This Week's Prompt

The Sandwich
by @owasco

"Ugh! The bread is soaking wet! Bread is not supposed to be soaking wet!" he snarled at me as he spit a soggy mouthful of half-chewed peanut butter sandwich into a tissue. I stood at attention next to his bed. He handed the sodden and heavy tissue to me.

He was now vegan, grain free, nightshade free, lectin free, phytic acid free, and deaf to my feeble protestations. He was not free, however, from his acutely tuned palate, which was maddeningly different from mine.

He had requested a peanut butter sandwich. I knew meeting all his new diet criteria would be a bitch, but I rose to the challenge. I had to.

I chose a very small ten dollar loaf of 'bread' and bought it. I bought some raw peanuts. I shelled the peanuts. I soaked, sprouted, and dehydrated the peanuts. After very lightly roasting them, I ground those peanuts into peanut butter. I then very carefully smeared the freshly ground peanut butter onto the somewhat normal looking bread. I made sure to get the peanut butter to the edges just like I had learned in home economics class long, long ago.

I knew how to make a proper tea sandwich.

I now spent my life trying to make this man happy. I signed up for that didn't I? Wasn’t that my reason for being? To make this man happy?

Well, he was not happy with that sandwich.

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Extending the story:
Eternity
@felixgarciap´s ending

His bad appearance due to his long illness implies a lot of sacrifice, so helping him now is a challenge.

Michael in the first twenty years of his marriage was a hardworking man, with his corpulent body stood out in his work, he was always given the most unlikely tasks to solve.

Now bedridden, without strength, the only thing that shows his character is his strong voice and his poor disposition.

I remembered the time in which we toured Europe, I laughed when the memories took me to the moment that that man slipped on the barge in Venezia falling to the lake, all scared and the gondolier was quick to rescue him.

They were moments in which happiness did not give space to sadness.

Already now at the end of his days, just living off the retirement and the charity of the neighbors, I could only appreciate having those memories of past glories.

Not even the friends remembered him, many already dead, now he on the list of those who had secured his next trip to the cemetery.

That morning, however, a glimmer of lucidity had crossed his mind, that man asked me for the presence of a priest.

This would be the next task I would have to do that morning.

He only had to confess his sorrows before God before leaving for eternity.

........
The end
.........

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