The P.B. & J. Sandwich

After we graduated from high school, when it came time to start college, my cousin Rumble joined Gram and I her in little white house.   I adore Rumble.  I always have and I always will.  Even so, I say: He started it!

The college was so close to Gram’s house, that sometimes Rumble and I would come home for lunch.  Occasionally one of our friends would join us.  One day a friend and I were in Gram’s kitchen heating a can of chicken noodle soup, when Rumble walked in with a friend of his.  I poured another can of soup in the pot. Rumble suggested I make four P.B.& J. sandwiches.  We all sat at the table joking and laughing and eating together.  When we were finished, one P.B.& J. sandwich remained.  I got up to get a sandwich bag.  There weren’t any.

I went back to the table and offered the sandwich to my friend, and then to Rumble’s friend.  They both declined.  I tipped the sandwich from the platter onto Rumble’s plate.  “You eat it.”  I said.

He tipped it back onto my plate.  “You eat it.  You made it.”

I tipped it back onto his plate.  “You eat it.  You ordered it.”

He picked the sandwich up, slapped it onto my plate and said, “You eat it!”  Then he went into the bathroom.

I gathered up the dishes and quickly washed them.  My friend wiped the table.  Rumble’s friend moved the table back against the wall (It had to be pulled out to make room for 4 people). He also put the extra chair back in Gram’s bedroom.

Rumble came out of the bathroom, I slapped the P.B.& J. sandwich against the front of his shirt and said, “You eat it.”

He shoved the thing back into my hands and said, “You eat it!”  Then he yelled, “Come on,” to his friend and they took off out the door.  I was right behind them.  As Rumble started his car I put the P.B.& J. sandwich under his windshield wiper.  I yelled, “You eat it!”  Then I ran for my car.

I had to fumble the keys from my pocket and get the thing unlocked.  I was too slow.  Just as I got into the car, Rumble appeared at my side and stuck the sandwich under my windshiled wiper.  As he ran for his moving car — which his friend was driving — he yelled back over his shoulder, “You eat it!”   He dove through the open passenger door and they were gone.

I took the well and truly mangled sandwich from my windshield and told my friend I’d be right back.  I went into the house, down to the basement, and tucked the sandwich neatly beneath Rumble’s bed pillow.

That night over dinner, Rumble smirked at me and asked how I liked the sandwich.  I told him it was delightful.  Since I refused to be baited, the conversation moved on to other things.

After dinner it was customary for us to all retire to the living room and watch a little TV and/or read.  When the eleven o’clock news came on, Rumble or I — we took turns — would make cups of hot tea for everybody, we would sip while watching the news, then retreat to our own respective rooms.   The south wall of my bedroom was the north wall of the basement staircase.  As Rumble went downstairs he always knocked twice on the wall.  I always knocked twice in answer.  That was good night.

After the knock, I settled into bed wearing my customary night gown — one of my dad’s old t-shirts — and opened my psych book for a little studying.  Gram was still in the living-room.  She only had a few pages left of her novel, and wanted to finish it.  We heard thunder on the stairs.  I smirked, certain Rumble had found his sandwich.  I wasn’t worried.  There was no way Gram would let him into my bedroom.  I was safe.

The basement door banged open.  I head Gram say, “Rumble!” She sounded shocked.  And then I heard, “You can’t go in –.”  My bedroom door slammed open.  Rumble stood at the foot of my bed wearing nothing but his briefs and a huge smear of P.B.& J. from his right wrist to his elbow.  He advanced on me.

I tried climbing the head board, but it was only a couple of feet high and a half-inch thick.  Rumble caught me by my left wrist and pulled me foreword.  He grabbed my hair, long and thick,  and used it to wipe the P.B.& J. from his arm.  Then he let me go — completely unharmed, though extremely sticky — and went to take a shower, making certain to use every drop of hot water.

While I took my cold shower, I hatched a plot to get even ….

Be sure to check back next week.