A Bitter-Sweet Adventure

Dec 3rd, 2000:

“Grandpa, what’s that in that bottle over there?”, Cheryl asks pointing to a black bottle lying on the kitchen counter. Grandpa stops his vigorous whisking, picks up the bottle and joins her. He places the bottle under her nose. 

“Tell me what you smell”

Cheryl sniffs, her nose scrunching up adorably. Her face brightens and she looks up at her favourite person in the entire world.

“It’s smells sweet, Pa. What is it?

Grandpa lifts his pinky finger, runs it along the rim of the bottle and asks her to give it a taste. Cheryl’s tongue darts out to sweep the brownish liquid. Her face immediately contorts into a grimace.

“Yuck, what is that? It’s so bitter. Like medicine. Is it some kind of medicine, Pa?”

Grandpa laughs heavily. His gravelly voice echoing through the room. He always had an unique laugh, a memorable one.

“No, Mia”, he says, looking at Cheryl, his eyes brimming with love, adoration and everything along those lines.

                    ~

It’s funny how so much and so little can change in the course of twenty years. The kitchen was still the same. So was the worn pair of mittens lying on the counter. The walls dustier and the room just infinitely quieter. But the most heartbreaking change was that a tall, lanky old man with white hair and the biggest smile ever was missing. He was the most important piece and without him it just felt empty. As Cheryl stood their with a bottle of Vanilla in her hands, she reconsidered her idea. Maybe she shouldn’t have come back here. Maybe this was a very bad decision. She sighs heavily. Shaking her head, she walks over to the fridge. The doors rattle as she pulls it open. She places the bottle of vanilla inside and she slams the door back with maybe a tad bit more force than necessary. 

Pa would have wanted you to do this. Take deep breaths. Do it for Pa.

Cheryl recites to herself as she leans back against the kitchen counter. Her chest shaking with how hard her heart was beating. Calm down heart. Calm down.

                   ~

The baking part wasn’t that difficult at all. It was simple just like her Pa had taught her. Equal parts sugar and butter. Whisk. Salt. Just a pinch because no likes salty cookies except Aunt Jenna but no one like Aunt Jenna either. Flour just enough to form a dough. And oh! Don’t forget the dash of Vanilla. The hero of the story that is the recipe. Makes everything sweeter though it’s bitter on its own. Roll out the dough just as thick as a coin. Cut them into squares and into the oven it goes on a sheet tray at 180 degree Celsius for 15 minutes or just until brown around the edges. Simple as that.

Sorry, almost forgot. You must use Vanilla extract. Not essence. Like Pa used to say, “Essence is too cheap to be good and Pods are too expensive to be worth it”. Silly, right? But what Grandpa says you must do because otherwise it’s not Grandpa’s recipe, is it?

~

She pushes the plate of cookies forward. Not that anyone is there to take it. It comforts her. A little bit. But she’s been done with the cookies for the past half an hour. She’s been staring at them from the past half an hour. Maybe if the recipe wasn’t so easy she wouldn’t have had to go through this agony. If only she would have forgotten it so that she would have messed them up and then could have thrown them away. That was the problem. It was so easy and she remembered it too well to mess it up.

A coward that’s what she is. Too scared a eat a cookie.

What would Pa think if he saw me right now?

She laughs at herself. 

The cookies look good. But she doesn’t think she has the power to taste them. It represents all the memories she had with Grandpa. She never knew that sweet things would feel so bitter. Everything. The cookies, the vanilla and the memories. 

So she covers the plate of cookies in plastic wrap and takes it on a bitter-sweet 

adventure.

           ~

There’s a thin line between eerie and scary. Funnily enough, to Cheryl, the graveyard felt comforting. 

In front of her was a stone. 

              Ajeandro Cole

              1956 - 2020

The flower in front of the stone was dead. Ha. Fitting. She supposes. 

Cheryl sits down behind the stone, her back against it. At that moment everything felt normal. She was back in her Grandpa’s kitchen, baking cookies while she asked a million questions. Just like every other one of her Grandpa’s birthdays. 

As she peeled back the plastic wrap and reached for one of the cookies, she could swear that one cookie was missing. Or maybe she had just miscalculated. Cheryl just sighs, tips her head back and laughs. Her laugh booming through the empty field, echoes of another accompanying the sound. She smiles after a really,really long time.

~

I remember it like yesterday

Only yesterday I was there

There in my Pa’s kitchen

Where all my sweet memories lay

Asking questions like any other day

“What’s that?”

“Why do you do that?”

“The flour looks like Snow”

“Is it snow for the cookies?”

“Knock knock”

“Why did the elephant go to the zoo?”

“When the cookies burn does it hurt them?”

“Can we make butter noodles for dinner?”

“Pa..”

“Pa......”

“Where’s Ma?”

At that he would hug me

So tight my mind would forget

So tight that it didn’t matter

Nothing else mattered when he was with me

But now..... he’s gone

Along with the wind

Left me alone with only memories 

Memories I wish I could relieve 

Only if I could turn back time

But I know he’s still there

Flowing with the breeze

Watching me like he promised to do forever

So everything I do is for him

This is for you Grandpa!

            ~ Cheryl Cole