Tears in the Bread | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Tears in the Bread | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jennifer Champion
06/02/16
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“Ms. Clark, this is Taylor from Dr. Faught’s office. He will need you to come back to the office soon to discuss your test results. Is tomorrow morning at nine good for you?"

My left hand is stirring cornbread batter as the sound of Taylor’s voice is coming through the cordless phone sandwiched between my right shoulder and cheek. It is all I can do not to drop the bowl when she informs me that the doctor needs to talk to me. I pause and just stare into the bowl of yellow cornmeal, oil, egg, and buttermilk.

“Ms. Clark, are you there? Is tomorrow at nine okay?” Taylor inquires once more.

I clear my throat and fight back the tears that are welling up, “Yes, that will be fine. Tell Dr. Faught, I’ll see him tomorrow at nine.”

The batter is getting thick just sitting there so I put the phone down and begin to stir. As the wooden spoon makes trips around the bowl, I cannot fight it any longer and start to cry. My mind races with the conversation that we will have tomorrow. Taylor will be waiting at the front desk and instead of her normal cheery self, she will look at me and just smile knowingly. She will tell me to go on back into the doctor’s office and she will ask if I want coffee. I’ll say no and she will smile again. Tears start to roll down my cheeks and drip into the batter. I stop and look at them resting on top of the golden mixture. My mind flashes forward to tomorrow when I am sitting in the doctor’s office. Dr. Faught will be behind his desk but will come around and sit next to me on the little sofa and that is when he will tell me that I have cancer. He will tell me my options and how long he thinks I have to live if treatments work and how long he expects if they don’t work.

My tears are coming harder now; more are landing in the batter. I stir the batter, tears and all. I pour it into the hot iron skillet and it sizzles as it hits the grease. After putting it in the oven, I set the timer and sit on my antique red step-stool and watch it through the oven door window. For twenty minutes I sit there and watch it rise and bubble. The kitchen fills with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cornbread and I am taken back to a time when all I wanted to do was be in my grandmother’s kitchen watching her cook. Now, she is gone. She died ten years ago of cancer and just two years ago, my mom died too of it. I guess it is my turn now.

Ding. The timer on the oven goes off and I am reminded that the lovely cake of cornmeal and tears is ready. I pull it out and inhale. It is a scent that fills me with wonderful memories of a time that has passed. My family will not know that my tears are baked into its warmth; they will only know that it is good and that it is filling. They will know that it was made with nothing but love. I turn it out onto a plate and cut a piece. As I let the tastiness of my creation sit on my tongue, I think about Jesus. He said he was the bread of life. He shed many tears for me when his life as a man came to an end. With that thought in mind, I chew and swallow. It doesn’t matter really what Dr. Faught tells me tomorrow because I know who holds the future. I know how the story ends and who wins.

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