When I wake up, Kai has a hump jutting out of his back. Except, when I wipe the sleep from my face, I see the hump is a McDonald\u2019s restaurant about the size of a backpack. He\u2019s bent over in the snail position, naked except for a pair of boxers, inspecting himself in the mirror door, his face creased with concentration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love McDonald\u2019s. I love it so much, in fact, I use it as an emotional measuring stick. For example, I do this thing where I say I\u2019d rather have McDonald\u2019s than X, where X is a variable, which stands for someone or something unpleasant. Usually, the X is also someone or something of considerable importance. Last night, the X was Kai.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He got home two hours late from the video game night with his friends and, to top it off, he forgot it was his turn to pick up dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe were stuck on the final boss,\u201d he said. \u201cThe guys get weird when I bail.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Recently he\u2019s been pulling these stunts a lot. So I threw the TV remote across the room and stormed off to fill my wine glass in the kitchen. There, propped against the counter, I fed him my favorite line, implied a McRib and order for French fries would offer more emotional fulfillment than him.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnybody in there?\u201d he asks, neck craned at the building in the mirror.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I slump off the mattress and crawl over beside him. My fingernail taps one of the tiny glass windows. Inside, there are booths, ivory plants, a pair of soda fountains, trash cans with plastic trays stacked on top, a counter, and overhead menus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t mean what I said last night. About the McDonald\u2019s and McRib. I didn\u2019t think my wish would come true.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d Kai asks. \u201cWhat wish? I got out of bed and this growth was coming out of my back, but I think it\u2019s starting to look like a building.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo you want me to call for help?\u201d I ask. \u201cThis seems serious.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSaw is in the garage. We can cut it off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Of course, in this instance, \u201cwe\u201d means \u201cyou,\u201d as in me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet me move you to the backyard,\u201d I say, grabbing his foot. \u201cWeather\u2019s beautiful this afternoon.\u201d I drag him outside into the grass. He grunts and wheezes, but he doesn\u2019t protest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Despite my apprehension, Kai seems unperturbed by me playing surgeon. I pour beer in a glass and set it beside his arms. I\u2019ve brought out some of his favorite comics, so he can distract himself while I work. He wiggles his arms and tells me not to worry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He smells like cheeseburgers and dollar-menu apple pies; much better than the cologne he wears. He\u2019s radiating familiar warmth, which reminds me of what it feels like inside a busy kitchen. Unlike his usual aroma, it\u2019s comforting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I nurse him some beer and torture the jagged blade across the building\u2019s base. Metal grinds against brick and he yelps like an injured dog. My breathing grows labored. This goes on for twenty minutes and I don\u2019t make a scratch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cComing along great,\u201d I lie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He\u2019s started to stretch like he\u2019s a bear skin rug with a coffee table in the center, except the coffee table is a McDonald\u2019s. Little ceiling lights have illuminated the restaurant\u2019s interior and I see uniformed employees at the registers. Their faces are too small to discern, but they wave like they want me to open the door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kai grunts my name and tips over the beer glass. He looks up to meet my face, but his head has gone pancake flat like it\u2019s sinking into the lawn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m almost out of beer,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I want to say I love you, but the lie pushes beyond the bounds of my comfort zone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So I grab him another beer. While he dozes, I prop his head atop his favorite comic book. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I wished for the McDonald\u2019s,\u201d I say, and as I say it, I wonder if it\u2019s true.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Back inside the house, I call up my old work friend, Vanessa. She has an interest in manifestation, intention setting, wishes. She\u2019s not full-blown new age, but she does tarot and astrology readings. She claims she manifested an ex\u2019s orgasm from five hundred miles away. One time, when money was tight, she purchased a jacket containing a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills in the pocket, a wish she\u2019d been making for weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIs it possible to manifest a person into something else by accident,\u201d I ask. \u201cKai\u2019s had a bad morning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Unfortunately, my question prompts an interrogation. Vanessa doesn\u2019t believe in accidental manifestation. She volunteers to lend me some books from her library, let me do some independent research if I\u2019d rather not go into detail, but without specifics, she can\u2019t share insight. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI think my boyfriend is turning into a McDonald\u2019s,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOh, I used to date a man like that. He went through an Arby\u2019s phase. Couldn\u2019t get him to eat anything else. Doubt it involves a wish or intention. Give it a month, and if he doesn\u2019t change up his diet, consider an intervention. A lot of guys are resistant to therapy, but if he\u2019s depressed, maybe you can talk him into group therapy. Remember to visualize him as the best version of himself, and when you visualize, express gratitude. Gratitude\u2019s important.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThanks, I\u2019ll give it a shot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When I hang up, I try to visualize Kai, the wish, and taking back the wish, but I never ate breakfast, and lunch time has passed. My stomach gurgles and I visualize a McDonald\u2019s quarter-pounder haloed by a golden glow. Each time I attempt to picture my boyfriend, the image sharpens, and the light intensifies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Is it normal to get hungry during a crisis?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I Google the question, but I refresh the search page before the results can populate, because I don\u2019t want to know the answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By the time I return to the backyard, the McDonald\u2019s is as big as a shed. Kai\u2019s feet stick out from the bottom, like the building fell on him, like he\u2019s the dead witch in The Wizard of Oz<\/em>. There\u2019s a flowerbed, containing his favorite comic nestled inside some petunias, at the part of the building where his head used to rest. His limbs must\u2019ve sunken into the gravel parking lot or fed into the grass medians around the perimeter. The Golden M sign grows out of the spot where his left hand had been placed and, beside it, the glass of beer I poured for him sits untouched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I sniff around the restaurant\u2019s dumpster, the hedges, and black-top oil slicks, searching for the scent of him, a clue he was here and I didn\u2019t make it up, but the whole yard smells of grease and grilled meat, salty French fries. It smells like McDonald\u2019s. I cup my hands around my mouth and call his name, ask him to let me know if he\u2019s okay, though I don\u2019t anticipate a response and, after an hour, my voice grows weak.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It takes a long time of sitting there brooding on the gravel to accept my situation. It takes me longer to stand and work up the nerve to pass through the glass doors. Sundown, and Kai is the same size as any McDonald\u2019s across America.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s the smell,\u201d I say to the cashier, when she asks what brought me here this evening. She looks like Kai. All the employees look like Kai, or watered-down clones of Kai. Or I miss him. Or I love McDonald\u2019s and he has become McDonald\u2019s, so in a way I have come to love him and my memories of him too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAre there any other customers?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, but there will be other customers.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut what if I don\u2019t want to share?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThen don\u2019t. This is your McDonald\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t know if there\u2019s any grief to eat my way out of, because right now, for the first time in a while, I feel content. I order a McRib, the extra-large fries I\u2019ve been craving all day, a large fountain soda, and two of the dollar-menu apple pies. The restaurant is open twenty-four hours. It has reliable wifi, immaculate bathrooms. It will keep me fed and see to my needs regardless of circumstances. I wish I could speak to Kai over the intercom, hear his voice, but I take it back, because I know I\u2019m better off longing after the possibility, letting it linger like an echo in my mind while I dine in the peace of a corner booth, feet kicked up on the table. I slurp through my straw, nibble on my pie, yawn like I have nowhere to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I figure this is good a place as any to stay the night.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The McDonald’s Boyfriend When I wake up, Kai has a hump jutting out of his back. Except, when I wipe the sleep from my face, I see the hump is a McDonald\u2019s restaurant about the size of a backpack. He\u2019s bent over in the snail position, naked except for a pair of boxers, inspecting himself […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6267,"featured_media":258282,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5557,5965,5561],"tags":[18,5677,5508,94],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n