George’s Surprise

(Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine)

On Friday mornings, George awoke extra early to make meatballs. As the sun peaked its way up through the kitchen window, George rolled the doughy mounds of pork and veal into flesh-colored orbs. Shaping them with two, cupped hands, he imagined himself a modern day, Italian-American Prometheus, giving rise to a population of round meat-men and meat-women.

This Friday was special for George. He was near giddy as he took one of the meatballs, and with his sturdy, elegant fingers, started pulling the side closest to him into a v-shape while working the opposite side into two round humps of a heart. Then, he went into the pocket of his overcoat and pulled out a handkerchief that had been tied into a small parcel. He opened it, plucked out two pieces of metal type that had been cleaned to a shine: a backwards letter “g” and a backwards letter “b.” At the stove, George pushed the letters into either side of the heart, interring them below the pink surface. He grinned at the buried treasure while his own heart fluttered underneath his robe.

George dressed himself as the last batch of meatballs cooled next to the sink. Then he poured the excess grease from the pan into a tin can, where it would solidify some time later, when he would already be long gone to his job in the Composing Room of the The Hendricks Globe newspaper.

As George and his large covered ceramic dish of meatballs made their way through the swinging double doors of the Composing Room, the dozen men bent over trays of type stopped what they were doing to inhale the familiar Friday smell. Each gave George a big smile or clap on the back, making sure to stay in his good graces until the lunch hour, when he would dole out one large, steaming meatball to everyone on the floor who was lucky enough to have remembered to bring a knife and fork.

“Lookin’ good, Georgie Boy!”

“Hey George have I told you what a pleasure it is workin’ with ya all these years?”

“What’s cookin’ there, good lookin’?”

When both clock hands landed at twelve, a line formed in the back of the room. Ink stained hands rubbed greedily together. Tobacco-stained mouths watered. George cleared his throat, uncovered the dish, which was still warm, and placed it on a card table that had been readied with a stack of small round plates.

Wisps of steam laced around George’s face as he plopped a single, giant meatball down for each of his co-workers, just as he’d done every Friday at noon for the past seven years.

“Hey, what’s wrong with that one?” Sonny Jovak asked when he got to the front of the line. “It looks a little lopsided, no George?”

George blushed, admiring his heart-shaped creation. “That’s for a special someone downstairs, Sonny.” He scooped it out and put it on a plate, which he carefully laid aside while he finished serving the men.

No one outside of the Composing Room had ever gotten to taste one of George’s meatballs. But today, that would all change. George could hardly contain himself as he pushed the elevator button for floor 2, the special meatball shaking on the plate in his hand and a rolled up cloth napkin with a fork and knife stuck under his armpit.

He was going to the desk of Miss Bernadette Polino. A woman whom, since he first laid eyes on her a year ago, he could not get out of his thoughts. Their paths rarely crossed outside of the elevator, and they’d had little more than pleasantries, but he was determined to make an impression today. He imagined placing the delicacy before her, watching as she daintily cut the meat-heart in half, revealing a backwards letter “g” and backwards letter “b”. He would watch her eyes light up as she realized these were their initials, and that’s when he’d ask if she’d like to get dinner that weekend. Maybe Italian? They’d laugh, they’d make a date. And George would come visit every Friday, with a heart-shaped meatball.

The elevator dinged out its destination, and George used his free hand to comb his hair back. He was ready. He strode, full of pomp, over to Bernadette’s desk. She smiled as their eyes met, and mouthed the words “what’s that?” while pointing at the plate coming toward her.

“Hiya, Bernadette!” George made a silly little bow. “Thought I’d bring you down one of my famous meatballs, made especially for you.”

“Oh, wow! I thought I smelled something delicious. Oh, George! But you really shouldn’t have.”

“Nonsense. I do it every Friday…well…I make meatballs every Friday. It’s my first time making one shaped like…this.” George set the plate down in front of Bernadette. He unfurled the napkin, placed it on her lap with flourish.

“Is that…is that a heart?” She whispered. George detected some thrill in her voice. She looked up at him with soft, round eyes. “Oh George, how delightful!”

“Try it!” He said, handing her the knife and fork. She took them, then looked up and gave him a devilish smile that made his brow bead up.

“My pleasure.” She giggled.

What happened next, George will never forget.

Bernadette placed the utensils down, picked up the meatball with one hand, and, after winking at George, shoved the entire thing into her mouth. The whole thing. All at once.

George stared at her in amazement. He was frozen with wonder, heated with passion, lulled into a state of ecstasy. That whole meatball at once. No one had ever done that. He was enraptured, listening as Bernadette made a delightful noise with her mouth while she mashed her teeth together. “MMmmmm. Mmmmm. MMmmm–OW!”

It was then he remembered about the surprise inside.