kneading.

2 Tablespoons sugar

2 Cups hot water (near 110 degrees)

Bri poured the sugar into the bottom of the bowl. She tested the temperature of the water and poured it over the sugar. She swirled the sugar into the water until she could no longer see the cloudy crystals. Her thoughts were swirling like the warm water in her plastic, orange bowl. She had started this recipe so many times that it no longer required her attention. Her mother showed her how. Each step.  

1 ½ Tablespoons active dry yeast

She pulled the yeast out of her freezer and measured out one and a half tablespoons. She added it to the bowl and set it aside while the sugar activated the yeast. It started almost immediately to create a pillowy froth. She set her oven timer to five minutes and took the time she had to grease another bowl and a piece of plastic wrap.

¼ cup vegetable oil

½ cup sugar

1 ½ teaspoons salt

2 cups flour

Bri absentmindedly measured out the oil and set it aside. She dipped her measuring cup into the neck of the flour bag and dug out two cups of flour. She mixed the salt with the flour with her teaspoon. She could not get the details of that day out of her mind today. She distractedly rolled out her silicone baking mat, dug her hand into the bag of flour and dusted the mat with flour. She loved the feel of flour on her fingers. She loved that these few ingredients would expand in her process to one of her favorite carb-laden snacks.

She left a white dusted fingerprint on the oven timer to turn it off as it beeped at her pulling her from her revery. The yeast had expanded into a brown cloud. She poured in the golden oil and the remainder of the sugar swirling her wooden spoon in the bowl. She continued to mix as she added the flour a bit at a time as her liquid thickened.

2 more cups flour

Bri dug her cup in the flour bag once again pulling out two more cups of flour. The mixture in her bowl was thickening to a paste. Her heart felt the same way. It was suddenly thick with emotion and thubbed with each thick beat. The dough was beginning to form in her bowl. She poured it from the bowl onto her mat at some height, so it created a tiny cloud of flour as it galumphed to her countertop with a satisfying thud.

Flour until the texture is right. Knead for seven minutes

This was her favorite part. Kneading. She grabbed a handful of flour and covered the mound with the white cloud and began to push her hands into the bubble of ingredients. She pushed in rhythm with both of her hands. The frustration of her day that drove her hands was combining a handful of ingredients from her meager kitchen and transforming them into a loaf of bread. The magic was never lost on her. She would slather a slice straight out of the oven with butter and watch the golden deliciousness seep into the blanket of white. She would have peanut butter and jam sandwiches for lunch. French toast for Saturday’s brunch. The smell of her childhood would swell in her kitchen like good music that lingers. And the unfairness of life was driving her constant kneading. She could feel a strange sort of calm settling in as she pushed the yielding dough. Her shoulders were settling away from her ears. The feel of the dough was softening at her touch.

Let rise 1 hour

She held the beautiful mound in her hands. She put it in her well-oiled bowl and covered it with the oil-covered cling film. It felt like tucking a child into bed. She set the kitchen timer for one hour and made herself a steaming cup of hot chocolate. She climbed into her favorite chair and covered herself with a Minky blanket. She held the drink with both hands and soaked in the heat of the cup in both hands. When she took a sip, she could feel the warmth slide down her throat and swirl in her stomach with chocolate goodness.

The oven alarm woke her. She reluctantly threw back her soft cocoon and stumbled into the kitchen. Bri’s feet were shocked by the cool tile. Her mound of dough had expanded to fill the bowl and threatened to spill over its edges where it pushed against the plastic wrap with eager anticipation much like it was about to escape. She peeled off the plastic with satisfaction. In an impressive imitation of Rocky, she punched down the loaf to get all the well-earned air out of the cloud of dough.

Knead for one minute

Bri threw more flour onto the mat and began to knead again but only for a brief moment this time. She felt like the loaf. When she had started this year, it felt like she had everything going for her. She had been at her job for two years now and she was really getting her feet. But her mom’s diagnosis really punched the wind out of her.

The dough was now silky in her hands. She shaped two loaves and put them in the buttered pans. She set the oven to 350 degrees to help on the second rise and warm her too-cheap-for-heat kitchen.

Let rise 30 minutes

She set the alarm again and left the two loaf pans sitting near the warming stove.

Bri folded her blanket and put her hot chocolate mug in the dishwasher. She set to cleaning up the kitchen and trying to uncover each of the surfaces from dishes and flour that dusted much of her dark countertops. The alarm was going off as she wrapped things up.

Bake for 30 to 40 minutes

She placed the pans in the stove and stood warming her hands in the heat before closing the oven. She was already beginning to smell that smell of her childhood. Her mom didn’t make bread often so when she did it was an incalculable treasure. Her mom. It was a painful stab. The doctors had said she had months. Years maybe. But it was only weeks. And the heat of that crucible was almost too much for the two of them to bear. It was a painful end for both of them. And Bri knew what it meant to let someone go because she didn’t want her to hurt anymore.

The alarm was going off again. The loaves were golden brown. She swept their tops with butter.

She let them sit out to cool while she got her shoes on.

She wrapped one of the loaves in a clean towel to retain the heat. And locked her front door behind her.

Mrs. Padmore lived just four doors down from Bri at the Mountain View Apartments. She opened the door and saw Bri standing with the loaf in her hands. “Oh honey.” She said with compassion in her voice. “It’s a bread day?”

She reached out her arm and pulled Bri into her arms and into her apartment. Mrs. Padmore’s place was warm and filled with grandma treasures.

She sat Bri down and cut a slice of the bread for both of them.

“Tell me all about it, honey.”