PB&J by Ezra Zimmerman

Ingredients:

• "Extra Extra" Creamy Peanut Butter

• Juicy Grape Jelly

• Two Slices of White Bread

Narrative Essay:

The night is dark, not a sound in sight. I search the cabinet for a plate, trying not to make any noise that might wake up my mom who’s sleeping soundly in the other room. As I place the plate down, it slips from my hand the slightest bit above the countertop and as the glass meets the smooth glitter laced marble, a sound emerges from the collision that seems to pierce right through one ear and out the other. I pause for a moment to listen for any trace of movement in my moms room but after not hearing anything, I go back to making my PB&J sandwich.

I remove two slices of bread from the loaf and carefully dip the knife in the peanut butter jar. I then wipe all the peanut butter from the knife on one of the slices of bread. I proceed to spread it evenly around the entirety of the bread, leaving the space of a finger between the crust and where the peanut butter stops. I clean the knife and begin to maneuver it through the glass of jelly.

“What are you doing?!” A quick jolt makes it’s way up my spine and I jump where I stand, banging the knife against the inside of the glass of jelly. I turn around to see my mom standing in the hallway, her tired but heavy gaze weighing down on me.

I reply. “Making a sandwich.”

While her expression doesn’t change even the slightest, the intentions behind it clearly do. “Well where’s the peanut butter?” she asks.

“I’ve already finished with it, see?” I move out of the way to show off the slice of bread covered in peanut butter. This time, her expression changes.

“You can’t put peanut butter on first, that’s just not okay.” She says it like she explained why it’s not okay. I know it would be suicide to ask.

I decided to come back with an antagonizing reply and say, “Too bad, not much you can do about it now.”

She gives a slight huff and claims, “You really can’t do anything right, can you?” I could tell she wasn’t really asking. She walks off and slams her door leaving me the slightest bit shook. I put the jelly on the bread and as I close the two slices together, I begin to feel an obscure lack of closure.