The Fantasy Years

Men talking about policy couldn’t compare in terms of succulence and savoriness to the pizza Jenny ate, either. And it wasn’t just any pizza. It wasn’t ordinary Dominos from a regular Friday night. It wasn’t even Papa John’s with its flavor dippers. Oh, no. It was a Mazzuchelli’s Pizza. And she’d be able to enjoy it in peace.

Rick had taken the boys fishing, their first fishing trip. She had a rare afternoon alone and she was going to enjoy it. She was going to celebrate. She prepared ahead of time, cleaning up the house in the morning, calling in her order to Mazzuchelli’s.

She had had to pick up the pizza. She wanted everything in place when she got home, so she could enjoy it while it was still hot. Mazzuchelli’s was New York-styled pizza. Thin crust and lots and lots of cheese. The crust broke into pieces as she bit into it, and the melted cheese held it together. The slices were so wide and flat they flopped over her hand. Salted tomato with basil. Smoothed over with that mix of cheeses. It warmed up nicely in the stove at night. She didn’t know how they did it. Probably imported cheeses you couldn’t get around here. Spread so wide and generously. Like the Mid-western land she drove daily.

But the pizza was warming. The pizza’s landscape invited her. It called her in, as she glanced over the piece she bit into. It felt like pizza as far as the eye can see. And when she opened up that packet of crushed red pepper and sprinkled it like fairy dust, the taste took her to another world.

For once, Jenny would make no apologies to herself or to anyone else for what she ate. This, she enjoyed. This was a treat. And with the house at peace for once. The boys safely out with their father. The wide piece of pizza draped over her fingers as she led the drooping tip of the slice into her mouth. The hot cheese and sauce flopped in. She bit into and she was carried away. Jenny actually skipped a small step, when she crossed the room. She decided she’d sit down. She’d sit in Rick’s chair. The king’s chair.

With her plate, she walked to the recliner. She sat down and gingerly pressed the on-button on the remote control.

She was careful to use the part of her finger pinky untouched by the grease. She poked at the rubber channel button. Up one channel. Up another. She strained, balancing the plate of pizza on the tea towel on her lap.

Like the Jeopardy wheel, the TV had landed on C-Span when the remote control slipped from her reach. She clutched the plate with pizza, a piece so wide it drooped from the corners, menacing the upholstery with pizza grease. She couldn’t leave it on this channel.

A man dressed in a suit prattled on about something…Healthcare…Childcare…Der…Der…Der. Jenny wasn’t about to waste her pizza-eating-TV-viewing-time watching this.

Almost there, Jenny told herself, twisting to touch the button. Almost there.
Jenny twisted and contorted trying to get at the remote control with her pinky. She finally got it, the channel changed to HBO. It was Independence Day. The alien’s ship was just coming over New York’s skyline. Jenny rolled the crust up a little, holding the plate under her chin, took an enormous bite, then eased back to watch the aliens flatten New York.