A SLICE OF THE GOOD LIFE

The anticipation was suffocating. Beads of sweat had begun to form just below the thick black wavy curls resting on Maria’s brow as she stood over the table, staring at the slice of tantalizing juicy chocolate cake in front of them.

The salt and peppered mustached man’s eyes grew larger, the corners of his mouth now watering as he lustfully eyed the lengths of multiple spongy layers that glistened with thick amber hued frosting.

She couldn’t believe that so much could be riding on this. The first customer, on the first day of her new life. The word ‘hope’ couldn’t even begin to describe it. She nervously scanned the empty bakery. There were a few stark white tables adorned with colorful tribal knit tablecloths and white painted walls hosting old photos of her family, including her beloved grandmother.

Thousands of miles, disappointment and dreams had precipitated this one simple and singular moment.

***

It was unbearably hot that day. The only respite being the occasional salty breeze that would blow in off the water, passing thru the large gaps in the wood planked walls of the seaside cafe.

“Yo Chaz…dude, you gotta taste this!”, the shirtless, blonde haired, beer-bellied man exclaimed.

Although Maria found the man’s boisterous behavior to be annoying, she was happy they had a customer. The slow trickle of usual business had practically come to a screeching halt after the incident that occurred on the island, just a little over two months before.

It was all over the headlines: “American man fleeing tax evasion murders wife in heat of passion.” The story came with little surprise and no concern to most of the locals, as the tiny island off the coast of Panama had become a sort of safe-haven for less than desirable foreign outlaw types who take up residence there, hoping to not be found. But it was not lost on Maria. She knew it meant hard times would be ahead since their primary customers were rich American families, who would stay at the local boutique, bungalow-style hotel. They were aspiring hippies who would do yoga in the morning then grab a bite at the cafe before heading to the beach for a day in the sun and certainly have no appetite for putting their kids in danger along the way.

Today’s patrons however, fell into the second camp of visitors: the light beer guzzling, frat boy types that would spend their days jet-skiing and smoking stale weed they scored on the main land.

Chaz took a large bite from the cake slice, leaving smears of frosting on his orange, overly-tanned face. “Ohhh yeah…this is bomb!”, he exclaimed before wiping his mouth with the back his thick, sea pruned hand. “You make this sweetheart?”, he asked, in-between large, gooey chomps. Maria just blushed and nodded her head in affirmation.

The cake was Maria’s speciality. It was a recipe passed down by her grandmother that Maria had made her own by adding cinnamon and freshly grated coconut. At first, Jorge, the cafe’s owner, was resistant to the idea of serving it, fearful he would be stuck with the cost of ingredients for a new menu item that wouldn’t sell. However, after trying a slice she had brought in one day, he knew it would be a hit.

***

The sticky night air hung idly inside Maria’s cluttered and well lived-in, one room abode. With slatted wood walls and a rusted metal corrugated roof, it more closely resembled a hut than a traditional house.

The low light from a single bare bulb cast a soft hue over the table where Maria sat with her grandma, tears moistening her soft-featured, perfectly round face. Her grandma reached across and gently swept a thick curl of black hair to the side away from her eyes. “It’s okay nieta, maybe you can find work on the mainland.”

Although not a total surprise, it still landed as a shock to her system when a few hours before, Jorge informed her he had to let her go because there wasn’t enough business to pay her any longer.

Maria looked up, resting her gaze on a large bowl of shaved coconut that sat at the opposite end of the table. Like a flash of lighting, an idea popped into her head. What if she moved to the United States to open her own cafe; one that served her beloved chocolate cake. She could live with her Uncle Jose who had moved there many years ago with his wife and kids.

She sat up straight, addressing her grandma, “What if I moved in with Uncle Jose? I would only need to stay long enough to get myself on my feet,” she said.

“But what would you do for work, nieta?”, her grandmother asked.

“I could open my own bakery and serve your famous chocolate cake recipe!,” Maria replied.

A smile slowly crossed her grandmother’s face. “I think it’s your recipe now, Maria-lita.”

***

The friendly bank teller led Maria to a large faux-wood desk, placed neatly between a set of adjoining beige cube walls. She told her she could wait there until someone was available to help her.

She waited patiently for what felt like hours, until finally a short and thin pale skinned younger woman wearing an ill-fitting khaki colored suit, sauntered over and plopped down in the chair across from her. “Hi there, I’m Jessica and I’m here to help you get a loan today! What’s your name?”, she asked with a feigned tone of excitement. “My name is Maria.”

“Mahh-dee-haaa?”, the woman asked, extending each syllable out to an excruciating length. “No, no, Ma-rrrreee-ah”, she responded, trying to be helpful. Jessica sat silently for a moment with a confused look on her face until it finally clicked. “Oh…I see, nice to meet you, Maria”.

They sat for a few painful minutes as Maria answered questions and Jessica struggled to understand her.

“It sounds like you don’t currently have any income, do you have a house or car?” Jessica asked. “Not yet, but soon, after I open my own bakery—”. Jessica interrupted her. “Ohhhh honey, you have to have some sort of collateral to be eligible.”

“Isn’t there some way we can make this work? What if I pay you back with higher interest rate”, Maria pleaded. Jessica shook her head side to side unapologetically, “It’s out of my hands…bank policy.”

Maria sunk her head in disappointment. It felt like she had just been delivered a solid punch to the gut. “Maybe moving to the United States wasn’t such a good idea after all,” she thought to herself.

***

Maria sat quietly at the dinner table as she watched her uncle dart around the kitchen chopping and dicing vegetables, intermittently pausing to carefully stir the thick broth of homemade Sancocho, a traditional Panamanian stew.

“Don’t worry about it, sobrina! When your tia and I moved here I had big dreams too. Maybe open a restaurant, serve my famous Sancocho and Ceviche…be a big famous chef!”, he yelled out to her from the kitchen. “But it’s not as easy as they make it seem in those Hollywood shows; you have to take whatever job you can!”

“I guess you’re right, uncle,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

He returned the lid of the pot he had been fussing with and slowly walked over, taking a seat next to her. “You’re old enough now, maybe it’s time you find a good American boy and settle down. You could get your citizenship and have some kids. It’s not such a bad life, you know”, he offered in an attempt to console her.

Maria sat for a moment, searching for the right words. She knew her uncle had lived a hard life and she didn’t want to offend him, but she was also not yet willing to give up on her dream. “I appreciate your advice, but I really believe if I could only find some way to open the bakery, it will be a success.”

Her uncle could see the disappointment in her eyes; he understood that feeling all too well. At that moment, he wished he could help her…badly.

***

Maria let out a big sigh as she slung her backpack down on the kitchen table before plopping herself down, sinking into the tattered cushions of her uncle’s couch. It was the fifth day in a row of door-to-door visits to the neighborhood restaurants, searching for any available job.

Suddenly, her uncle burst through the front door, practically dancing as he gleefully positioned himself on the recliner across from her. “Don’t look so down, Maria-lita! I have some good news for you.” Maria looked up at him, doing her best to fake a smile.

“I was working at the restaurant tonight and Martin, the owner’s rich son was in with his family. He’s a successful businessman, you know! He just sold the company he started and made a lot of money!” Maria did her best to look impressed. “Anyway, he is always looking for ways to help out the Panamanian community here and I was telling him about your problem and guess what?” Maria felt a tiny surge of excitement start to rush through her as her uncle held her in suspense.

“He said he will give you a loan to start your bakery!”

Maria shot straight up and gave her uncle a big hug around his neck, squeezing him so hard he let out a little cough.

Sure there would be much work ahead but all of that seemed trivial at this moment. She had been given the blessing she was praying for.

***

It was an exceptionally hot and humid summer day. The kind of day that made her feel like she was back on the island.

Maria stood on the sidewalk, taking in a deep, satisfying breath admiring the freshly hand painted sign above the door: “Maria’s Bakery.”

A few months had passed, and she was finally ready to open.

The little bell she had installed on her bakery door jangled as she took a step inside. A look of horror crossed her face as she heard the sound of water splashing beneath her feet. She quickly made her way further inside, stopping to peer into the bathroom. There she discovered a small leak had sprung on the sink pipe.

She could feel her heart race as her life flashed before her eyes. She couldn’t afford a plumber; she had spent almost every last dollar of her loan and needed to start earning money immediately.

Just then she heard a voice from the main room, “Hello?”. She made her way out to find a tall, thin man with tattooed arms and thick, slicked-back white hair. “Hey, I’m Wayne, I own the vintage shop next-door. Looks like you have a little water problem?”, he asked, sloshing his feet in a small puddle. He noticed tears running down Maria’s face. “Hey, it’s okay. I actually used to be a plumber in a former life—maybe I can help”, he offered consolingly.

She led him to the bathroom where he inspected the water spraying from the pipe. “Ah, this is no big deal. Let me go grab my tools and we’ll get this taken care of in a jiffy.”

***

The man licked his lips, his tongue grazing the bottom of his thick, salt and pepper mustache. He looked up at Maria and gave her an affirming nod as he sunk his fork deep into the frosting.

Maria’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. He opened his mouth wide, lifting a large chunk of cake towards the gaping hole.

She took a deep inhale as he closed his lips around the fork.

***