Page 6 of Till The Cows Come Home
I turned on the radio, rotating the dial away from Jane’srelaxing tunes until I landed on the oldies rock station. After a generous increase in volume, I got to work putting the library back together as best I could, attempting to achieve some semblance of normalcy so my shift in the morning wasn’t overly disastrous.
When my tank was empty and my brain could no longer obsess, I threw in the towel. I’d scraped copious amounts of unknown sticky substances from tables and returnedalmostall the books back to their rightful spots, but not even coffee could continue to keep me running. I drove home with the windows down, allowing the cool evening air to keep me awake, and as soon as I got home, I crawled into my bed for a few hours of rest, welcoming the exhaustion-induced sleep.
The week flew by, and I woke up slightly later than usual Saturday morning, my body and mind apparently in agreement that my lack of plans and exhausting week meant I needed more sleep. Ruby had checked in with me almost daily, asking if I’d changed my mind, but I stood my ground, deciding it was best not to show my face again at the market. The library had two additional parties during the week, each a tornado of mayhem, and my body and mind were feeling it. I loved immersing myself in work, but five days of constant shrill screams had me driving home in complete silence, contemplating if I really wanted a lifetime career involving toddlers.
As my coffee brewed, I shuffled into my morning routine. Most days started with a cup of coffee and a slice of toast, sitting on the balcony. I usually rose before the birds, and there was something humbling about listening to their songs start one after another as the world began to wake. I’d started off most mornings of my life like this, usually rocking with my momon the porch swing, and although I’d distanced myself from my parents, I couldn’t help but adapt my own version of the tradition.
Mine included feeding the strays first, though, or else their meowing would drown out every sound in a five mile radius. Once they were all happily eating, and the coffee had finished brewing, I began making my breakfast, but as I opened my breadbox, I peered in disbelief at its emptiness. I’d specifically been rationing last weekend's haul to give me time to sort out how I was going to function with my market hiatus, and after a moment, my eyebrows narrowed as I opened my phone to accuse the assumed culprit.
Ruby.
Please.
Please tell me you didn’t come into my home and steal my bread.
After approximately twenty seconds, I received a response back.
Oh, shit.
Hahahahahaha.
I forgot to text you. I took Ali and Ash to the park for a picnic yesterday afternoon, and you were closer than the store.
A couple seconds later, she added,
But I know a place where you could get more.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Images flooded my brain oftheir wholesome family sitting on a blanket enjoying the park did nothing but warm my heart.
I’m taking away your key!
After tossing my phone aside, knowing I’d never, I turned back to tackle the issue at hand. Was I really about to spiral on a Saturday morning about bread?
I was a functioning adult, who was absolutely capable of driving to the supermarket to buy a loaf of bread, but dammit, I wantedmybread. Beth had kindly arranged for me to pick up my order every Wednesday for the past few years, enabling my avoidance of the market, but that was still days away.
In an effort to distract myself, while temporarily fixing the issue at hand, I rummaged through my drawers, finding the baking recipes Beth had gifted me for my last birthday. As I sorted through the various notecards, I stopped, silently cheering when I found one labeled, “Foolproof Sandwich Bread.” Fool was underlined a bit excessively, but I chose to ignore Beth’s attempt at comedy in hopes that it was as easy as she led on.
The recipe was, in fact, not as easy as she led on.
My face was covered in flour, along with the majority of my apartment, and the rock that sat in front of me was definitely not edible. I had set a timer for the recommended thirty minutes, picking up my book to pass the time, but when I opened the oven, salivating at the thought of warm bread with butter, smoke billowed out.
“Shit,” I hissed.
I used to cook a lot more than I do now, but since moving, I never really adjusted to home cooked meals for one, and aquick internet search revealed all ovens are in fact different, affected by things like altitude and even humidity, a tidbit that hadn’t been included in the fool proof recipe. I had used the same worn oven in the farmhouse for a couple decades and it never let me down, but things were different now, and although time had passed, reminders of my old life continued to surface.
It was already quarter to eleven, yet I was in the same annoying position I’d been in hours ago, but as I knelt my forearms against the sink, rinsing off the evidence of my misfortune, the glisten of my keys on the counter had me thinking that maybe, just maybe, my late start could be an opportunity. I now needed to air out my apartment, and somehow acquire bread. Everyone at the market would be closed to customers in about ten minutes, and if I snuck in as vendors were finishing their cleanup, I could probably get in and out without being noticed.
“Worth a try,” I mumbled, wiping my hands with a kitchen towel before walking out the front door of my apartment.
When I arrived at the market, I quickly realized that I was very, very wrong. The center of town was flooded with people, the stalls not only still set up, but adorned with attentive sellers. I could see their eyes scanning the crowds, attempting to pull in last minute patrons, and my confusion was quickly clarified by a nearby sign. As long as I could remember, the market ended at eleven, but apparently sometime in my absence it had shifted to twelve.
The lumberjack was in my peripheral, and while currently in conversation, I could see him occasionally scanning the shoppers passing by. The last thing I wanted was to catch his eye, so I attempted to use the crowd to my advantage, sneaking my way through the sea of bodies until I arrived at Beth's stall.
“Good morning.” I smiled, and her eyes grew as she realized it was me.
“I didn’t expect to see you, baby. Where’s Ruby? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I’d planned on taking the weekend off until I realized I was out of bread. I tried to make my own with the recipe you gave me, but unfortunately I’m more of a fool than either of us anticipated.”
