by Ysabel Yates
Well, hello there. Who are you?
Based on your position behind the counter, you’re a freshly baked pizza. But you’re not an ordinary pepperoni, or a veggie that has to cover its insecurities with mushrooms and olives. No, you’re a plain cheese pizza. Sure, a little traditional maybe, but you’re secretly everyone’s favorite and you know it.
You’re not here to draw attention to yourself, but your mozzarella is dripping off your edges and you want me to notice. Okay, I’ll bite.
But first, I need to know who you are. Because at the end of the day, a lot of pizzas are disappointing. Are you?
Yes, people find their perfect slice. I believe that, I really do. But I was burned once before. Right on the roof of my mouth. It hurt me terribly. I should’ve seen the signs, but we never do when we’re hungry.
You’re not deep but you are saucy. Is there more to you? Let’s find out.
It wasn’t hard to get up close to you once I put on an apron and my magic baseball cap that somehow makes me invisible.
I know that you’re hot and fresh. You often get paired with oregano and red pepper but you don’t need them. You’re special, and those condiments, they’re not good for you. Of course I opened them up and poured them out, I had to. And I was right, they’re a bunch of flakes.
I know you let yourself be devoured by all the wrong people. That guy who eats you with a fork and knife, what is that? When we’re together, I’ll fold you up the way a precious little slice is supposed to be treated. Because I’m not some glutton. I’m your biggest fan, and you deserve to be tasted by someone like me.
I only put you in this box to protect you. It was the only way to keep you safe and warm until I can figure out a dinner plan.
I know I shouldn’t eat you so fast, but you make me crave you! What can I say? I’m an epicurean, and I just can’t help myself.
I had to eat a lot of you in the end. You really were delicious, I wish you were here to see that. I enjoyed you the best that I could and I helped you become the pizza you so desperately wanted to be. I know you’d be proud.
But I’ll admit it’s getting harder to live with so much intestinal discomfort. When cheese dies, it really hurts my stomach, and there are days I just don’t believe in lactose.
I tell myself to keep my mouth open. Every meal teaches us hard lessons, right? That’s their gift, to make us ready for a food that could be the one to end all our hunger. The one that could truly satisfy us, and —
Well, hello there. Who are you? You’re all knotted up but you’re covered in garlic. You like to be smelled. Okay, I’ll bite.