at—Alex having succumbed completely to the tormentor. He noticed one-pound bags of M&M’s on a shelf next to the chips. Why were they selling these at Cookie-Benito’s? I’ll eat my half sub, and then have a few. I’ll count them out—five or ten. That’s what I’ll do from now on—portion control—I’ll eat only part of something and then save the rest for later. I bet I can make that one-pound bag last for a month.
“You want a value-meal?”
“No thanks.” Don’t want a bag of chips—on a diet, Alex thought.
“Here or to go?”
“Here—I’ll have a bag of M&M’s and a soda.”
“One pounder?” The man’s droopy eyes could have been astonished, or simply condemning, but very definitely not approving.
Alex paid for his lunch and sat down by himself to eat, placing a glossy Japanese graphic novel, iPod Touch and phone next to the plastic tray to visually enhance the eating experience. He heard his ring tone and checked his phone. The mobile answers service had returned his text message: A plain 12-inch meatball sub has 1,000 calories.
A thousand calories—and that was only a regular meatball sub. Add extra meatballs, extra three inches, bacon and cheese—can’t think about it—can’t. Alex unwrapped his sandwich—undressing the vamp. The sharp, biting, salty heaven filled his being. He thought a moment about flipping the pages of his manga, but chose instead to devote his heart and soul to conquest and delight.
It seemed like it only took a few bites to eat half the sandwich. Alex was shocked to discover that he was still hungry, the other half waiting for him, unwilling to be put away and saved for dinner—still hot and fresh. It had been a mistake to order a high-calorie sub—tomorrow was another day—I’ll begin the diet tomorrow. He tasted the second half, determined to savor every morsel.
Seated a table away were a man and his son of about ten who was wearing a soccer uniform. “You shouldn’t say that,” said the father.
“But it’s true—he’s not playing his position right,” the boy said.
“Even if it’s true, you don’t say it.”
“I’ll tell him that I was once terrible and pitiful, and I practiced real hard and got better.”
“You can’t say that either. Remember, people can read into your thoughts. People will know what you’re actually thinking and what your true motivation is—remember that,” the father said.
For Alex, the discussion was far more stimulating than the sub. He could imagine the kind of life the boy led. Soccer and karate or clarinet lessons, or maybe scouting, earning a million merit badges. No doubt, it all starts with a good father. With a good father, the boy will understand all the mysteries of life at a young age. Of course, Alex had Wikipedia, but wisdom? Where would wisdom come from? The war had taken Dad away for most of his life—and when he was back from Afghanistan, it sometimes felt as though he wasn’t all there—something he had never dared to say aloud and rarely admitted to himself.
People—reading into your thoughts—maybe it’s better to never say anything at all. Could the man preparing my sub read my mind? Can the entire world tell that there is something wrong with me?
An entire fifteen inch sub—gone. Gone. Alex analyzed the cost versus benefit and concluded that yes, it was delicious, but nothing lasting remained to bring joy to his life. He had failed again—Cookie Benito’s was simply
“You want a value-meal?”
“No thanks.” Don’t want a bag of chips—on a diet, Alex thought.
“Here or to go?”
“Here—I’ll have a bag of M&M’s and a soda.”
“One pounder?” The man’s droopy eyes could have been astonished, or simply condemning, but very definitely not approving.
Alex paid for his lunch and sat down by himself to eat, placing a glossy Japanese graphic novel, iPod Touch and phone next to the plastic tray to visually enhance the eating experience. He heard his ring tone and checked his phone. The mobile answers service had returned his text message: A plain 12-inch meatball sub has 1,000 calories.
A thousand calories—and that was only a regular meatball sub. Add extra meatballs, extra three inches, bacon and cheese—can’t think about it—can’t. Alex unwrapped his sandwich—undressing the vamp. The sharp, biting, salty heaven filled his being. He thought a moment about flipping the pages of his manga, but chose instead to devote his heart and soul to conquest and delight.
It seemed like it only took a few bites to eat half the sandwich. Alex was shocked to discover that he was still hungry, the other half waiting for him, unwilling to be put away and saved for dinner—still hot and fresh. It had been a mistake to order a high-calorie sub—tomorrow was another day—I’ll begin the diet tomorrow. He tasted the second half, determined to savor every morsel.
Seated a table away were a man and his son of about ten who was wearing a soccer uniform. “You shouldn’t say that,” said the father.
“But it’s true—he’s not playing his position right,” the boy said.
“Even if it’s true, you don’t say it.”
“I’ll tell him that I was once terrible and pitiful, and I practiced real hard and got better.”
“You can’t say that either. Remember, people can read into your thoughts. People will know what you’re actually thinking and what your true motivation is—remember that,” the father said.
For Alex, the discussion was far more stimulating than the sub. He could imagine the kind of life the boy led. Soccer and karate or clarinet lessons, or maybe scouting, earning a million merit badges. No doubt, it all starts with a good father. With a good father, the boy will understand all the mysteries of life at a young age. Of course, Alex had Wikipedia, but wisdom? Where would wisdom come from? The war had taken Dad away for most of his life—and when he was back from Afghanistan, it sometimes felt as though he wasn’t all there—something he had never dared to say aloud and rarely admitted to himself.
People—reading into your thoughts—maybe it’s better to never say anything at all. Could the man preparing my sub read my mind? Can the entire world tell that there is something wrong with me?
An entire fifteen inch sub—gone. Gone. Alex analyzed the cost versus benefit and concluded that yes, it was delicious, but nothing lasting remained to bring joy to his life. He had failed again—Cookie Benito’s was simply
Similar Books
