Christopher Hadin

Bakery

 

The bakery would not open for several hours. In front of a curtain, pastries, blintzes, croissants, tarts, and cookies of every description, all made a detailed mosaic of edible shapes and colors. 

 

Bonnie stopped. In her whole life she had never seen such food.

 

She stared in the window, letting her eyes wander to a plate of cookies in the rear of the display. It was a lovely pyramid of wavy little shortbreads, pale yellow with a red jelly center. These she knew. She had them when she was little, sitting at the refuge of her grandmother's kitchen table, safe in the sun.

 

"You can't wait!" a woman said to her, passing by on the sidewalk. 

 

"Everything looks so good!" Bonnie said to the woman's back as she walked away. 

 

"She who hesitates is lost!" a man called out from across the street. It took a moment for Bonnie to realize he was speaking to her.

 

"When do they open?" she asked, but the man walked on without acknowledging her. 

 

She turned back to the window and saw that the cookies she had admired were now right in front of her. "Everything will be okay," her grandmother had said. "Just look ahead to tomorrow." Bonnie nibbled the shortbread of the cookie before biting into it's red jelly heart.

She got off her chair and crawled onto her grandmother's lap, laying her head on her grandmother's chest, closing her eyes, breathing in her scent. "Tomorrow," her grandmother said. "Tomorrow..."

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Bonnie had started to turn away when she saw movement in the window. Long muscular arms were arranging the display, removing the cookies with the red center. She waited to see what would be put in their place, but there was nothing.

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"First in line!" a man said to her, tipping his hat as he walked away.

 

"When do they open?" she said, but the man continued on without speaking. Bonnie watched him go, caring less about the bakery’s hours than having someone answer her. "I can't get the time of day in this town," she said. 

 

She rapped on the glass, trying to get the attention of the baker, but he did not look. She did it again and the strong arm that was arranging the window reached through the curtain to set down a loaf of bread.

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Bonnie took one last look at the display and was turning to go when the door opened a crack. The arm she had seen in the window reached out. It held a sheet of wax paper, and in it, a cookie—the one with the red center. She could not see the owner of the arm behind the screen of the door. 

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"For me?" Bonnie said, excited she was finally being acknowledged. "Thank you, I've always loved these," she said, but the door had closed. The shortbread was beautiful, a soft golden brown, and the red center seemed to glow, catching what little light there was on the dull, overcast day.

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She stared at the cookie. Something about it was just so perfect. 

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Bonnie's face twitched. She looked up to see the women, staring at her from across the street.

The woman’s eyes were wide, excited, acutely observant. Bonnie glanced up the block and saw the man with the hat. He was watching her closely, a thin smile on his lips and hands that were clenched in tight, nervous fists. Down the street, the other man stood in the doorway of a business, also watching her. He made a get-on-with-it gesture, leaning forward, waiting. 

 

Bonnie hesitated. She looked at the cookie, then to the woman. Bonnie pointed to it and then to herself. Yes, yes the woman nodded. She looked at the men. They both leaned forward, silently urging her on, willing her to act. 

 

She held the cookie to her lips and shrugged, silently asking the woman This? 

 

The woman nodded, rubbing her hands together. Yes, that! her eyes said. 

 

The man with the hat no longer smiled. Down the street, the other man had come out of the doorway. He stood very still on the sidewalk. 

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Bonnie closed her eyes and the world evaporated. Physical forms and boundaries ceased to be, disappearing into the endless void that lay beneath the surface of things. Her fingers held something, but now it was no longer a cookie. She felt the energy of it rise and fall like quiet breaths before softly guiding her back into the world of physical things.  Now she felt the eyes of the people watching her. She felt them pushing, on all sides, eyes staring and pressing in. She felt their desire—there was a rawness in it. It made her feel sick to be the object of such focus. In her mind’s ear, she listened for her grandmother to say "Everything will be okay, tomorrow, tomorrow."

 

Bonnie opened her eyes and the world snapped back in place. The people were much closer now, all within arm’s length. She looked down.

 

The thing in her hand was a cookie.

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Christopher Hadin is a freelance naturalist and environmental educator. His work has appeared in Sky Island Journal, The Thieving Magpie, Better Than Starbucks, October Hill Magazine, Schuylkill Valley Journal, and The Headlight Review. He lives in Ferndale, Michigan.

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