Jonn

It doesn’t matter. Jonn was bored. So he went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. Tall, fat, stuffed with head cheese, smothered with ketchup, and swathed in bacon, or a bacon-like product, rather. Always that. The perfect remedy to the round of boredom, which Jonn often found himself in. It seemed like five or six times a day, Jonn would find himself in the kitchen making the same sandwich. It eased him. He opened the refrigerator and, to his dismay, he was out of head cheese. Jonn remembered going to the store only this past Thursday to pick up supplies, but there it was, the head cheese section of the fridge was empty.

Jonn hated going to the store. All of those people. The possibility of having to converse. The anticipation of that moment when that woman at the counter would smile and ask him how was his day or how was he doing. He never really did know how to respond to that and always responded poorly. Eyes down, “Erm, hh-i’m er.” He went as seldom as possible, but he couldn’t have his sandwiches without the weekly trip. Occuby, being on the emptier end of the Nusquam Valley, wasn’t yet so modern as to offer home delivery.

Jonn shuffled over to the bedroom closet and located the required pants and shoes and did what he could to get them on in such a way that wouldn’t attract too much attention once he got to the pop-n-shop. Putting the shoes on wasn’t too hard, but he had to manage the pants first.

The pop-n-shop was just as busy as Jonn had feared. Not so busy that people were on edge and focused on their task, but full enough to put the odds of having someone strike up a conversation in the deli at an uncomfortable ratio.

Head down, Jonn approached the deli and took his number. The worst part. This is where the other shoppers waiting for their number get so curious about his deli needs. “So, whatcha getting? The wife asked me to grab some capicola for some new cheese wraps she wants to try when her book club comes over this Saturday. Man, are you married?”

What the fuck. Jonn just wanted his head cheese and ketchup.

Today, no one approached him while he was waiting, thank god.

“83?, number 83?”

“Four pounds of head cheese.”

A woman’s voice from behind Jonn said, “Did you just order four pounds of head cheese?”

Jonn doesn’t reply. Jonn drops his head a little further and becomes interested in the fabric of his shoes.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, it’s just that I love head cheese and I rarely meet anyone else who eats it. Something about the name, I guess, but I love it. Have you tried Welshberger’s Sheep variety, the one with allspice and onion? Pretty good, I mean it’s okay. I thought it would be more fancy being sheep and all, but it ended up being kind of a souse and I don’t care for anything that acidic really, but still, pretty good. Sorry, so rude, I’m Loraine.”

Loraine held out her hand.

Jonn thought.

He looked at the hand. It was small with a little freckle just there by her thumb knuckle. The smallest hint of the finest baby hairs shimmering in the fluorescent lighting. No color on her nails. It was absolutely uncomplicated.

And he wondered.

He looked at her face, not quite in the eye, but close enough to say he looked her square in the face.

She was pretty. Jonn thought so. Not too tall. Not too skinny, but no one would call her fat, not even behind her back. Pale enough to see a little blue eak out from behind her cheek flesh, and no makeup to stop it. Loraine.

He farted a little, on the inside.

“Hi-ummm, hello. I’m-uuu erjonn.”

Eyes back down.

“Nice to meet you Jon, I ne-“

“S-s-sorry, errr that’s Jonn.”

“Oops, my fault. Well, anyhow, I never meet anyone who orders head cheese. Maybe sometime you’d like to come by and we could have a tasting or something? I don’t want to be forward, but I always wanted to have one, but I can’t seem to get anyone to show up. I’d feel a little weird doing it myself, you know. So anyway, maybe if you aren’t free sometime. Here’s my phone number.”

And she grabbed Jonn’s deli-counter number and scribbled her phone number on it.

“Four pounds of head cheese. Anything else I can get for you today, sir.”

Jonn grabbed the head cheese, and the number from Loraine, and walked to the ketchup aisle.

“Hope to hear from you….” Jonn heard as he walked away, a little more quickly than usual.

Two days later, Jonn sat on his couch, seating, but more than usual. He was just sitting there, looking at the deli-counter number. It was blue but light. It was one of those more old fashioned ones with the number stamped. It wasn’t, surely, but it looked hand-stamped. it looked as though someone has put entirely too much care into what should be a benign logistical tool. Jonn had never paid much mind to these numbers, but this one was pretty, he had decided.

He stood up, and walked over to the mirror.

He thought he probably looked pretty good. He hadn’t eaten in two days. He hadn’t been bored in two days.

Nervous, sure, but not bored. He had been staring so intently at that beautiful deli-counter number that he had hardly slept.

She’s Loraine.

Suddenly, as though he realized he was dying and it might save his life, Jonn sprang from the couch and started the shower.