Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold

by J. L. Salter

  “Yeah. It’s raw in the can, right?”

  “No. Already cooked. They pre-cook it before they even completely clean the fish… right at the dockside processing plants. After they filet it and seal it in the cans, they heat it again — for several hours — and sterilize it. It’s called retort cooking. When you open the can, it’s basically ready to eat.”

  “Okay, let’s see. Ow!”

  “What’s the matter?” asked the concerned mother.

  “Cut my finger on the dadgum lid!”

  “You’ll want to hold the can down low, so the lid doesn’t nip you.”

  “Now you tell me. Thanks a bunch.” Jason sighed heavily. The can was only an inch tall. How do you hold it low? “Okay, thanks. Bye.”

  In slightly less than two minutes, Jason called his mother back. “Doesn’t look right.” He whispered again.

  “What did you do?”

  “I dumped the fish onto a slice of bread and slapped the other piece on top.” He shook his head while holding the phone stationary. “Doesn’t look right.”

  “Did you drain it first?”

  “You didn’t say to drain anything. How does that work?”

  “You still have the can?”

  “Uh, pretty much.” Jason hedged on full disclosure — it was already in the kitchen trash, but on top of everything else.

  “Put the tuna back in the can. Have you still got that lid?”

  “Nah, threw that sucker away. Dangerous.”

  “Okay, you can use your fingers as a sieve.”

  “A what?”

  Margaret didn’t even attempt to define it. “Rinse the tuna under a thin stream of water, while it’s still in the can, and then pour out the excess oily liquid. Keep your fingers over the opening of the can so the tuna doesn’t fall into the sink.”

  “Oops.”

  “What happened?”

  “Some of the tunas escaped.”

  “Well, leave them in the sink. You don’t want to mess with all that bacteria.”

  With his mother still on the phone, Jason dumped the remaining freshly-rinsed tuna onto a new slice of bread. “Still looks funny.”

  “Did you mix it first?”

  “Mix? With what?”

  ———

  A few miles away on Mayfield Drive, Margaret wondered how specific she’d need to be to talk her son through this experience. She felt like an exasperated air traffic controller aiding a frantic passenger who’d just assumed the controls of a damaged plane. “Some people use mayo. Put three tablespoons of mayo into the tuna and mix it up thoroughly.” She strained to hear his actions. All she could make out was vague slapping sounds. She wondered if her youngest son had ever identified a tablespoon.

  He cursed. “It tore the bread all to pieces.”

  “You’re supposed to mix it in a bowl!”

  “Good grief. Why do you reel out these instructions one inch a time?” Jason noisily extracted two more pieces of bread. “It’s taking the entire new loaf to make one stinking sandwich.” Cabinet doors slapped, pans clanged, and bowls clinked. “Okay, found a bowl. Now I dump in the tuna and mayo together… right?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Dadgum!”

  “What’s wrong now?” She imagined several possibilities.

  “More tunas escaped.”

  “Where now?” For all she knew, they might be on a train to Oshkosh.

  “Floor.”

  At first, Margaret did not intend to specify the following, but then she thought better of it. “Jason, throw away the part that fell on the floor. You’re not allowed to invoke the three-second rule if somebody else has to eat whatever you’re fixing.”

  “But there’s new research — most guys agree now that you have at least five seconds to reclaim stuff that fell on the floor.”

  “Absolutely not! I won’t bother to debate your pseudo-science, but here’s the overriding law: do not apply the floor-time rule — no matter how many seconds — unless it’s something you intend to consume all by yourself. Understand?”

  “Yeah, just jump all over me next time.”

  She ignored his complaint. “Now, scoop the rest — from the counter only — into the bowl and mix it up really good.” She waited a moment as the noise at his end seemed to match her instruction. “Okay. Now add some celery.”

  “Hold on.”

  Margaret heard the fridge opening. Several things clanked, two inside drawers slid out and in. Then the appliance door slammed.

  “Okay, got the celery loaded. Next step?”

  She briefly closed her eyes to visualize. “You just stuck that entire celery stalk in the bowl, didn’t you?”

  “That’s what you said.”

  “I meant to say, ‘Chop… up… the… celery… and… mix… in… the… pieces.’” There was a pause and Margaret heard three drawers open and close. Then it sounded like somebody was trying to saw a huge rubber tube in half.

  “This celery is too limp to chop. Plus, it’s mostly brown.”

  She groaned. “Toss the celery, Jason.”

  Over the phone, the celery sounded like an empty banana peel as it obviously hit the growing trash pile.

  Margaret tried to think of other components which would provide some flavor and color to a tuna fish sandwich. Maybe fresh grapes with crumbled pecans or sliced almonds? No. If Jason tried to slice almonds, he’d end up in the E.R. She drew a blank. “Most tuna fish has celery chunks to give it some green.”

  Jason knocked over several items as he rustled in the cabinets. “She’s got a can of green peas. Would that work?”

  “Never mind, forget green. Just serve it plain.” Margaret realized she’d better check. “Now describe what you have so far.”

  “A really slippery spot on the floor to clean up, an empty bowl I’ll have to wash, and four pieces of soggy bread in the trash can… underneath the brown celery. Oh, and two new bread slices on a paper plate with tuna on one of the pieces.”

  “You did mix the mayo with the tuna?”

  “Of course! Plus, it has a few clumps of that soggy bread from my earlier attempts.” He sighed. “But bread is bread… right?”

  “In many cases. But I’m sure this will be an interesting surprise for Amanda.” If Margaret were making this sandwich herself, the ordeal would have ended twenty minutes ago. At the very least, it should have some garnishment. She tried to imagine something Jason could handle without dumping out the entire container. “Check if Amanda’s cupboard has onion seed or celery salt.”

  “Where?”

  “Little tins or jars, wherever she keeps spices.”

  Seven cabinet doors opened before Jason said, “Oh, spices.” More clinking and scraping sounds. One container fell noisily to the counter. “Okay, here’s the celery stuff. What was the other one?”

  “Onion seed.”

  After more noise, “Okay, got them both. Little can and small bottle. How much of each?”

  “No! Do not add them in. Just put those little containers on the side of the sandwich plate — or a tray would be better — and let Amanda season it to her taste.”

  ———

  After ending the phone call, Jason assessed his devolving situation. Since so much tuna had been lost to the sink and floor, there was only enough material to make a sandwich and a half. He gallantly took the half. Rolling up the bread slice like a burrito, he ate the entire thing in two bites. Good thing his grocery experience had featured two generous, attractive shrimp girls and included several thoughtful purchases from the snack aisle.

  Finally exiting her bedroom, Amanda hobbled down the hallway on her crutches. Jason proudly presented her with his carefully prepared tray. She seemed puzzled about the two spice containers until she peeked inside the sandwich.

  Amanda got situated on the couch and lightly dusted the tuna with celery salt and onion seed. She tasted it and made the gerrh sound. She turned on the television, which Jason had reset to her favorite movie channel.

  Jason st
epped outside the front door and sat on the porch steps, hardly aware of No-Neck banging two tennis balls against the laundry house wall. Suddenly Jason realized he’d been taking care of someone else, being protective, for the first time in his life. He’d never needed such an instinct before, so this was new for him.

  Being youngest of three boys, Jason had always had somebody looking out for him. He’d never really been expected to look out for himself, much less take care of anyone else. Being the baby, he’d been babied. Somehow he’d continued as the indulged one for most of his 32 years.

  It probably explained why his college sweetheart had broken off their engagement two months before their scheduled wedding eight years ago. Karen had kept expecting Jason to grow up but Jason thought he’d already advanced as far as anyone should expect. In fact, that was Jason’s capsule identification: most people expected very little of him and he rarely disappointed them. Karen had finally realized Jason was not the proper raw material for her to mold into a suitable husband.

  He hadn’t thought about Karen and his old engagement for a long time. Why would that come up now? And why was he being introspective? Actually thinking!

  When the no-neck kid was called back to his pen somewhere along the row of duplexes, his irritating, unsyncopated rhythm mercifully ceased and he dropped the tennis balls next to the wall before he departed.

  While that golden opportunity presented itself, Jason retrieved both balls and hid them behind a potted plant on Amanda’s stoop. As he sat again on the concrete threshold for a few moments of silence, he became acutely aware of his fatigue. That entire day so far, Jason had helped Amanda. He’d bumbled a lot and was basically helpless around the household, but he’d tried… and, in the process, worked himself to exhaustion.

  He went back inside the apartment, sat on the couch near his patient, and fell asleep during the emotional climax to a dreary movie Amanda had likely already seen four times.

  * * * *

  Amanda had a shard of tuna stuck between two teeth. As Jason napped, she got up quietly and made her way on crutches to her bathroom for some floss. Then she shut the bedroom door softy and called Christine. “Where have you been? I think I’m banned for life from the Verde Grocery.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “I’ll fill you in later. I’m starving! Jason cannot cook. You should have seen what he produced as a substitute for tuna sandwich—” kahh “—it had rolled-up bread-pills inside! He had to call his mother for tuna instructions! He must’ve thought I was asleep. I only overheard his side of the conversation, so I don’t know what she told him. But it took him 45 minutes to put tuna and mayo together.”

  “Even blindfolded and one-handed, that ought to be five minutes, tops.”

  “I know.” Amanda barely took a breath before changing the subject. “I can’t believe you abandoned me!”

  “I didn’t. Margaret suspended me! I’ll explain that part later. Right now, tell me how it’s going. I mean, besides being thrown out of grocery stores and eating his tuna surprise.”

  “This is a new side of Jason.”

  “I’ve seen his backside. I’d guess this must be his front.”

  “Seriously. He’s being sweet, in a clumsy way. It’s kinda humorous and also a little scary.”

  “Scary?” Christine probably needed clarification because she’d previously admitted the entire Jason relationship was spooky to her.

  “Yeah. In a horror movie, he’d treat me nicely for about 72 hours and then stab me in the heart with sharp scissors.”

  “No, he wouldn’t! Scissors are a girl’s weapon. Jason would probably use a jagged hunting knife.”

  Amanda ignored the cutting facetiousness. “But this new Jason is gentle and helpful, or at least he tries to be.”

  “He’s actually taking care of you? Wow, I’m impressed. Never thought he had it in him.”

  “Me, either, actually. I guess maybe I’ve never given him much of a chance. I was too busy taking care of him.”

  “Amanda, he sure doesn’t need another momma.”

  “No, and I don’t need a 32-year-old child, either. I’d just like my boyfriend back… only I’d prefer him to be healthy again.”

  “Margaret said you’re supposed to take the richer and poorer, in sickness and health.”

  Amanda pressed the phone closer to her face. “I sometimes wish I had that much steel in my backbone.”

  “Something’s different, Amanda.” Christine seemed very puzzled. “You sound funny when you talk about Jason.”

  “Different? Funny?”

  “Funny… like you talked when you first got so goofy about him back before Halloween. Different, like you’ve just now fallen in love.”

  “Nah. Well, maybe.” Amanda giggled. “It’s been really strange… these last 24 hours. Jason’s a different man.”

  “That can only be a good thing.”

  “Seriously. He’s a lot deeper than I realized. More considerate, more caring. Less selfish.”

  “I’ll call Margaret.” Christine’s voice became a whisper. “Maybe you’ve got temporary custody of the good brother.”

  “No, he’s got enough of old Jason’s clumsiness that I’d recognize him with my eyes closed. But now there’s something extra.”

  “Exactly what? You also sounded gaga about that Washington big shot not too long ago. Remember?”

  “That was so different!” Amanda smiled as she savored that memory. “He was only an infatuation. Elegant man with expensive haircut and tailored suit. Those Cary Grant types just sweep me off my feet.”

  “Isn’t that what this new Jason is doing to you now? Sweeping you up, with kindness and attention?”

  “Could be, but I don’t think so. I really think Jason has truly changed.”

  “Men don’t change, Amanda. They temporarily turn different shades, like those garden lizards do. But men never really transform.”

  “I think Jason has.”

  “No, he’s acting unusually nice and you’re falling for it.” Christine lowered her voice a full octave and spoke very distinctly. “I already told you about that special school men go to, where they learn tactics on how to get women into bed.” She resumed normal voice. “This is just a ploy. Jason isn’t different. You’re the one who’s changed.”

  “Explain.”

  “You’re falling in love with him all over again. Only this time, he has more hooks in you than merely east Nashville charm, boyish good looks, and tight jeans.”

  “Nah.” Amanda giggled like a sixteen-year-old with a crush on the football player in tight jeans. “You know, over this past very long day, I’ve realized something: it does feel nice to be babied a little.” She didn’t tell Christine she’d even found herself milking her injury, just a little bit, for the extra attention it received from Jason. An additional groan when he was watching would prompt a consoling touch of his hand.

  “Yeah, everybody needs to be babied a little, every now and then. Even me.” Christine sounded surprised that she’d said it out loud. After a pause, she griped a bit about how tight her clothes felt lately. “You know I weigh every Saturday at my sister’s house. She has one of those fancy-schmancy electronic scales.”

  Amanda nodded into the phone.

  “Well, I weighed today and I’ve gained eight frazzling pounds!”

  “I don’t get it. I thought you’ve been holding steady.” A white lie.

  “Gained! It was all those extra treats I ate just to keep Jason from getting them. And now they’re stuck on my hips!” It took a while for Christine to stop sputtering about that stressful topic.

  “Christine, can you do me a favor?”

  “Nothing involving Internet blogs. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “No, this involves the party supply store… tomorrow, as soon as it opens.” Then Amanda explained what she needed.

  They spoke for a few more minutes, until Amanda heard Jason stirring in the living space. “Got to go. The new Jason is a
wake.”

  “Don’t let this new Jason doppelgänger near your bed. Be warned. Bye.”

  It was close to 7:00 p.m. and Amanda’s stomach was grumbling. The nutrients from that slender and plain tuna sandwich had run out long ago. “What are your plans for supper?”

  Jason stretched on the couch and yawned. He appeared still groggy from his nap. “Don’t know. That beer’s probably cold by now. How about some delivered pizza?”

  “Ooh, that’s sounds lovely. I’ll take the works on my half.”

  “Okay, but I’ll have to use your phone.”

  “How come?”

  “Last week when I was here, I tried ordering pizza. They said my phone number didn’t match your address so they wouldn’t take the order.”

  “I thought they stopped checking that stuff years ago when everybody still had landline phones.”

  “Well, it probably didn’t help when I told the chickie that I was in prison.” Jason scrunched up his face. “I guess she took it too literally.”

  “Most people would.”

  “Or maybe there’s been a rash of prank pizza deliveries. Anyway, they stiffed me… even blocked my number! Otherwise, I would’ve had plenty to eat while you and Christine were starving me.”

  Amanda cleared her throat softly and touched Jason’s hand. “Something I still don’t understand is why you continued to stay here and put up with all that misery Christine and I were dishing out.”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment. “You know how you’re sometimes watching a really awful movie, but you keep on watching? Can’t quite bring yourself to turn it off?”

  “Yeah, you keep thinking it has to get better.” Amanda nodded earnestly.

  “I think it was partly that. Plus, there was a shock factor. I came here expecting things would be as good as the way you treated me when I was sick last winter. I liked having you take care of me, you know.”

  She looked down toward her lap. “I know, now.”

  “And when that didn’t happen, I just kept thinking, surely it’s got to get better.”

  “We did terrible things to you. While it was going on, I convinced myself that I was just a bystander and it was really Christine’s doings. But I think I knew even at the time… I was involved also.”