“I can’t believe I’m about to say this. I can’t even believe that I’m here at all. But with all that said and out of the way now, gimme an extra large cheese, please.”
Judging by the sign, the pizza was even larger than he’d imagined. Bigger-than-his-skinny-head sized. Larger-than-his-teenage-stomach sized. The type of pizza he had only seen in dreams, or nightmares.
You see, in his dreams there was this girl. In life they shared an American history class. She sat second row from the front.
In his dream she, this Rosa, she worked at the pizza shop. She had long brown hair that floated in the breeze while she folded, flipped, and flattened the dough on the counter. Her body moved gracefully like a ballerina.
He watched as Rosa threw that extra large cheese straight into the oven. She looked at him and winked, pulling it out an instant later. A whiff of buttery parmesan and the sound of salty, crackling crust filled his senses. She floated basil leaves around the peel, and slapped it onto the counter in front of him.
He moves to grab a slice. She slaps his hand and wags her finger. “No, not for you, Pete” she says. “Definitely, not for you.” She snags a slice and takes a bite.
It was the “definitely” that bothered him the most. He didn’t even love pizza that much. I mean, he liked it. He just wasn’t consumed by thoughts about eating it every night like most kids.
So, sure it was only 9am. And sure, it was a school day. But there was no way he was about to let the pizza girl of his dreams, Rosa, laugh at him like that. No way she could deny him even a slice. The “definitely” stung more than a spicy slice with habanero sauce.
So yeah, he ordered a whole damn pizza to himself. For breakfast.
The oversized man at the counter looked nothing like the girl of his dreams. He belittled the dough, treating it more like a garbage bag than the exquisite, creaking, vintage hardwood of a broadway ballet stage. The sweat on the pizza man’s forehead was thicker than olive oil, and the color of cheese grease.
Pete finds a table and tries to recite United States’ VPs. Let’s see. There was John Adams. Then TJ. Then Aaron Burr. Then another George, right? George who?
Rosa had said this one the other day. Her hair had smelled like roses. Oh, right! George C.
The pizza lands on his table with a slap. He looks up and gives pizza man a smirk. Pizza man rolls his eyes and turns around with a grunt.
Time to dig in, Pete. Let’s see if you can finish this before third period.
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- When dreams meet reality