Spring 2023 Contest — 2nd Place
Measuring Grief in Cheeseburgers
You pull up to the drive-thru window. You don’t even have to glance at the menu.
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger combo with a Coke, please. No pickles.”
The no pickles is non-negotiable, even though you like pickles. But on that first day, when you drove her to that initial chemo appointment, you weren’t in the mood for pickles as you circled for parking and decided to stop at the drive-thru.
You told yourself it would be a one-time thing. You were stressed, hungry, and about to face your mother’s mortality for the first time. You deserved a goddamn cheeseburger. Yet here you are again.
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger combo with a Coke, please. No pickles.”
It would be really good to have the pickle, you think. Isn’t that the best part? The master of all condiments? But you don’t have time to think about what’s good. You’re too busy measuring grief in cheeseburgers.
You slip into an empty space in the parking lot and open the bag, pulse racing as the smell of fries hits your nose. A flash of remorse. This was supposed to be a one-time thing, yet you keep coming back, over and over. You swear this will be the last time.
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger combo with a Coke, please. No pickles.”
You’ve started keeping cash in the console, specifically for these occasions. No need for your husband to know how often you’ve ditched family dinner to grab a combo. You’ve also started paying for the car behind you, as well. Maybe if you couple this with a good deed, it’ll all even out.
The generosity doesn’t last. Within a month, it’s become way too expensive a habit on a writer’s pay.
You have an eight-thirty doctor’s appointment. You pass McDonalds on the way but you don’t go in. You’re scheduled for a full check-up. Even you’re not that hardcore. But on the way home, the pull is too strong and you cannot resist.
“I’ll have a sausage McMuffin combo, no egg, a medium orange juice instead of the coffee, please.”
You drive up to the first window to pay. The cashier smiles, hands you your change. “No cheeseburger today?”
You smile politely. “It’s only nine. Even I’m not that hardcore.”
Each time you open the fridge, you’re greeted with a bounty of fresh fruit, vegetables, leftovers from the dinners cooked earlier in the week. You close the door and grab your car keys.
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger combo with Coke, please. No pickles.”
This cannot continue. You know this. No matter how many cheeseburgers you eat, you will never finish that meal, find hospital parking, and reassure her that everything is going to be okay. You will never bring her back. You will never fill that void.
Your husband asks for a lift to a meeting downtown. You open your phone and tap on Google Maps. Is there a McDonalds on the way back?
“I’ll have a double cheeseburger combo with Coke, please.”
Screw it. You’re going to have the damn pickles. Your mother is dead and your choice of condiments will never change that. How many cheeseburgers have you eaten over the past four years? How many times have you promised yourself it would be the last? When will you be ready? At least this is a step in the right direction.
You unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. You gag on the pickle, pull it out, toss it aside.
Too soon.
