Written by Emma Breckwoldt
Illustrated by Clinton Thai
"I wanted to take all the pain from this family, but that would require more than some cheese, bread, and sauce."
I don’t care what other people say - I like being a pizza man. I get to drive around in my car and give people a warm, cheesy, circle of happiness. Plus, the food discount is great. My favorite part, though, is getting to peek into people’s lives, even if it is just for a minute, and see what it would be like to live in their house.
Let me show you what I mean:
It was a Tuesday night. Normally, there are just a few orders on Tuesdays, so I was chilling in the back room watching “The Office”.
“Order up! Johnny let’s go,” my boss yelled to me from the other room. I went out, got the pizzas and address, and was on my way.
The house was the definition of America, picket fence included. I carried the large pepperoni and small cheese up to the door and knocked.
“That was fast,” the lady opened the door, and I got a glimpse at her house. She looked around 40 (but it’s hard to tell with old people), and I could hear two other people talking.
“Here is your pepperoni and your cheese. That will be $20,” I extended the pizzas, but she was feeling her pockets.
“Honey, will you bring me my wallet?” she shouted back into the house. She gave a soft smile as her husband walked up with her purse.
“Here you are, baby. I’ll take the pizzas,” he kissed her on the cheek as he took the pizzas into the other room.
He handed me $25, and I walked away.
What an adorable family. I drove back to the shop, jealous of that kid with his perfect house and perfect family.
When I got back home after work, my mom asked me, like always, how my shift was.
“Pretty slow, but I met this super cute family,” I plopped down on the couch next to her.
“Let me guess- white picket fence?”
“You guessed it. They had one kid, a little boy, and the husband and wife were super cute”
“People used to say that about your father and me” “Why do you always have to be so negative?” Let’s just say I didn’t have the picket fence and perfect parents to go with it. I haven’t even seen my dad since he left.
“I’m just saying, they might look perfect on the outside, but really be falling apart”
“Some people are actually capable of having a loving relationship, thank you” I stood up and went to my room. Just because it didn't work out for my parents didn’t mean love was dead. My new friends would prove that to her.
It was two weeks later. I was in the back room on another slow Tuesday when I got sent to the same house. I was excited to see the cute family again. They got two cheese pizzas this time, but as I walked them up to the door, it wasn’t just their order that was different.
“Joe’s pizza,” I said with a smile that the wife did not return.
“Yay I’m starving,” their kid ran up and took the pizzas. He looked about nine, with a body that grew too fast for him to know what to do. He immediately opened the boxes, and his excitement vanished. “Mom,” he said, “did you not get me pepperoni?”
“Oh shoot, I'm so sorry I forgot.”
“It’s okay,” he lowered his head and walked back into the kitchen.
The dad then came walking up.
“You didn’t get Peter his pepperoni?” he stood next to his wife, but this time there was no kiss.
“No, I was too busy doing everything else. Maybe if you ordered it you would’ve remembered?”
“Sorry I am busy working my ass off for this family,” he then turned to me, who was pretending to not notice by looking at the wall.
“Here you go, thanks,” he handed me $25 and shut the door.
I walked back to my car slowly, trying to process what had happened. I bet they are just tired. A good old married couple spat. But it sure sounded a lot like when my parents started fighting. I thought of that kid. I felt bad for him because I knew he had no idea what was coming. Hopefully, his parents would get over it and make up. Love had to still be alive.
I waited for their next order, so I could come to find them your average happy family again.
I was wrong.
I was in the backroom of the pizza shop, waiting for an order to go see them again. When my boss called for me, I basically ran.
“Joe’s Pizza,” I stopped. The boy, I think Peter, opened the door. I could hear shouting in the kitchen. His eyes, his childish eyes, looked like they had been shattered. In them, I saw myself, age eight, when my mom explained why my dad was moving out. I knew the hope I had for this family was in vain. It was happening.
“Did they get a pepperoni one?” he brought me out of my flashback by reaching out to hold them, and when he got them, they took up his entire arm length.
“Yes, it’s on top.” his parents had forgotten, but I put in on the pizza anyway.
We both stood there. “I’m trying to make this work!” came from the kitchen, followed by “and you think I’m not? I’ve been trying for nine years!”
“Um, that will be $20,” I tried to act like nothing was wrong, but he could tell I knew what was happening.
“Oh yeah, here,” he tried to balance the pizzas on one arm while he reached into his pocket for the money. As he pulled the bills out, the pizza started to fall. I reached out and caught it.
“Thanks,” the kid handed me $30, and then took the pizza once again.
“You’re welcome. Have a good night,” my smile faded the moment I turned around, for I knew he would sit and eat dinner alone, trying to not listen to the words being said in the other room. But you can’t help yourself. So you end up with one ear against the wall, hearing things you regret hearing. I could see Peter now, a slice of pepperoni in one hand and the other on the wall.
I turned on my windshield wipers, but they did nothing. Then I touched my face, and I realized I was crying. A lot. I wanted to go back and help that boy, to spare him the pain, but I knew I couldn't do anything.
I do love delivering pizza, but in that moment, I wished I could do more.
I wanted to take all the pain from this family, but that would require more than some cheese, bread, and sauce.
I couldn’t get that boy out of my head. Maybe I was meant to deliver his pizza because I knew what he was going through, but I couldn’t really talk to him about it without being a stalker. But I could deliver him his pizza, and maybe that act alone would help him.
And so I did.
Another couple of weeks had gone by, and I dreamt that they had worked it out and hadn’t been ordering pizza because they were making it themselves like a happy Italian family. But when the order came in for a small cheese and pepperoni was all ready to go when my boss stopped me.
“Wait, here is another order that is super close. Deliver this one after,” he handed me a large cheese. We never had this many orders on a Tuesday. As I drove to the house, I tried to take my mind off of what the door would open to. But even The Chainsmokers couldn’t distract me. As I walked up to the door, it sounded quiet. That’s a good sign.
“Joe’s pizza,” I was greeted by the mother.
“Thank you. Here, you can wait inside while I grab my purse,” she took the pizza and motioned me into the entry hall.
As I was waiting, the boy walked downstairs.
“Hello,” I waved to him. He looked up startled, like he hadn’t noticed me.
“Where’s my mom?”
Before I could answer, she came back and handed me $25.
“Here you go. Peter, let’s come sit and eat at the table,” she put an arm around him, but he didn’t move.
“Thank you and have a good night,” I said with a smile as they shut the door. But I was unable to move. I thought that maybe they were better, but as I took my first step away, I realized that the dad was not there. Maybe he is working late, or out of town on work. I bet he is visiting his sick mother, or he ran to the store to buy eggs. Anything except the obvious.
My next delivery was to a place I had been a couple of times. It was an apartment complex full of mostly single, middle-aged people. But I had never been to this exact apartment before. I knocked on the door, wondering who it could be; when it was opened, I almost dropped the pizza.
It was him.
The dad.
“Um… can I have my pizza?” he reached out his hands, and I was brought back to reality.
“Oh yes, sorry. Joe’s pizza, here you go,” I gave him the pizza, but I couldn’t look away from his face. It was him for sure. The same guy, only a couple months ago, kissed his wife on the cheek as they got their Tuesday pizza. Now, he was alone.
“How much is it?” He began to stare at me, like he was trying to remember when he had seen me.
“8 dollars”
“Here you go,” he handed me a ten, and now we were making eye contact.
“Thank you, have a nice night,” but I didn’t turn away.
“You delivered to my family before, right?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.
“Did you deliver to them tonight?”
Again, I nodded.
“Did they seem okay?” He almost pleaded.
“They seemed good. Your son didn’t really want to eat at the table, but they both looked well,” I hope I told him what he wanted to hear, and I took a step back.
“It was a tradition you know. We would order pizza every other Tuesday. I don’t even know how it started. I think it was something about Ruby wanting to start little things for us to look forward to. I just couldn’t not eat it tonight, you know?” “Yeah. I’m sorry,” Now I felt bad leaving.
“Well, thanks for the pizza. Goodnight,” and he shut the door.
I stood at the closed door, not wanting to move. I took one step closer to my car, then another. But when I sat in my car, I didn’t know what to do. A couple of months ago, I didn’t know these people. But now, I felt almost a part of their family.
When I got home, my mom was still awake on the couch watching Friends.
“Mom, can we start a tradition?”
“Sure honey, what tradition do you want to start?”
“Pizza Wednesdays every other week.” (Tuesdays were obviously jinxed) “Sure honey. May I ask why?” she sat up and paused the tv. I sat down next to her, my 6 foot 5 inches self overpowering her 5-foot frame.
“I met someone today, and I know life is messy, but let’s add some cheesy joy”
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