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Karen rolled the soft dough slowly, luxuriating in the satiny texture between her fingers, and delighting in the sharp little snaps of elasticity indicating readiness. Three perfectly shaped balls in each of the three pans. Would it last? It had to; almost a week till pay day. Covering the pans with a clean tea towel, she listened for his step. She'd have to hurry, fix her hair before he got in. How would he be tonight? In a good mood? Or--the other way? A sudden sigh escaped her lips. A worried look flitted across her fragile features. "Please, God," she whispered, "make him be okay tonight." She glanced at the clock above the stove; any minute now . . . she tilted her head for a second and listened for any sound from Jessica's bedroom. Nothing. Poor kid, she thought, she must be asleep. Finally. Karen wondered again why Jessica, who had always slept through the night, should now--at four years old--awaken nightly. Crying. Demanding to be rocked. Lately, It seemed to take forever to get her back to sleep. Tending to Jessica had delayed her. I'll clean this up before he gets . . . Outside, heavy thudding footsteps sent her eyes darting upward to the tiny, ground-level window. Her hands flew to the knotted head scarf tied haphazardly over rows of lumpy sponge rollers. Flinging the scarf on the table, she headed for the bathroom. "Karen! Where're you going? Get back here!" Dan stood inside the open door, weaving slightly, his eyes glittering pools of blue ice. Breathing heavily, his reddish-blond hair in disarray, he surveyed the kitchen counter chaos. Then, his eyes traveled over her body, stopping at her head. "What's in your hair, Karen? You know I don't like those things." "I . . . I've been busy." She gestured helplessly at the counter. "Look, Dan! I've made bread; enough to last all week . . . if you go easy on it. I'll clean up here, then do my hair. . ." He lunged, and grabbing a fistful of rollers, dragged her across to the counter. "Go easy on it! You're tellin' me to go easy on it . . . I bring home the damn money, and I have to watch what I eat?" "Please, Dan, I only meant . . ." "I'll show you how I'll go easy on it. Show you right now!" "Shhhh! Dan, you'll wake Jessica; she just went to sleep..." "Jessica, Jessica, Jessica," Dan sneered. "What about me, Karen? What about me?" He flung her away and reached for the bread. Horrified, Karen watched Dan sweep the pans off the counter. Doughy balls rolled everywhere. Scrambling on all fours, he picked them up, banging them savagely, one by one, into the yellow plastic garbage pail, before jamming the lid back on. Karen fled down the hallway to Jessica's room. She turned the lock and sank to her knees. Crouched on the floor, she listened to his tirade, praying he wouldn't wake Jessica. Eventually, the knocks, threats, and curses stopped, and Dan--his anger spent--slunk off to bed. Stiff and cramped, her head aching, Karen crept into the twin bed beside Jessica's. She lay in the darkness, sobbing. Much later, she slept. "Mommy, Mommy, get up! The bread is rising!" Karen forced swollen eyes open and stared at her daughter. "What's wrong, Jessica? Go back to bed; it's too early to get up." "No, Mommy. Come, now," Jessica pleaded, her brown eyes shining underneath the mop of tangled curls. Groaning, Karen rose and followed Jessica down the hallway. Entering the kitchen, she stopped and stared at the yellow plastic trashcan cover perched jauntily--like a sunny summer hat--atop a satiny mound. A doughy mammoth mound, rising brazenly . . . triumphantly from the foulness of the garbage. Dumbstruck, Karen stood and stared. Outside the open window, early springtime sunshine crept above the tree tops and shone boldly through the flimsy kitchen curtains. A Robin Redbreast poured out his heart in song, blithely announcing the dawn of a brand new day. And as Karen gazed at the scene before her eyes, an indescribable sense of elation surged through her body. She tasted it slowly. Savored its sweetness. Inhaled its heady perfume. Then, quelling an almost-forgotten desire to laugh aloud, she took Jessica by the shoulders and said, "Go into your room and pack; we're going on a trip." "But, Mommy," Jessica wailed, pointing at the rising mound, "we can't go now; the bread is rising." "Yes, Jessie," Karen said, "the bread is rising. And, so are we." Smiling, she reached for the phone. ........................................................................................................................................... © 2000 Marlene McCarty |
| The Bread is Rising by Marlene McCarty |
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| *The Bread is Rising appeared in Wynterblue Thunder Magazine, Summer 2002 |