The ghost was eating a
peanut butter and jelly sandwich. My
peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Loaded with a double wallop of crunchy peanut butter and just a hint of
raspberry jam. Seedless of course. Crusts cut off. Sectioned into fourths on a diagonal. Placed on a plate with a pile of cheddar and sour cream Ruffles.
My lunch. Not
my ghost.
At least, I didn’t claim him. But he did seem to claim me. And my sandwiches. This was the second time I had created the perfect meal and
stepped away to the bathroom only to discover a ghost thief on my return.
Yesterday, out of shock, I had simply made another
sandwich and sat down across the table watching him eat the sandwich as if I
was only looking in a mirror.
Today I wanted my sandwich. I marched up to my
stealing specter. “I made that for me, you now. Besides, I don’t think it would
kill you to miss a few meals.
Clearly not appreciating my humor, he rolled his eyes
and took a super-large bite of my gooey goodness. I swear the bite was so big
that if the man had been in need of oxygen he would have choked and died right
there at my table.
The look of annoyance on his face was instantly
replaced by a look of pure bliss. Eyes drifted closed. Shoulders melted down.
Brow relaxed. Corners of mouth tilted up into a hint of a grin. One tiny dimple
briefly popped into view.
I caught the grin spreading to my own face as I
soaked up his rapture. It was almost as lovely to watch him eat my sandwich as
I knew it would be to eat it myself.
As his eyes started to open, I remembered that it was
my sandwich and I meant to have it. I slammed the lid down on the joy he had
passed to me and snatched the sandwich out of his hands. “Gimme that.”
Saying not a word, he stared at me. He rose slowly
from his seat and drifted toward the door and through. Leaving me alone with my
beloved.
I watched the door.
Sinking slowly to my seat, I raised the sandwich to
my mouth, took a bite, and closed my eyes, waiting for the bliss.
The
sandwich tasted terrible.
