Bruegger's

BRUEGGER'S IS A REAL PLACE. THEY MAKE GREAT BAGELS.

Walk time. Time to butcher my feet on the streets of Boston while giving the dog a good time. Just my luck that everyone else rushed to buy boots before I did. 

“Come on, Jill. Oh, for the love of God, will you move your feet?” I hate my grandmother’s dog. Jill is flabby, old, an evil genius, lazy, mean… no one knows that more than I do. Still, I walked her to the McGill park every morning, without fail. I’m too good for her.

“Gran, I’m home!” The poisoning smell of earl grey clogged up my nostrils like it was solid rock. It was almost as if the smell had squatter’s rights. It never left despite my desperate squirts of Febreze. The oven was still cooking my pizza, but it smelled a little bit on the burnt side. Oh well; three cheers for fire!

I swung the door back into its hinges. Snow kept piling up in the crack of the side, and the bucket underneath seemed full, so I hurried to dump it out before shoving it back in its corner. Gran was sitting in her bedroom, rocking back and forth under a pile of mismatched wool blankets. I’d made those blankets for my bed, but what Gran needed I could do nothing to stop from disappearing. A teapot was next to her bookshelf, steaming up the room. 

“Oh, you’re back already!” Gran said, reaching out to give me a kiss on the cheek. She smelled of cinnamon, a smell I tried to hold in my nostrils for as long as possible before inhaling. I made her bed while she flipped through the pages of her Bible, muttering to herself the phrases she didn’t understand. A warmth filled my heart; I could never stay mad at that angel. She was just too darn sweet. 

“Semolina, wh-what does this mean?” Gran ushered me over and I peered at the weathered pages of her only reading material. This was how our evenings always went, reading the Bible in the pale light and the horrid stench of earl grey. God, I hate that tea.

The rest of our family was halfway across the county, living it up in Lexington without the burden of their dear Granny. That jerk Johnny was probably trying to get a girl to go home with him, unconsciously awaiting the inevitable drink in his face and slap. Jane was probably living it up in the sewers somewhere, trying to convince herself that her life was great. Not that it mattered to me.

In Boston, the weather was stark cold. Everyone lived in a mini-North pole, snow cluttering the hearts and windows of the citizens. The Bruegger’s Bagels were everywhere, warm dough melting the frigid mornings and giving a tangy taste to everyone’s mouth when they went to work.

When I awoke in the morning, a plate with burnt pizza crusts at my bedside, my hair had plastered to my face like dried clay. I had to peel it off bit by bit. Gran and her tea were probably awaiting me downstairs, so I took my sweet time getting ready. It was time for me to walk Jill again. Jeez, yesterday had passed in the blink of an eye! I walked the dog, got a bagel or two, and then poof! Gone. Well, time’s fickle.

“Gran, do you wanna try eggs on your Brueggers?” The dark brown of my bruised jacket, bloodied with lint and stains, was plastered over my pale white shirt. That jacket was the only thing I had left of my time in Lexington, of my family and their zombie wine bottles. My mom had bought me it, yes, a while ago when I had a future. Yet another thing I left behind, I guess. 

I remember the Nordstrom where I’d bought it, my hoity-toity clothes weighing down on my stilettos. The mall was a battleground, a fight to the death over rip-off clothes and jewelry that was so valuable. I laughed every time I thought about it, the pretentious heiresses like knights spearing anyone in their way as they fought for their treasure. How my Mom had ever convinced me to drive all the way there to haggle, I don’t know. 

“Gran?” I sighed, my face contorting in a guise of indignation. Of course, I’d forgotten to set her alarm. Well, time to wrangle the bull that was my grandmother out of her silk bed and into her chair. 

Gran’s bedroom was wrapped up in a storm of pastel, the light greens almost sickening to behold day after day. She was a corpse, sleeping with no care or concern in the grave of her bed. I knocked her head a couple of times, shook her a little.

“Gran, it's time to get up. Yeah, that’s it, Gran. Come on. What do you want from Brueggers?” She mumbled a little, pushing her frail frame onto her headboard. Gran needed some time to compose herself in the morning before she was ever able to talk. Her mouth was dry; she needed water to coax the words out. Her hands were creaky; she needed me to knead them out a little. I don’t know why I expect anything different every morning. She just needed me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Seeing my kind Gran reduced to an old woman made my heart cry in despair, but time had no favorites, not even her. 

Sometimes I like to think about what would happen to Gran if I left her. Well, no, that’s a bad choice of words. More like it motivates me each day, brings me out of my funk and coaxes me to kindness for her. Each morning, I doubt my choices. I go through them one by one like apples in a basket, as I try to find anything wrong with them. Despite the constant sinking feeling, I regret nothing.

After I fetched the bagels, I trudged along through the streets with Jill hooked to the end of my leash. She pulled like I was dragging her to her death, never to return, but in truth she was just spiteful. I kicked her a couple of times, let her whine at my totalitarian dog walking. There was a group of young college boys walking past me, their shirt tails wagging like Jill’s tail behind them. One of them whistled at me just before I was out of earshot, and I whirled around to face them on the slick sidewalk. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” I stared into their smug eyes, bored into their souls.

“Well, I whistled. That isn’t a crime, as far as I’m concerned.” The boy couldn’t seem to focus on my eyes. I snapped a couple of times, like I would with Gran to make sure she’s awake.

“You’re disgusting.” I walked away, forced myself to let it go as my Nordstrom jacket hung to me like wet sandpaper. I was just about to rid myself of their stupid faces when the boy whistled again. That was it for me, the bubbles overflowing in my head. I started to steam and threw my bagel at their heads. That should be enough. Cold air flowed through my nostrils as I cooled down. I thought of Johnny in his little hellhole and smiled. Hopefully they were rotting more than I was.

The McGill park was especially beautiful today, the birch trees at the edge of the playground meeting the sun and filtering it through the leaves. I looked down at the gravel and felt it crunch against my worn feet. Snow still piled on the side, but I didn’t care. I was eating a bagel, and that was what mattered. Dang, Bruegger’s made amazing bagels. 

I was passing the square, all the clothing stores suffocating me and making me want to buy more clothes. Maybe I couldn’t help it; maybe the stores made me do it; maybe it was the dog; Still, I left the dog tied to a bench and walked into a North Face, the cold air and smell of latex hitting me straight in the face. 

Immediately, I gravitated towards the jacket section, swarmed by the lovely colors and the ugly ones too. Green looks horrible on jackets, in case you didn’t know. It's the same with red for some reason. Sometimes you just can’t help but hate certain colors, even if you don’t know why. 

The one my eye settled on was a pale blue, pastel like Gran’s bedroom and beautifully simplistic. I felt the soft fleece underside, falling in love more and more by the minute. Well, did I even have enough money to get it? Fishing in the pockets of my worn Nordstrommer, it suddenly hit me. Was I ready to give it up? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I hate my mom and past with a vengeance. There’s nowhere I’d rather be but Boston. Still, there were some good times, right? I remembered Jane...

“Hey, Semolina, where’s the cookie jar?” Jane was reaching with all her might to the top shelf. I hopped above her head and grabbed it down for my younger sister. 

“Do you want M&M or Chocolate chips?” I asked. She already knew the answer, as did I, and I handed her a cookie speckled with chocolate chips. She greedily munched into it, letting a bit of chocolate dribble down her little chin. 

“Come here.” I gave her a little hug and we snuggled under the kitchen counter, the cookies giving us a bit of a sugar high. 

Those were good times, back when Jane and I were young. We used to be inseparable, I remembered. I was always angry at her though, always a little ticked off. Ah, that’s it. Here, listen to the rest of the memory...

The next day, after we’d giggled about our little antics, our mom held up the empty jar. We both were wide-eyed, concealing as best we could our guilt.

“Who ate the cookies?” Our mom was always of the mind that she’d dig up the truth, that she could see right through us with her mom-magic.

“...Semolina did it!” Jane pointed at me. I gasped for a second and stared straight at her, looking at her unapologetic face.

Jane never cared about anyone else. Not even me, not even at the height of our relationship. At a time, I think I stopped expecting it. I stopped expecting anything else but disappointment from my family. I guess there weren’t many good times after all.

Colorful jackets were everywhere, beautiful and horrible and lovely and disgusting. Should I buy something for Gran? Did I have enough money? In my pocket I seemed to have $100 at the most, so maybe that'd be enough.

"Miss, can I help you?" I shook my head fervently at the cashier at the right side of the store. I would find what I wanted on my own, even if I didn't know what it was.

I shifted onto one foot, stretching above the high shelf to see if they hid the good stuff away from everyone, like most of these stores did. Sure enough, when I shuffled around with my cold hands for a little while, I found a beautiful red sweater, wool and fluffy to touch. It was like holding a sheep in my hands. Gran would love this.

"Hey, dude, I'm ready to check out," I said to the employee on the south side of the shoe-fitting section. He looked around for a little, seeming caught off guard, but then reluctantly walked the path to the register. I knew I wasn't a good customer. In fact, I was quite a bad one. That would just be something they'd have to deal with, though.

Throwing the sweater and teal jacket on the glass register with a clink from the zipper, I stood back and let him do his job. My phone seemed to glow in my pocket, inviting me to play a mobile game or two. I knew what happened to me when I played those games, though. I got addicted and couldn't stop merging candy. Hurriedly grabbing my purchases before I was tempted to, I ran out of the store without so much as a 'thanks' to the cash register.

When the cold air hit my face once again, I shivered like a reverberating string. Poor Jill, out here in the snow and frost all this time. My pure moment of sympathy drifted away with a laugh, and I realized how little I cared. I untied Jill, and she and I reached the edge of the legion of stores, the park only just peeking out. She looked at me with hatred, and I couldn’t help but reciprocate. 

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, Mom. Bye, Jane, Johnny, everyone.” I threw my old coat in the trash can, throwing most of my life away, and never looked back.