The Bakery and a Buttermilk Bar
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I'd almost forgotten, how fondly this little hamlet
snuggles tight against the purple hills, and how State street
divides the town into two parts, like a pizza, one half a progressive present,
and the other half, the antiquated past. The old library building still exists,
although now home to an upscale art gallery, but, over there, on the western slice, is a geometrical shaped building that
is now called library, even though it looks more like the Star-ship Enterprise.
I drive slowly past old Gibble Park, and across the street is the same,
weathered brick building, where I spent many early summer mornings
Suddenly, I surrender to the decade when I was seventeen,
working a summer job, helping Mrs. Casey.
Back then, it was the only bakery in town, and I worked a morning shift.
I was cashier, and handed out powdered donuts, jellied scones, and giant bear claws,
to familiar faces that never seemed worried about cholesterol, sugar, saturated fats.
Day after day, they sampled with satisfaction, and gossiped, and enjoyed the morning routine.
I remember, with my own naive' innocence, befriending
a quiet, middle-aged man, with glossy dark hair, Cary Grant looks, and his overly charming smile.
I thought him to be nice, and knew who he was, from his daughter, who was a school mate, from a class below me at my high school
Mrs. Casey, (with a crease in her brow) telling me
"Look out for that one" but never quite making it clear just what she meant by such a comment
He always came by on his way to work, ordered a buttermilk bar, ...helped himself to a paper cup of coffee, then often talked with me, while I wiped down the glass cases, and waited on other customers. But, I was flattered by the attention,
Unexpectedly, when the end of summer came, while paying me for his buttermilk bar,he smiled sadly, barely said a word, and out of his pocket, he handed me a small package.
He quietly told me to open it when I got home,..... it was to be our little secret.
Not knowing how to respond......I said nothing.
Upon arriving home, ....alone in my room, I opened the small gift, and inside a gold cross, on a long gold chain, and a small. brilliant diamond smack-dab,
mid-center of the cross. I didn't know what to think, and I never told a soul.
It has never been worn.....it is still in my drawer....and though I had been warned,
somehow it makes me sad to think that some things still aren't clear.
I was green, wet behind my ears. at the time there seemed nothing to fear, ....
all the lines were blurred, .... I had much to learn
Even now....I can't be sure.
_____________________________________________________
For the Short Story Contest: Sponsored by Frank Herrera
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
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