me going into one of those old age prisons because I’m “too much work”. Wait till she hears how I made my own sandwich.
Her legs felt tired. She grabbed the sandwich. Much of the inner workings spilled onto the floor beside her. She hung on to the side of the counter and sank down to the floor, finding a comfortable position against the cupboards. The scattered, half full, containers surrounded her like protecting soldiers.
She took the first bite. It was delicious. She could not have been happier.
Looking up, she saw Sally standing at the door.