What A Crumby Day

The bells seemed so much louder that Saturday. Maybe because I wasn’t used to being so close to them. The town’s clock tower was just across the street, and I really don’t recall any time that I was really around the center of town at the top of the hour. In fact, I don’t recall really going to the center of town at all. The borough offices and the bank was there. There was a nice park by the clock tower, but it was filled with flowers and a fountain. No space for a playground, and no room to play tag. Plus, everyone got bent out of shape when you got near the fountain, even if it was just to throw in a penny or something.

The firehouse was also in the center of town; which is why we were there at ten in the morning; right on the dot. Mom made sure of it. I mean, I had been to the firehouse before for fingerprinting and IDs to make sure I could be found if I was ever lost, or to meet Santa or the Easter Bunny, or to meet Smokey the Bear. Each of those events were on Sundays, though, and the clock tower’s chimes were turned off on Sundays to not interfere with all the church bells that went off. I figured it would be like living inside a tornado at a wind chime factory if they didn’t.

For some reason, we were here on a Saturday, this time. Mom and Dad said something about the church renting the place out for the bake sale, and wanting it on Saturday since tomorrow would be too busy with Mass and all. Didn’t really matter to me, all I knew was that I was here instead of still in my PJs on the couch watching my shows.

Worse part? I had to be in this stuffy outfit. It was like I had to be at church two mornings in a row! Two days that I had to be all proper and not get a dress dirty. Two days that my legs were freezing because my toes tore through my tights again, and so I was bare to the wind! I huddled close to Mom to try to get some heat off of her, or at least the apple pie she brought with.

I asked Mom why she had a cloth over it, and she said it was to keep the pie warm; like it was a little coat for it or something. It may have kept the heat in, but it didn’t keep the smell in. Even through the cloth my stomach grumbled at the scent of cinnamon apples and toasty brown buttery crust. Part of me hoped that some of the brown sugar and pecan crumble stuck to the cloth, so I can nibble on that at least!

You know what? Forget what I said before. The worst part was that I couldn’t eat any of the food! Not only Mom’s Dutch Apple - which she almost never makes - but there were other people showing up with goodies. At least four different trays of brownies past me! Good old, homestyle, and double chocolate with chips; peanut butter swirled, and even a double-decker one with cheesecake. Oh, yeah, cheesecake. I lost track of those. About seven more pies, and some cakes. Ooo, and the cookies! Endless line of cookies! I know I was drooling all down my coat, but Mom still told me not to touch any of them. What’s the point of making the food if we can’t eat them?

Mom set up her pie for sale while Dad greeted everyone. I couldn’t snuggle on the couch. I couldn’t wear jeans. I couldn’t eat any treats. Now I couldn’t even play. All the adults were inside, and so I couldn’t play in the snow; not that I would really want to with my legs already frozen. I couldn’t play inside either because everyone was nervous that us kids would knock the tables over. I sighed louder and louder each passing minute, but my parents just shushed me and told me to go find something to do.

Eventually I just wandered around the circle of baked goods, imagining myself shoveling them all into my mouth; wondering if people would notice that the tray of cookies only had nineteen left on it. Well, maybe fifteen to make it a nice round number again.

I leaned in real close to a basket of kiffles; apricot ones and walnut; sweet and bland. That’s when I started coughing. I looked up to see the woman who made the cookies glaring at me. She had put on about an entire bottle of perfume, and she must have dug it up from some mummy’s tomb the way it reeked. I slowly backed away from the basket, although I desperately wanted to just shove my nose back into the welcoming aroma of apricot. If nothing else, to get away from the mummy stench of the baker.

Shuffling my feet, I wandered over to the nearby window as if it were my destination all along. There was a low rumble above me and then a loud thump outside the window. I craned my neck and watched as a fireman was cleaning the snow off of the firehouse roof, and knocking the long icicles off before they could fall on anyone.

I was strangely fixated on watching the ice shatter as it hit the now vacant sidewalk below. The shards spraying in every direction. The sun looking brighter reflecting off the nearby snow, and creating baby rainbows along the ice graveyard.

The sound of adults chatting behind me vanished, all I could hear were the last hums of the clock tower chimes, and the rumble thump of the snow being cleaned off the roof. The food no longer enticed me. I just stared at the shattering ice and watched as the spray changed pattern depending on how large the icicle was, and if there was already ice on the sidewalk below.

Eventually my trance was broken when I again smelled warm cinnamon and apple. My stomach grumbled as I turned to see my smiling mother kneeling next to me. In her hand was a tiny personal dutch apple pie. She told me she made it especially for me to have if I were good. She slid over a chair and sat in it, scooping me up on to her lap. The long skirt of her satin dress was soft and smooth, but it also felt a bit chilly on my bare legs. I scooted my butt around a little to combat sliding off of her. She laughed and hugged me close, telling me to sit still if I didn’t want her to stand back up. I trusted her seatbelted arms were going to keep me in place, and I nibbled some crumb top off of my personal pie.