Michael was a sandwich

Michael was a sandwich. He was a reuben with extra sauce. By the time Kevin arrived home, Michael had dragged the ping pong table from the garage and unfolded the legs in the middle of the living room. Michael broke the seal on a bottle of Captain Morgan’s spiced rum when Kevin noticed what he was doing.

“Play me,” said Michael.

“I’ll fuck you up,” Kevin said to the sandwich.

Michael arranged six red cups on each side of the table and poured by eye about an ounce of liquor into each cup, then topped up each with a splash of Pepsi from the door of the fridge.

“Bitch ass sandwiches go first,” said Kevin, rolling both balls across the table toward Michael. Michael squared up his crusts so that the fluffy part of his bread stomach just hung over the white paint around the edge of the table. Then Kevin said “Back up.”

Michael obliged, inching backward to the wall behind him. Fondling the first ball between his fingers, Michael carefully eyed the cups on Kevin’s side of the table. His first shot landed in the closest cup, the nearest point of the red triangle. His second found itself in the far right corner.

“Balls back,” said the sandwich. 

Kevin rolled the balls back, but soon after, Michael drained another two shots. Kevin was drinking as fast as he could handle. By the time Michael sunk the fifth shot, Kevin was leaning against the wall. He had only been home from work fifteen minutes. Michael had the sixth shot pinched in his fingers.

“Wait,” said Kevin, “Let’s make this interesting.”

Michael lowered his arm.

“Okay,” he said, “you know what I want.”

“And do you know what I want?”

“No. What do you want.”

“I want five hundred dollars.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fifty”

“Fifty? Final offer?”

“Yeah, if you don’t sink this last ball, I get fifty dollars.”

“What?”

“I’m making it interesting.” Kevin burped then swallowed. “You’re a nasty sandwich. You won’t make this shot, and then you’ll give me fifty bucks.”

“And if I make this shot, you swear on your life you’ll do that thing. The thing I always want you to do?”

“Yeah, I’ll do the thing,” Kevin said, smiling and twisting his arms and legs in dance.

“Okay.” 

Michael raised his arm again and threw the ball into Kevin’s last cup, keeping direct eye contact with Kevin. Kevin let out an animalic welp and slammed both hands on the table, knocking his last cup and its contents to the floor.

“Zamboni, fucking idiot.” 

Kevin had a wild look in his eyes at this point. He lunged at Michael, knocking him to the floor. Michael, having a very awkward centre of gravity, lay face up on the living room floor, wriggling around and oozing liquid in circular patterns on the hardwood floor. Kevin had him pinned there.

“You’re a messed up, fuck head, sandwich! Freak! Waited for me to come home just to fuck with my head again!”

“You’re just an easy cunt to mess with,” Michael grunted, spitting mustard into Kevin’s face. Now Kevin really had had it. With one foot on Michael’s bread shoulder, he began taking off his clothes. 

“Oh, Jesus,” said Michael

“That’s right,” Kevin said, panting in his effort to keep Michael in one place with his leg.

Now Kevin was completely naked. He lowered himself over the face of the sandwich. Then he put his hand between the two slices of bread near Michael’s feet. Just then, there were three short knocks on the front door, then it swung open in that sort of second-thought privacy manner. Standing in the door frame were Michael’s parents. His mother was a pulled pork sandwich; his father was a beef dip.

“Mom! Dad!” Michael screamed, running to the bathroom and locking the door.
Kevin sat on the floor another few seconds, covered in mayonnaise, and sweating. Then he stood up without touching the floor with his hands. He walked toward the kitchen and found the cupboard with the sandwich bags. He pulled out two plastic bags and sunk a hand into each. He lifted them up, about level with his ears, then swivelled them around, letting his fingers get the feel of their new environment. Then, walking back toward Michael’s silent parents, he said “Hi, I’m Michael’s room mate, Kevin.”

He reached out his hand. The beef dip shook it and looked at his wife.