Condiments

mayonnaise

mayonnaise

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I waited an entire month before I went back to Subway because I was afraid, so afraid, that she wouldn’t be there. The barbeque sauce packet was in my back packet as I walked in at 9:50pm. The packet was empty. I bought bread and turkey from Publix and spread the syrupy, brown sauce onto the sandwich. Like always, she was right. It tasted smoky. That was the only good thing I could say about the taste of a turkey and barbeque sauce sub.

Karen was standing behind the counter, serving a customer. I sat at a table, watching until she was done.

“Where have you been, Type One?” she asked.

I stood up, angry. “What do you mean where I have been? Where have you been?”

“Places,” she answered.

“What places?”

“Necessary places.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean stop asking questions. Ever heard of taking a hint? I was gone and now, I’m back. I’ve been back for a while. I thought you weren’t coming around anymore,” she said.

I leaned against the counter and fumed. Week after week, I drove past the shop late at night, giving my parents zero explanation. Every time I got ready to leave, they would ask if I was going to see that girl. I would tell them no, which was the truth. I was too cowardly to see if she was there and I was too cowardly to search for her. If she was truly gone, what was I going to do? My parents didn’t believe me and accused me of sinning. They said the moment I got that girl pregnant; I would be out on the street. It was painfully clear that my parents weren’t the caring, heroes I thought they were.

And while I stood in front of Karen, it felt she was the catalyst that brought the nastiness out of my parents. She was the catalyst that sent my life in the right direction and she was the one that sent it spiraling out of control when she disappeared. It seemed like I honestly couldn’t live without her. After years of depending on my mother and father, another person in an entirely different package was in control of my life and she didn’t even know it.

“Of course I came back. We’re Type One and Type Two. We can’t be separated,” I said.

She smiled, but it wasn’t lively. “How was the barbeque sauce?”

“Perfect for the hot weather, just like you said.”

“Good.” She cast her eyes down. The previous slight upturn of her lips slipped into a frown.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. The new Karen was unsettling.

“Nothing. I need to get you a new condiment, don’t I?”

“That can wait. You shouldn’t hold your feelings in. If something’s bothering you, you can tell me,” I assured her.

She ignored me and pulled out a loaf of Italian bread.

“I eat whole wheat,” I reminded her.

“Oh, right. My bad,” she mumbled, shaking her head. She continued to assemble the sandwich with less than half the spirit she usually had. “Here you go,” she said, sliding the sub to me.

I stared at it. It was a plain six-inch whole-wheat turkey sub with cucumbers. No condiments. And she gave it to me.

“We need to talk about what happened while you were gone. I’m not leaving until I know what’s wrong, even if it takes all night.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I’m sorry, Adam. I don’t know what condiment to give you.”

I grabbed her hand and led her over to the exact same table where she had comforted me what seemed like ages ago. It felt strange. Whether I was at Subway or on the moon, I was always the one that needed consoling.

“Tell me everything. You’ll feel better; I promise,” I told her.

“I was gone because my Dad and I had to move all of sudden. We were looking for a place to stay.”

“So, you had to go to new school? You’re sad because you left your friends behind,” I guessed.

She shook her head. “No, I’m at the same school. That wasn’t the problem.”

“What was the problem?”

“It wasn’t an actual move. We were evicted. For a few days after we got kicked out, there was nowhere to go. There was no place to stay because we couldn’t afford any of the apartments in our area. We had to stay in a shelter until one of my relatives sent us money. Because of my stupid diabetes and having to pay for my insulin, we were h-homeless.” Her voice quavered as she talked through her tears before breaking down. Violent sobs wracked her body.

Was I supposed to say? Sorry? I understood? Sorry sounded like pity and I definitely had no understanding of what it felt like to be homeless. To live on the street without a room to escape to. So, I decided to tell her what I knew for sure. “Your diabetes wasn’t the only reason you were evicted. You can’t blame yourself.”

“I put my Dad in such a horrible situation! It’s either pay the bills or pay for Karen’s insulin! It’s my fault. He had to be homeless because his daughter couldn’t take care of her own body,” she spat.

“You’re making it too straight forward. There were other factors that led to it. Maybe, your Dad bought a t-shirt he didn’t need. Maybe he drove a few miles more than usual and had to buy more gas. You aren’t with him 24/7. If he buys anything for himself, it’s on him, too.”

Gradually, the flow of tears came to a halt. She wiped her eyes, which sparkled with water instead of joy. “I guess there’s more to it,” she admitted.

“If it ever happens again, you should stay with me,” I offered.

She laughed harshly, almost like a bark. “My Dad and I living in your house with your parents. Your racist parents. Ever heard of think before you speak?”

“Sorry, that was a stupid offer. But, you know what I mean. I’ll help in any way that I can. They’re threatening to throw me out, so I might joining you and your Dad,” I said.

Suddenly, she jumped. The spark was back in her eyes. “I know what condiment to use!” she exclaimed.

I smiled and rubbed my hands together, eager to try something new. I hadn’t noticed while we were talking, but my stomach was dangerously close to zero. I closed my eyes and only opened them when I heard the crinkling of the sandwich paper in front of me.

The turkey was covered with a creamy, white sauce. “Mayo?” I asked.

“Mayonnaise,” she said.

I bit into the sub and the mayo spread, coating everything in my mouth. It was milky in an odd way and a tad bit overwhelming, but it was the best sub I’d had since Karen gave me mustard. “It’s really thick. Overall good, but it’s a little too creamy when I take a big bite,” I muttered through a full mouth.

“Can you guess what it represents?” she asked, smirking.

The wheels in my brain whirred as I tried to piece it together. Food analogies weren’t my thing. “I have no clue. What does it represent?”

“Our lives.”