My life has always been a rather unremarkable one. I graduated high school with average grades, went to an average university, got my bachelors in business just like everyone else, and now I live in a condo in Ely, Nevada. Ely is a small town, with a population of only several thousand. It’s not small in that sort of “everyone knows everyone” sort of way, but it’s noticed when someone new moves in.
Now, I have been living here for about 3 years after getting a local job. (The only place who would hire me with my bachelors and nothing else to set me aside from the throngs of freshly graduated future CEOs) My long time best pal Barry had moved with me, and we rented a cheap place right off main street. Barry and I have always been close. We met in high school after I stood up for him when he was being bullied by some skinheads. Barry was one of the few black kids in that school and he got a lot of shade for it. Once we were both out of high school there was no question that we wanted to live together.
Life continued to be unremarkable for a few years, working at the shitty grocery shop a few blocks away 5 days a week and coming home to the same routine every night. Barry was a self-declared artist of sorts, and spent his time taking pictures and painting his masterpieces. And trust me, that’s a very liberal use of the word masterpiece. He didn’t bring in much money so often times I had to try and get extra shifts at the shop just to make ends meet.
Now that you’ve got an idea of how vanilla my life has been, I can get into why I’m telling you this. Our financial issues made us decide to rent our extra room out. Barry was reluctant about moving his art equipment until the day a hopeful renter showed up on our cracked front porch. I opened the door only to be greeted by a very attractive blonde girl who looked to be only a little older than us. She held our flier in her pale hand, and smiled a beautiful white smile. Her eyes were a light grey that caught the evening sun perfectly. She introduced herself as Lana. I invited her in and, after a bit of talking, it was set that she would be moving in the next day.
She definitely made the little shithole of a condo a brighter place, although she wasn’t around much. Apparently she worked at a catering business right outside of town and worked long hours. It became normal for her to greet us in the evenings with a fresh pie that she had baked earlier that day. Sometimes it was fruit, sometimes it was meat. Once she brought home a sweet potato pie and, I’m not one to stereotype, but I swear Barry looked as though he may cry of happiness. The meat pies were my favorite though. Perfect amount of savory smokey flavor. I think it was pork but I’m not sure.
After a couple weeks Lana offered Barry a small paid position at the catering service. He would be gone with her for the day and they would come home together in the evening with a fresh pie. I noticed the first couple days when they returned that Barry looked incredibly tired and distant, but assumed it was because he had never really had a job before.
Life went on, as did our cozy routine.
It wasn’t until a month later I noticed that Barry was losing a lot of weight. And I mean a lot. He had stopped eating the pies for dinner and I don’t recall him eating much for breakfast. I tried to talk to him about it, I thought maybe he was intentionally trying to lose weight, but he would just leave the room when I brought it up. Lana noticed as well, and she responded by ordering Barry to eat, threatening that if he didn’t eat it, I would have to eat it and “nobody wants that now do they?”
So Barry ate. And Ate. And within a few weeks he had put on all the lost weight, and then some. After another month he was becoming severely overweight. I was getting really concerned and planned on talking to him about it when him and Lana got home that fateful evening. As they left, Lana assured me she would be bringing me an extra special pie tonight.
I got home from work before they did, per usual, and cracked open a beer while trying to think of what to say during my “come to Jesus” with Barry about his weight. 9:30 rolled around, and I saw the headlights of Lana’s old Buik in the driveway. The front door opened and I was greeted by only Lana.
"Lana where’s Barry?"
"Oh he really got into his work tonight."
"And he just decided to stay at the bakery?"
Lana shrugged and hung her jacket on the coat hanger. Her low cut blouse momentarily distracted me from my concerns with Barry’s odd behavior.
She walked to the table and set down tonight’s pie. I sat on the couch and flipped on the tv, with thoughts of Lana’s rack dancing in my head. I was soon greeted with a slice of tonight’s “extra special” pie. Another meat pie, by the looks of it. I took a bite and man - was she right! This pie was incredible. The meat was so tender and flavorful. The crust perfectly flaky.
"Wow! This is phenomenal. Did you make this by yourself? What kind is it?"
She giggled, obviously flattered by my excitement.
"It’s blackberry."
I was confused, as this pie was clearly not blackberry, or any kind of fruit for that matter. “I’m sorry I don’t understand, this isn’t fruit.”
Maybe she grabbed the wrong box and didn’t notice. Either way this pie beat anything else she’s ever brought home.
"No hun, that’s blackberry."
I was about to object until I came to a realization. This is blackberry. Then I puked and called the police.
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Credits to: Donteatthepie
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