Bacon Sandwich

Elisa’s cloud hadn’t shifted all week, and as she awoke to have her eyes slapped by the sunlight that glared through tattered curtains, she lay still in her bed, believing that today would be no different. Then she smelled bacon. It was strong and it was close, and pretty soon it was accompanied by a sizzle of such volume that Elisa’s chubby belly began to murmur. She couldn’t help but be excited about the prospect of bacon. But who the shitting-hell was the bacon maker? Elisa lived alone (but for Herman, the spider as big as a plate that had been residing in the corner of her living room for the last six weeks or so). Maybe her mum had popped round? No, she was in Bali with Jerry Spickle. Elisa realised that she couldn’t remember much of the night before. The stale flavour of whiskey and tobacco that seemed to sit like a cloud above her bone-dry tongue suggested it was a heavy one. The baby rhino doing a tap-dance in her skull confirmed it. Her heart jumped a little as the clicking and clanging of kitchen utensils was followed by footsteps that got louder as they approached her bedroom. “Here you go,” said a man Elisa had definitely never seen before as he walked through the open door. He stood at the side of Elisa’s bed and waited, giving her a look as if to say ‘sit up then’. Elisa did sit up. He placed a tray on her lap. Upon it was one bacon sandwich cut neatly into two triangles. “I wasn’t sure if you were a brown sauce or a red sauce kind of girl,” said the stranger, “so I’ve put both bottles beside you”. Elisa looked to her left. On her bedside table was a bottle of brown sauce, a bottle of ketchup, one cup of tea and one flaccid dandelion poking out from an empty can of Kopparberg. She turned to look at the man once more who was wearing a goofy smile. “You said you liked daffodils, so…” Elisa glanced once more at her bedside table. It was definitely a dandelion. At this point, Elisa was very aware that she had not yet said a word. She was even more aware that beneath the bed sheets that covered her, she was extremely naked. “What time is it?” she muttered with a voice that barely worked. “It’s bacon time,” came the reply from the man who, albeit handsome, was starting to irritate Elisa with his chipperness. “Seriously,” she said without a hint of friendliness, “what time is it?” The man rummaged around in his trouser pocket and pulled out a Nokia 3210. Looking at the screen with squinted eyes, he said, “9.52. In the A.M.” Elisa didn’t take it in. She was too distracted by a phone she hadn’t seen since she was 12. She looked down at her bacon sandwich. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she was hungry. She picked it up and took a bite. It was delicious.