One More Burger for the Road
Take care when placing a fast food order.
Max flipped his right signal light on as he removed his foot from the gas pedal and he allowed himself and his vehicle to coast off of the highway into the exit that led to an oasis of gas stations and fast food restaurants, supported by blacktop pavement awash in white LED lights.
Max was on his way home from the city, where he had just taken in a stand up comedy performance done by the creator, writer, and lead actor of a nationally beloved sitcom. It was one of the shows that Max grew up with, and even though his tastes had evolved over the years, he still had a soft spot in his heart for the wholesome, family friendly comedy that this performer was still bringing to the smaller urban centers of the country. Max couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take it in, so he made a rare weeknight excursion from his small hometown. All of this to say, Max was feeling nostalgic.
As he located the drive through for a McDonald’s, he slowed his vehicle down to a crawl before he reached the microphone to place his order. He needed extra time to think of what he wanted. Making an impromptu decision when the crackly, annoyed voice demanded one from the speaker always filled him with anxiety and he almost always panicked, then ordered something he didn’t actually want. It was safer to make a decision ahead of time, on his own terms. Besides, it had been so long since he last ate at a McDonald’s that he needed to jog his memory. What did he like to eat?
Like any red blooded North American man, the vast majority of his McDonald’s orders historically had been placed between the hours of 1:00 to 3:30 AM whilst heavily intoxicated. If he ever had a go-to, the lone light lager that he had consumed in the first fifteen minutes of the comedian’s set was not nearly enough to get his brain back into the old ordering zone. He’d have to look elsewhere for inspiration.
Max had a good friend from back in the day that he thought of. This guy was probably more of a best friend for the time that they hung out together, but Max was too young to properly appreciate that at the time. This best friend, Aaron, loved a late night McDonald’s run. But not the kind that Max would come to know. They would stay up late playing Call of Duty together, or sometimes played board games with Aaron’s sisters and their boyfriends, and when they got hungry they would drive to McDonald’s so they could eat before they fell asleep on the couch watching South Park reruns. Kind of living the post-high-school dream.
Max didn’t remember his own go-to orders, but he did remember Aaron’s. He remembered the first time Aaron ever explained it to him.
Aaron pulled out a mass wrapped up with paper, speckled with translucent spots of grease from the bag. He unwrapped it and exposed a single cheeseburger. He opened his mouth and mumbled through large bites.
“Everybody thinks you have to order the big mac, or the quarter pounder, or the angus burger, but those are all a waste. Too expensive, loaded up with a bunch of shit that you don’t want, or need. You want to know the real move?”
He chewed with his mouth closed for the first time, crumpled up the greasy paper and tossed it back in the bag, and in a fluid motion pulled another paper wrapped treasure from the bag. He swallowed the last of the first burger, and unencumbered by meat, cheese, or bread he clearly explained, “You have to order two single cheeseburgers. It’s the most pure form of the burger, but the best part is once you’re finished eating the first one, you have a whole other one to look forward to. The whole time you’re excited for the second one, and then it’s soooo satisfying to dig back in.”
He unwrapped the second burger that seemed to be his self-given reward for some unmentioned accomplishment, and Max could have sworn that Aaron had it eaten in no more than two bites. He’d never seen someone smile unbroken for an entire meal.
Thinking of Aaron’s two cheeseburger rule, Max cracked a slight smile, cracked his fingernails against the whiskers on his cheek, and rolled down his window as he approached the menu at the front of the drive through.
When he exited the drive through, he felt the uncomfortably soothing warmth emanating from the brown paper bag atop his lap. He ended up with the two cheeseburgers, a medium fries, and medium iced tea, the ice rattling in the cup marking the center of his moving vehicle.
Max pulled back onto the highway, methodically moving back up to speed as memories of his old friend began to flood his mind, increasing in quantity and vividness as the needle on his speedometer moved quickly clockwise, the engine roaring louder, and the streetlights passing by swiftly before ceasing to exist altogether. As Max set the cruise control on the dark open road, his meal began.
He thought of his old friend, his best friend, his old best friend, his best old friend, he didn’t know how to refer to him, even in his own mind to himself. He knew what Aaron once was to him, but what was he now? He wasn’t sure, and that made him resume a grieving process that never really ended. It’s tricky to put that feeling to bed when the grief’s subject is still out there somewhere. It had been damn near a decade since he last saw Aaron in person. Maybe a couple months less than that was their last text exchange. Max didn’t know that either of those instances would be their last anything, but he suspected that Aaron probably did.
He finished the first cheeseburger.
Every white dash that zipped by underneath his speeding vehicle shot another shared memory into Max’s brain. Heading to the local 7-11 for candy and slurpees before games night. Summer road trips out to the west coast, camping for weeks, both of their first tastes of real unbridled freedom. The endless hours spent together before, during, and after a high school career’s worth of basketball practices, games, and tournaments. He remembered the process of getting to know each of Aaron’s family members, and developing a genuine appreciation for each of their quirks and intricacies. Aaron’s parents treated Max like one of their own, and he still held so much love in his heart for them. Aaron was the first person to ever give Max shit for voting conservative, and Max was grateful for it. Not because he wanted to change his beliefs, just because he never knew that he needed someone to challenge him. Taboo subject matter was his forte. Aaron was the first person that Max ever met who was so proudly open to talk about everything you weren’t supposed to talk about. He openly talked about his bowel movements, shared every new sexual phrase he learned on Urban Dictionary, and talked about every weird that thing that was going on with his body at any given time. He was so disgusting and so crass, and he was delightfully shocking to be around. He was always looking for the laugh, and he was so sweet. Max remembered when they made their trip overseas to Europe and the look of utter disappointment on Aaron’s face when Max lit a cigarette after they left the airport. They both grew up in relatively sheltered homes, Max had been eager for years to branch out, Aaron had found comfort in the safety of his life. Max could feel the judgment every time he perceived Aaron’s disapproval of a newly acquired questionable life choice. After that trip they would see each other only two more times, for Wednesday Wing Night.
Max finished the fries.
It had been a long time, and it frustrated Max that he couldn’t let go. He had accepted that they weren’t friends anymore, but he just wanted to know why. He was tired of the memories of his old friend just making him sad. That’s not what those memories were for. His mind raced at highway speed through their entire friendship. He looked at all the angles and used his more recent mind to examine for any newly uncovered blind spots, but as always, he found nothing new. For some unknown reason, Aaron just decided one day that they weren’t friends anymore. Max knew it was that simple.
In slow bites, he finished the second cheeseburger.
As Max pulled off the highway, this time down a gravel road, he drove slow and deliberate. His thoughts slowed and he became more aware of his body. His jaw was clenched and his hands were wrapped tight around the steering wheel. His eyes shone with extra moisture, though nothing escaped. His heart beat stronger, his toes were getting cold, and he felt a pain in his stomach. He always forgot that this is what fast food did to him. Once he reached his late twenties, he only ever ate it in situations like this, something quick on the road. He would enjoy himself for precisely the amount of time it took him to think of Aaron, and eat his two cheeseburgers. Just when the digestion peaked, his mind was at its busiest, remembering. The stomach pain quickly followed, right on cue.
With the road behind him and only his house left in front, he pushed the lever up on the right of the steering column and placed the transmission in park. He slurped up the last of his watered down iced tea, and turned off the ignition. The headlights dimmed in front of him and he opened up his drivers door to let in the fresh night’s spring air. He breathed in heavy, and grunted as he swung his left leg out the door, his digestive tract disapproving of the motion. As he planted his foot down on the ground and exited his vehicle, his right hand grabbed up the oily, crumb filled bag from his center console and crumpled it up to the size of a softball. Accepting the pain in his gut and sifting through the memories of his old friend, he entered his home and tossed the ball of grease and paper and salt into the garbage can on his way to the bathroom. Aaron loved when they were hanging out and someone got up to use the bathroom. “You poopin’?” He would casually ask. Of course he didn’t actually care, he just liked to make people uncomfortable. And then when you got used to it and casually answered back, “Yup, big poop,” he liked it even more because that proved that you were comfortable. Completely comfortable.
Max entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Turned on the fan, dropped his pants, and sat down. He waited a moment as he felt uneasy, uncomfortable. He felt drained from reliving the friendship he missed so much, and he realized that he really never stopped grieving that his friend just stopped talking to him one day. It hurts when you’re in kindergarten, it hurts when you’re in high school, and it hurts just the same when you’re all grown up. You just want to hang out with your buddy. He was tired of his stomach hurting, he was too old to deal with self-induced stomach aches. He knew better than that. But most of all, Max was tired of feeling sad about his friend, sad that he couldn’t get a cheeseburger without being reminded that the number he had saved in his phone was still never going to reply. So he took one more moment to wallow in his spiral, and he made note of the disgusting feeling in his belly, and the rotten reminiscing that stunk up his mind.
In his empty house, there was a sliver of light peeking out from the bottom of the bathroom door, and the faint sound of a fan whirring behind it. Slightly louder, there were soft chuckles. Laughter, as Max rid himself of the pain.
I think there was a nice mirror of the double cheeseburger and Max and Aaron as a pair.
Two go in, but as we saw at the end…only one goes out.
I just read this twice (consecutively), and I'm vegan! 😆