Well, I guess it started with a sandwich and a book.
Book first, or sandwich?
Well, I got ten votes for sandwich, so here we go.
It was after a horrific session of therapy. Bekah picked me up, tried to talk to me for a while, and I just stared out the window and watched hallucinations move past. Springfield was on fire. Everyone was running out of houses and businesses, and either burning or exploding. The grass was flaming, buildings were crumbling, and I could only stare at the image of him, of Char walking unfazed through all of it. My mind was melting and he was winning.
She had a Dr. Pepper for me, as normal, but though it was cold, it tasted like blood. I kept drinking it and she tried a few more times to talk to me before falling silent. We went to her house. This was common, and Assassin crushed the can flat with one hand as we walked into her house.
Katherine was a force. She jumped at me, ran to me and I dropped to the floor, wrapped my arms around her and wept. Bekah left us alone and Katherine brought me back a little. Bekah let me go into her room alone, climb under the covers, and listen to music. I listed to the song “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls, and things started to make sense again.
I slept. The night before, I had been really manic and had gotten only a few hours of sleep. I woke up and stumbled out of Bekah’s room as the sky was beginning to darken.
“Siren called a few times. She went to your house, but you weren’t there. She wants to know when you’re coming home.”
“When I get there.”
“She is calling every few minutes. She told me to wake you up and bring you home but I refused. She was pretty pissed and told me she was coming over, but I told her that if she did, I was not going to wake you up.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“About four-thirty.”
“Yeah, she has a break in classes from two to four and she usually comes to my house for the break. She will be at school now. We can go to my house.”
“You hungry?”
“Can’t eat.”
“But you’re hungry.”
“A little.”
“Well,” Bekah said. “If you see somewhere on the way home that you want to stop and grab something, just let me know.”
I grunted and pet and kissed Katherine. She wagged her tail, stepped into me, and I had a few minutes of her love before I was out the door with Bekah.
She never asked if I was okay. She could see I wasn’t. She never asked if I wanted to listen to music. If I had, I would have put some on. She never asked what had happened in therapy. She had never done that, ever.
“He’s winning.”
Silence.
“Char is winning.”
“But you’re still fighting. The battle isn’t over yet, Jesse.”
I thought of the last battle we had fought. Guardian’s War had been lost, and after that loss, I did not like my chances for this one. That day, I had given up on winning wars, and even battles, and she let me roll around in it. I’m not sure that she was thinking about Guardian’s War, but if she was, she didn’t mention it.
“Talk to me about something,” I said.
She began to talk about Morgan. He spent most of his time in his crate yelling. But he loved looking out the window, so she had set his crate on the couch, braced it with the coffee table, and tried to see if that would soothe him.
It had not.
“I got home and he had wiggled so much that the crate had fallen in the crack between the couch and the coffee table, upside down and backwards. He had shit everywhere and been thrashing in it and well, you know how he is usually white. Well, he was a brown dog.
I laughed but it sounded weird. I couldn’t tell why at first before remembering that most of my laughs lately had been forced. This one had been a surprise.
She got me home, and as soon as I walked in the door, I was hungry. I was ravenous. I dropped to the couch and she heard my stomach complaining.
“You’re hungry, huh?”
“Yeah, now that it is too late.”
“Wanna go get something?”
The thought of leaving the house was an impossible feat, and I said fuck it.
There was a pounding on the door and Bekah looked at me. She raised her eyebrow.
“I saw Bekah’s car outside. I know you are in there.”
“Go ahead and let her in.” I think it was Shadow who said it.
Siren walked right past Bekah, as if she wasn’t even there, and stood looking at me. “Where have you been?”
“Took a nap at Bekah’s.”
“Why can’t you take naps here?”
“He wasn’t ready to come home,” Bekah said.
“I just needed to be around Katherine.”
Siren rolled her eyes. “Well, I got here at two and you weren’t here, so I waited for two hours, calling Bekah, but she would not bring you home. Then I got to class and I had a bad feeling, so I left class to see if you were alright.”
“Bekah, can you make me a sandwich?”
Siren looked at her and nodded. As if Bekah needed some sort of permission from her.
Bekah quietly began to make my sandwich.
Siren yelled at me for a little longer about how she needed a nap between classes but I had not been there, and how is she supposed to help me if I don’t come home after sessions, and all of that, before Bekah set my sandwich down in front of me.
I looked up at her and smiled.
Mayo on both sides of the bread. Mustard lines drawn in a spiral on one piece of bread. Small amount of meat, cheese, and cut in half diagonally.
Siren looked at the sandwich very carefully.
“This sandwich looks weird,” she said. She looked at me as I scarfed it down.
“It’s how he likes them.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me in ’97, when we started dating.”
Siren was just then realizing she had been making my sandwiches different than I liked them. She was furious, but plotting.
The next time I was hungry, she had Bekah make it and she stood there and watched. “Why did you pat it twice after it was cut?”
“How he likes it.”
Few days later, Siren is in my kitchen making me watch her make a sandwich, and she pats it twice and looks up at me. I ate it, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I had Bekah’s. Some will say made with love. Some will say that I accepted Bekah’s sandwich more. I think it was because when Bekah made my sandwich, it made me think of a simple, happy time with her. When Siren made it, she was trying to show off. Either way, Siren knew how to make me a sandwich now, but she was bitter every time she made one because she had to learn from Bekah.
Now the book, then we will get to the greatest plate of ziti I ever had, and the nightmare that came after.
So, I am not sure where I got it from. Where do people get things? You buy it randomly, it’s given to you as a gift. You find it. Something. Somehow, I ended up with a cookbook based on the food from the TV show Sopranos. It had a lot of the meals plotted out that you find in this show, and Siren found it and demanded that I choose a meal from the book. She was going to make me a meal, and no was not an option.
I picked Janice’s Ziti.
It is from a cook out at the beginning of the first season, and I had never had ziti before, but it looked good.
Siren wrote down all the ingredients and, when company came over, she told them all that she was going to cook me a home cooked meal from the cookbook Sopranos.
Bekah wasn’t there to hear, so the next time Bekah was around, Siren was sure to tell her. Then the weekend, then the cooking.
Noodles, homemade sauce. Lots of cheese. Ground pork, ground beef. Sausage cut into coins. The counter was filled with things to make my ziti with, and she got started.
She used my frying pan to brown the meat. Then it was dirty. She used my short pot to cook the noodles, but she also had to use my big pot, too, and then she needed to use my tiny pot. When she was done cooking the noodles, she had all my pots filled, with no way to make the sauce.
Short pot is emptied into a casserole dish and washed, then the sauce, but as she is loading the ingredients, she realizes the sauce is filling the pot too fast. She dumps the noodles from the big pot into the casserole dish, but it is heaping now with cooked noodles and can’t be trusted. She washes the big pot, empties the short pot into it to continue the sauce. She washes the short pot and fills it with cooked noodles.
The casserole dish is looking better, but still holds cooked noodles. Then the sauce fills the big pot.
Now what? We haven’t added the cheese and we haven’t mixed everything and we haven’t added the sausages and pork and beef, and we still need to cook all of this.
She looked at me and looked at the book, and at the bottom, where the servings are promised it says: Serves 25.
She missed that part.
Bowls! She thinks of bowls!
She gets my biggest bowls out and starts to portion the meat, the cheese, the noodles, and the sauce, but I don’t have that many bowls, and soon she is mixing this shit up in cereal bowls. She gets all of it done. All of the pasta and the sauce, and the meat and the cheese is all mixed up. She looks around and sees that my short pot, big pot, casserole dish, tiny pot, four cereal bowls, two plates, two glasses, and two coffee mugs are ready to be baked. They have to be baked for half an hour.
Then the dance begins again. She bakes the casserole dish, portions it out on plates and in big cups, so that she can wash the dish and bake more. She does this about six times. Six huge casserole dishes filled with ziti, and it is time to eat.
It took six hours just to bake it. About four to prep it. Siren’s been cooking for ten hours now. I had not eaten before she showed up. She sets it in front of me, and I remember right then that she is vegetarian. Bekah is vegetarian.
I eat. And it is very good. I will tell you, ziti is very good pasta. I ate two of the plates that were covered in ziti, and now I had two plates, two cups, and that is all that is clean in my house.
“Tomorrow we will have everyone over and we can have a huge meal. They are going to go crazy for it. This is very good.” I look up at her and she is glaring at me.
Her hair is a mess, her face bright red. Her makeup has melted down her face, and her shirt and skirt are covered in sauce and meat. She is trembling. She looks at me and points her finger and says, “We are not having a fucking dinner party. No one eats this ziti except for you. I made it for you. Don’t test me.” She grabbed another plate, dropped it in from of me, and I forced it down.
Day 2:
I had to be strategic about this.
For breakfast, I emptied two drinking glasses and two small mugs. It was two portions and I barely got them down, but I now had all four mugs and all four glasses free of ziti. I counted it as a win and went to therapy.
Lunch, I am still full but I eat one portion of ziti off of a plate sitting uncovered in the refrigerator. It was crunchy, but I added a bit of water and got it down.
She shows up at two from classes and asks if I want any of the ziti. I say I have already eaten, but she makes me a plate, and I get it down. I have never been this full. I can barely move. I make it over to the bed and lay down, with my stomach swooning. I hold on and do not throw up.
Dinner, I managed to take one plate from the tiny pot and a huge helping from the short pot. No way I am getting this down, and she watches carefully as I get down most of it, then steps into the shower. I replace what I can to the short pot, and when she gets out of the shower, she stares at me for a few minutes before checking the trash to see if I had thrown the remainder away. Confident I haven’t, she sits back and asks if I want any more.
No.
“But you’re grateful ,right? You can say thank you.”
“Of course, thank you. It’s delicious,” I say.
All of the pasta and cheese in my gut make it so that I am very sleepy, and when Bekah comes over, she asks if I want anything.
“He has just had a big meal. I made him ziti. Took me ten hours. He loves it.”
“Can I have some?”
“No idiot, it has meat in it and it is for him. No one else can have any.”
“Don’t call her an idiot,” Guardian says with a dangerous burp. The man is stuffed beyond reason, but the message gets through.
“Sorry, Bekah. I had a rough night last night taking care of him.”
“It’s fine. Can I have a Dr. Pepper?” Bekah asks.
“Yeah, go ahead.”
Bekah is almost at the fridge, but Siren jumps to her feet.
“I’ll get it!” She rushes to Bekah and shoves her out of the way. Bekah waits. Siren opens the door very carefully so that Bekah cannot see what is going on in there, then she hands Bekah a soda.
“Thanks,” Bekah says. She looks at me and sits down.
I am sitting on my spot on the couch. Siren drops down right up against me. Bekah takes the chair. Siren uses one hand to move my arm to stroke her other hand, after putting my arm behind her head and cuddling close to me.
Bekah looks at her, furious she is breaking the no touching rule, but unable to do anything about it. I send them both home at eleven and stumble to my bed.
Day 3:
Wake up full. But I eat one plate of ziti.
Lunch, I just can’t do it. No one is here to see, and I almost decide to throw some out, but Siren worked so hard on it. I am about to scrape some into a grocery bag, tie it off, and drop it down the garbage chute.
Ronin stops me.
Dinner. Now she is here and I eat two plates of ziti. The short pot is almost empty. She tries to get me to eat another plate, but I just can’t. We argue about it before Bekah gets there, then tension.
“You hungry, Jesse? We can go get something.”
“NO!” In unison from me and Siren.
“That’s cool.”
Bekah walks to the fridge and has her hand on it before she asks, “Can I get a soda?”
“I’ll get it,” Siren says, but I nod, and Bekah already has the door open. She takes a soda and Siren stares at her in the kitchen. Bekah opens her can and takes the tiniest of sips, looking over the can at Siren.
“We found out that Jesse loves ziti,” Siren says.
Bekah nods. The night goes on.
When Bekah is done, Siren empties the rest of the short pot for me and sits there as I eat it. Because there is only one portion, she can add water and heat it up on the stove. I get hot ziti for the first time in two days. Because I have been eating it cold.
There was just no way to heat it up. No microwave. No free pots.
Day 4:
Breakfast ziti. Two portions. My head is starting to hurt all the time. I realize I am not drinking as much as I should. I check the big pot and see that it is filled to the brim. Fourteen inches tall, nine wide. All the way to the top.
Lunch, Siren is not coming by this afternoon, but Bekah does. She asks if I want to go out and eat. I tell her hell no in the nicest language I can manage. She checks the fridge.
“Want some ziti?”
Shadow snarls at her and Bekah grins. We both laugh. I don’t eat lunch that day. Me and Bekah laugh so hard that I have to run to the bathroom, and I almost throw up. Ronin holds it in. Ronin won’t let me throw up.
Dinner, with Siren watching, and I eat two portions.
The cheese is starting to take affect, and by day four, I can’t poop anymore.
Day 5:
Breakfast, I can get down one portion. But I starve myself enough that when she shows up at two and she makes me a plate, I can eat both portions she gives me. She asks me if I want her to warm it up in the short pot.
“No,” I said. “I would just have to wash it. It doesn’t matter anyway. Cold or hot, it doesn’t really matter. It’s ziti. It’s always gonna be ziti.
Dinner, she makes me a plate and warms it up without asking. The cheese is gooey and the texture almost makes me throw up. We decide that from now on, the ziti will be served cold.
I am one third of the way through the big pot.
Bekah comes over with laxatives. She also brings Taco Bell. Although I am full beyond full, I devour the tacos, and am halfway through the drink, when Siren comes over and sees that I have a Taco Bell cup, and so does Bekah.
She storms over to the trash and comes back furious. She screams that I don’t appreciate her. She screams that she did all that work for nothing. How ungrateful I am, and I am helpless to do anything about it. I just don’t have the will to fight. I had to cancel therapy that day because I couldn’t think about anything but ziti, and a lot of therapy sessions end with me having an upset stomach.
Dinner, Siren comes back and drops a plate of ziti on the table in front of me. Silently, I eat it. Silently, I wish for death.
Day 6:
Sunshine comes to check on me. She wants to know if I want to go anywhere. She sees a distended stomach and asks questions. She goes, checks the ziti situation, and pulls out half a big pot and one huge, untouched casserole dish.
“God, you must love ziti. This is a hell of a lot of pasta,” she says with a smile.
I have no words.
Breakfast. One portion.
Lunch, half a portion.
Dinner, two portions of ziti, and I have not pooped in three days.
Day 7:
Take a fistful of laxatives and hit the toilet. Shit for two hours.
Then breakfast. Two portions. My color is back. Sunshine said I was beginning to look pale. I refuse to go outside with her, and she makes me move my chair over to the window to get some sun. I smoke. A lot. And prepare myself for lunch.
Lunch, two portions. Almost throw up. But Ronin won’t let me.
Dinner, Siren makes me two portions. She looks at me cheerfully and says, “Looks like we are running out of ziti. Might have to make you some more soon.” She laughs.
I throw her out.
Day 8:
I can’t really remember what food tastes like. I have a firm grasp on pasta, red sauce, sausage, and ground pork, and beef. But things like cheeseburgers, burritos. Chips. When I see them, all I can taste is ziti. I have gained about ten pounds. I keep taking laxatives, and ask Sunshine to get more for me.
She comes back and sees that I have only eaten one portion from the casserole dish. She asks when the last time I showered was.
I tell her eight portions ago.
She smells the ziti and starts asking questions. She scrapes it all in the trash and tosses it in the garbage chute.
Siren comes home furious, knowing that I could not have eaten an entire casserole dish of ziti in one afternoon.
I tell her that it had gone bad.
“Well, that is very nice, isn’t it? Nothing I do means anything to you, does it? Throw my food away. How ungrateful can you be?”
“Sunshine did it,” I groan.
“Well tell her I want to talk to her,” Siren said. “I need to let her know that some of us are trying to take care of you.”
“That works out, because she wants to talk to you, too.”
Siren was never around ever again when Sunshine came by.
Ate ziti for dinner about twenty years later. Got three forkfuls down before I had to stop.
It might not surprise you, I threw the leftovers away.
For more about the series Reality of the Unreal Mind, visit Amazon.
Jesse Teller 
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