Sample “Bakery String” Alex was in love with Charlese from when he was little and she sometimes babysat for him. She lived on his block just down the street from his house. Now she was a high school senior who worked after school in Camareri's Bakery to earn money to help pay for college. Charlese always looked the same when Alex saw her, with her blond hair tied back in a ponytail and a sincere toothpaste commercial smile she showed to all the customers who came into the bakery, even the regular grouches who always complained about the prices or the loaf of bread they bought yesterday that wasn't fresh. She was pretty and her young, athletic figure filled her baker's frock so that Charlese was of great interest to many of the high school boys in the neighborhood who dropped by for a lemon ice or a loaf of Italian bread and stayed to chat. So did many of their fathers. Alex was only eight, still too young to notice those details. Although he always felt that flutter in his stomach whenever she looked at him, he was more interested in the free cookies Charlese handed him whenever they were alone. She knew he especially liked the seeded ones that tasted faintly of anisette and she always set a few aside for him. And Alex was most interested in the large spool of white string suspended overhead from the shelf of fresh baked Italian breads, the knotted loaves that were fancier than the plain ones, the heavy round loaves, and the softer flat ones his mother covered with tomato sauce and cheese and turned into pizza when she wasn't able to make her own. The coiled string wound its way from the spool that never seemed to get smaller, and threaded through a series of eye-hooks along the wall, down and over the counter to where Charlese waited on customers. Whenever Alex entered the bakery on an errand for his mother, setting the little bell on the door tinkling softly, Charlese never failed to look up from what she was doing to smile at him. That made Alex blush every time. Standing in line with the other customers waiting for his turn to tell her his order, always a loaf of fresh Italian bread and maybe half a pound of cookies if his mother was having company for coffee, or on special occasions, one of the pale cheesecakes, plain or perhaps one with cherries or crushed pineapple on the top in the display case, Alex breathed in the delicious smells of the bakery, the yeast, the fresh bread still warm form the oven, the sugar and spices in the cookies, and he watched Charlese. She worked quickly as the customers called out their orders. First she fashioned the pre-folded white cardboard stacked behind the counter into a box, then she filled it with an assortment of cookies or cream-filled cannoli made with ricotta cheese or the round puffs heavy with custard or maybe the delicate, flakey filo dough shaped like clam shells. “I'll take a dozen assorted, with four cannoli, two and two, chocolate and vanilla. A couple of sfogliatelli and some pasticiotto. You pick the rest and surprise me. And don’t forget to sprinkle sugar on top.” Sometimes she filled the boxes with assorted cookies, and miniature pastries weighed generously on the scale, or the cakes that were baked daily always smiling, always chatting with her customers. Alex loved to watch her pull the end of the string absently without thinking, without a single misstep, and skillfully and quickly wrap the white box several times in two directions with the string that unrolled smoothly from the spool and traveled along the wall through her fingers. She always ended the ritual with a flourish, snapping off the string neatly and cleanly without the least effort while fashioning a bow to hold the contents of the box secure against the car ride home, or a trip on the subway to visit relatives. “Here,” she said to Alex when it was his turn, “this is for you.” She reached into the case and came up with two seeded anisette cookies that she pressed into his hand. “I know how much you like them, and these were baked fresh this morning.” “Thank you,” Alex said. He always thanked Charlese and then he gave her the slip of paper where his mother had neatly penciled what she wanted today. He watched as she filled the box with everything, and perhaps just a little bit more. “You know,” she said to Alex, “this is my last week here in the bakery.” “How come?” he asked, biting into the cookie and watching her hands pull, twist and tie. “Because next week I’m going away to college. All the way to Buffalo. Are you going to miss me? Or will you just miss the cookies?” she teased. Alex blushed, because he was going to miss the cookies, because he would certainly miss watching her hands, and because he was going to miss her. Alex felt a pang of sadness. “Don’t be sad. I’ll be back and see you during the holidays. And Mr. Camareri said I could work here next summer vacation.” She smiled and ran several more loops around the box, finishing with an extra special bow before she snapped the string. “Give me your hand,” she said, and when Alex reached out she deftly looped several coils around his ring finger and tied it in a perfect little bow. “That isn't too tight?” she asked. Alex shook his head. “That's so you remember me. You won’t forget me or find another girl when I am at college will you?” she said, flashing her warm smile. Alex shook his head again and his blush deepened. “No, I don’t even like girls,” he managed. She laughed and leaned over the counter and kissed him on the cheek. “You will,” she said. Then she reached back into the display case and placed another cookie in his hand. “This will be our little secret. Just don't tell anyone.” © 2013 Joseph E. Scalia from Different Other Different Stories (Back)

Sample

“Bakery String”

Alex was in love with Charlese from when he was little and she sometimes babysat for him. She lived on his block just down the street from his house. Now she was a high school senior who worked after school in Camareri's Bakery to earn money to help pay for college. Charlese always looked the same when Alex saw her, with her blond hair tied back in a ponytail and a sincere toothpaste commercial smile she showed to all the customers who came into the bakery, even the regular grouches who always complained about the prices or the loaf of bread they bought yesterday that wasn't fresh. She was pretty and her young, athletic figure filled her baker's frock so that Charlese was of great interest to many of the high school boys in the neighborhood who dropped by for a lemon ice or a loaf of Italian bread and stayed to chat. So did many of their fathers.

Alex was only eight, still too young to notice those details. Although he always felt that flutter in his stomach whenever she looked at him, he was more interested in the free cookies Charlese handed him whenever they were alone. She knew he especially liked the seeded ones that tasted faintly of anisette and she always set a few aside for him. And Alex was most interested in the large spool of white string suspended overhead from the shelf of fresh baked Italian breads, the knotted loaves that were fancier than the plain ones, the heavy round loaves, and the softer flat ones his mother covered with tomato sauce and cheese and turned into pizza when she wasn't able to make her own. The coiled string wound its way from the spool that never seemed to get smaller, and threaded through a series of eye-hooks along the wall, down and over the counter to where Charlese waited on customers.

Whenever Alex entered the bakery on an errand for his mother, setting the little bell on the door tinkling softly, Charlese never failed to look up from what she was doing to smile at him. That made Alex blush every time. Standing in line with the other customers waiting for his turn to tell her his order, always a loaf of fresh Italian bread and maybe half a pound of cookies if his mother was having company for coffee, or on special occasions, one of the pale cheesecakes, plain or perhaps one with cherries or crushed pineapple on the top in the display case, Alex breathed in the delicious smells of the bakery, the yeast, the fresh bread still warm form the oven, the sugar and spices in the cookies, and he watched Charlese. She worked quickly as the customers called out their orders. First she fashioned the pre-folded white cardboard stacked behind the counter into a box, then she filled it with an assortment of cookies or cream-filled cannoli made with ricotta cheese or the round puffs heavy with custard or maybe the delicate, flakey filo dough shaped like clam shells.

“I'll take a dozen assorted, with four cannoli, two and two, chocolate and vanilla. A couple of sfogliatelli and some pasticiotto. You pick the rest and surprise me. And don’t forget to sprinkle sugar on top.”

Sometimes she filled the boxes with assorted cookies, and miniature pastries weighed generously on the scale, or the cakes that were baked daily always smiling, always chatting with her customers. Alex loved to watch her pull the end of the string absently without thinking, without a single misstep, and skillfully and quickly wrap the white box several times in two directions with the string that unrolled smoothly from the spool and traveled along the wall through her fingers. She always ended the ritual with a flourish, snapping off the string neatly and cleanly without the least effort while fashioning a bow to hold the contents of the box secure against the car ride home, or a trip on the subway to visit relatives.

“Here,” she said to Alex when it was his turn, “this is for you.” She reached into the case and came up with two seeded anisette cookies that she pressed into his hand. “I know how much you like them, and these were baked fresh this morning.”

“Thank you,” Alex said. He always thanked Charlese and then he gave her the slip of paper where his mother had neatly penciled what she wanted today. He watched as she filled the box with everything, and perhaps just a little bit more.

“You know,” she said to Alex, “this is my last week here in the bakery.”

“How come?” he asked, biting into the cookie and watching her hands pull, twist and tie.

“Because next week I’m going away to college. All the way to Buffalo. Are you going to miss me? Or will you just miss the cookies?” she teased.

Alex blushed, because he was going to miss the cookies, because he would certainly miss watching her hands, and because he was going to miss her. Alex felt a pang of sadness.

“Don’t be sad. I’ll be back and see you during the holidays. And Mr. Camareri said I could work here next summer vacation.” She smiled and ran several more loops around the box, finishing with an extra special bow before she snapped the string. “Give me your hand,” she said, and when Alex reached out she deftly looped several coils around his ring finger and tied it in a perfect little bow. “That isn't too tight?” she asked. Alex shook his head. “That's so you remember me. You won’t forget me or find another girl when I am at college will you?” she said, flashing her warm smile.

Alex shook his head again and his blush deepened. “No, I don’t even like girls,” he managed.

She laughed and leaned over the counter and kissed him on the cheek. “You will,” she said. Then she reached back into the display case and placed another cookie in his hand. “This will be our little secret. Just don't tell anyone.”

(Back)

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