Other then when I occasionally drove by the home, I never really thought about the place, George or what happened in his room that night. Sleep started to come back much easier and I had never received a delivery request to get out there since.
3911 South Lake Drive
I took comfort in not knowing addresses. It usually meant there was a low likelihood of me knowing the home’s inhabitants in any sort of way. I could just be the shaggy-haired pizza guy they thought nothing about. Not the shaggy-haired pizza guy they felt sorry for or were disappointed in.
The house looked like the typical one which would belong to your grandma. Well-manicured, little front yard with rose bushes, a one car driveway with an old Cadillac in it and a small brick house with a wreath stuck to the white-painted front door even though it wasn’t Christmas time.
I knocked on the door with a doorknocker which looked exactly like a giant version the Scottie Dog game piece from Monopoly.
Right on cue, steps I could tell were feeble approached from the other side of the door. They sounded like an injured horse clomping off of a race track.
I jumped back with the small pizza box cradled in my hand and almost dropped it into the green yard behind me.
George was at the door. I could smell the rich and savory aroma of the anchovies slow dancing with the hot burn of the pepperoni in the back of my car the entire drive over. I should have known.
“Tombstone, I was hoping it would be you,” he said with a Cheshire cat grin and waved me in.
Fear. Hesitation. Fear. Indecision. Weakness. I could never tell people no. My teenage, homophobic friends in high school always joked that if a gay man got into my bed and wanted to have sex with me, I would do it simply because I was incapable of telling other people no.
They were right. I followed George’s direction into the cozy living room of the house, my nostrils immediately attacked by the scent of ribbon candy and ointment.
“I need to explain something Tombstone. By the way, I did watch the movie. Horribly violent. I can only really handle Saving Private Ryan for that stuff. But have a seat.”
An unrecognizable smell started to overtake the scent of the old lady candy, Ben-Gay and congealing pizza. Tickling my nose to the point where I felt I might sneeze, I couldn’t could put my mental finger down anywhere near what it might be, other than that it was overwhelmingly intense. Burnt pork maybe?
“I’m sorry George, I would love to help you, but my own life is too heavy for anything like this right now. I have my own issues. The only thing I need from you is twelve-ninety-one for this pizza and you don’t even have to tip if you promise to just leave me alone. ”
George’s entire body suddenly slacked like a dog’s would after you discovered they went through the trash and spread it all throughout the kitchen when you got home. He went from sky high, to gopher hole low in the blink of an eye.
Guilt. Self-loathing.
“That’s okay. Can you bring the pizza into the kitchen? George asked. “I left my wallet in there.”
I hated myself for feeling like I needed to follow George into the kitchen. I should have just set the pizza on the floor, demanded the money in the living room or simply took the pizza back, said it was a prank delivery when I got back to restaurant. Ate that fucking pizza in old man spite. Choking down anchovies so salty they puffed up my fingers until they felt like they were going to burst around the edges of my high school state tennis championship ring.
