family
Family unites us; but it's also a challenge. All about fighting to stay together, and loving every moment of it.
Misfortune
Misfortune By L.J. Branch “Syl, he’s still here.” “Hm?” Sylvia followed the bartender’s line of sight and saw a man of no less than sixty slumped over in the corner of her bar. Checking the time on her phone, Sylvia saw that it was well past closing time. “And you didn’t kick him out, Meg?”
By lerone branch5 years ago in Humans
Natalia's Find
Natalia did not believe in blind luck. One had to work hard, just to survive one month to the next. Life had taught her that; namely, her parents. Russian immigrants, they had settled in New York in the 1970s; her mother already pregnant with Natalia. Her father was a baker, and soon had moved his wife from the poorly maintained building they were staying in, to a small, but clean, two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, New York, due to him having procured a reliable job as head baker in a popular nearby bakery. Fondly, Natalia recalled her younger life, waking every morning to the aromatic, warm smells of cinnamon, or the yeasty tang of bread dough proofing, as her father prepped in their tiny kitchen. Every day, he would rise from bed at 4:00 A.M, doing his best to move around the apartment quietly, as to not disturb his sleeping family, while he worked. Often, five-year-old Natalia would wake though, and creep as close to the kitchen as possible, so she could watch her papa, as he expertly mixed, kneaded, rolled, and layered everything from bread doughs to a spongy Russian honey cake, called medovik. Those took the longest to make, so in her mind, that meant they must be the best – her taste buds certainly thought so. Sometimes, papa would notice her sleep tousled head peering around the wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space, and he would act surprised, every time she was “caught”. He would call her over to him, pick her up, and set her on the counter right beside where he was working. She loved to watch him create delicious things from simple ingredients. He would add flour and some other mysterious powders together. To another bowl, he would blend butter, sugar, and eggs until they looked very different from when they had first entered the bowl. “Now,” he said, mixing everything together slowly, “see how all of these different things, which are not so delicious on their own, come together, and create something new, which is delicious.” He placed a dollop of the finished cookie dough (for that was what he had been making – butter cookies) on the tip of her tongue, and laughed when she exclaimed, “that is yummy papa!” Natalia had many memories similar to that one; she had always cherished those early mornings with her papa, while he patiently explained each step of his baking process. It was never boring for her to listen to him talk about something he was so passionate about; even at five, she could respect that. Most mornings would end with one of his flour- covered fingers bopping lightly on the tip of her nose, making both of them, laugh. Once she had asked him, “Papa, why do you get up so early every day, just to bake pastries that are going to be eaten up by other people so that you have to do it all over again? Seems like a bunch of hard work to me.” He had laughed heartily at her, not unkindly, but with great humor. Placing large, but gentle, hands on both her shoulders, he replied, “Malyshka, anything in this world that is worth something to you, is worth working hard to keep. When you love something, you do not mind working hard, to keep it yours. You understand?” Natalia sagely had nodded her head, grasping what her dear papa was telling her. He gave her a big smile and hugged her to his chest, where she rested her head, breathing him in, those warm cinnamon, and yeasty bread smells, permanently imprinting him into her memory. She thought of him now as she was sitting in the attic of his home, surrounded by boxes filled with pieces of their family’s life. Her father’s propensity for hard work, coupled with his passion and talent for baking, eventually had paid off, and when Natalia was ten, he had surprised his wife and daughter with the news that he had bought them all a “real” house – complete with a garage and back yard. Those years that had followed, were, the best of Natalia’s life. Her parents were working at a bakery which her father owned, she herself was making new friends at a better school, though still in Brooklyn, and she finally had a bedroom that wasn’t next to the only other room in the house. But then. Natalia figured fate had noticed her family’s contentment, and stepped in, uprooting it. The summer Natalia turned 16, her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. She would die before Natalia’s 17th birthday, leaving papa to raise an obstinate, moody teenager, alone. He did alright, Natalia supposed, musing to herself. They had been alright, once they found a routine that worked for both of them. Dad baked and she ran the bakery when she wasn’t at school. Needless to say, she hadn’t had the greatest social life. She had moved out when she was 20 but still worked for her father. The pay was great and it afforded her the ability to get her own little studio apartment, a short walk from the bakery. Things had been flowing just fine until fate took notice of them once again. The proverbial “rug” had been pulled out from under her just one week ago, when she got a phone call from the hospital, informing her that her dad had suffered a heart attack. She went to see him and was grateful she at least was able to say goodbye. It had been 2 days since the funeral and until this morning, she had not been able to cry. She had come here to her dad’s house last night to sleep, knowing she would be going through his things today. When she woke up this morning, it was the first time in her life, at this house, that she had not smelled the reassuring scents of cinnamon and yeast wafting from the kitchen. The reality of her papa’s death penetrated her heart, and she wept. Great, wracking sobs of grief, both for the loss of her father, and grief for herself – knowing she was now alone.
By Saundra M Bobbish - Dyer5 years ago in Humans
it was JUST a story
Bi Maria Bio Maria I i MONDAY 5:20 PM “This place stinks.” Brenda, wrinkling her nose as she flipped her hair for the 14th time in the last hour, said, while pinching the fabric of her wet shirt and pulling it away from her skin, “Why, again, do you put yourself through this?’
By Maria Gronlund5 years ago in Humans
Sunny’s Dream
Sunny sat alone in her room daydreaming about all the possible ways she could help her husband retire. Her and Sam had been renting for five years since they married and had two four year old twin boys. She dreamed of owning a house with a white picket fence, a dog and a treehouse for her boys in a spacious backyard. If only this dream could become a reality.
By Micaela Wheeless5 years ago in Humans
Everybody Wants Something
Page 1,945, that’s where he told me to begin reading the book. It was Jeonjib by Cho and the page was marked by the poem, “The Song of Life.” Once you begin reading the poem, you'll soon realize it’s not Cho, rather instructions for escape. You’ll find the book on the shelf with the others, brother. I told no one and I’m asking that you do the same.
By Ryan Keller5 years ago in Humans
2000
The day was March 10th 2000 the aughts was just in it’s first couple of months. I got up and took a warm hot shower which is my favorite part of the day. The temperature was 42 degrees the was sun shining bright And the wind was incredibly strong and powerful . I went to go eat my favorite breakfast avocado toast with a hot cup of coffee I was thinking to myself I’ve just turned 21 and felt my life was not in the place I wanted it to be I’ve felt like I was supposed to have achieved way more than what I’ve accomplished thus far . What was my next move , what are my long term goals , and what is my passion? These were some of the question that went threw my head , I was confused and lost but I remained steadfast and grateful. After graduating high school I decided not to go to college like my peers , It just didn’t seem like the path I wanted to go on . I’m more of a wherever the wind takes me kind of person , I’ve always been like this since a child and will continue to be.
By Aniya Brewer5 years ago in Humans
The Chimney between Two Windows
55 cents. What a strange amount. It’s an amount most people would ignore, would pass it by on the sidewalk without so much as a second glance. Futures do not hang in the balance by 55 cents. Lives do not change because of 55 cents. Except for Ann. Everything changed in Ann’s life because of 55 cents.
By Emily Boyer5 years ago in Humans
Dear Martha
Dear Martha My commitment is still touch and go mostly due to the occasional pandemic ennui. My kids and I do schoolwork, I do the dishes, I craft, I do little bits from your book, and fight the urge to binge watch procedural crime dramas. This week I continued to work on my entryway and my closet. I also baked that cake you suggested.
By Kelly Morris5 years ago in Humans
