A short story of family, tradition, pain, and finding the courage to love.
Papa worked hard in the bakery business. Sixteen hour days, coming home covered in flour, smelling of warm bread from the ovens. That’s how I remember him. His smell...I could smell him before he walked in through the door of our tiny apartment. These are the memories I have of him over half a century later. His hard work and love for his craft helped us achieve the American dream. With his savings he bought his own bakery. Mama christened the bakery Dulce Día, and it was indeed a sweet day. A very successful bakery with a loyal Spanish customer base located in Berkeley. All the older Spanish señoras come by still. They show up every Saturday morning to be first in line to purchase the loaves of Pan de Horno as it comes out of the brick oven. No one made real Spanish bread better than Papa did, not even me. It’s my bakery now and its success continues with the work ethic I learned from him. Hard work, love for your fellow man, honest work. It all bought my beautiful home, nice cars, college education for the kids, my precious gold Rolex that Maria gave me for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. But I would trade it all away for just one more day with her. She’s been gone now for almost six years. I still wear a pink ribbon on my lapel and there’s one in the window of the bakery. It reminds me of her and brings me comfort. I miss her so. That’s why I’m ending it all. I have already decided. I’ll not live to see my sixtieth birthday. At approximately 4:27 pm on July 31, I will end my life.
How fitting my death will be. Rogelio ‘Bart’ Bartolome stepping in front of the Bay Area Rapid Transit 'BART' as it leaves Ashby station. Oh yes, I know the schedule. It’s on the internet. You can look it up yourself. The Richmond line leaves the station at approximately 4:12 pm, picks up passengers at Ashby station and departs at 4:27 pm. That’s when I’ll step in front of the speeding train, my ticket to heaven. I’m counting on a quick and not too painful death. It really doesn’t matter; the pain of life is greater. My only regret will be leaving my two children behind without their Papa. I do hope they will understand. They both will receive a very substantial inheritance and of course the bakery, which they will undoubtedly sell. Family first as I put away the thoughts of suicide for only a moment. The señoras will be angry I suppose. No more lovely Spanish bread, at least not from the Dulce Día.
The week passed by with the occasional thought of what Friday would bring, but it wasn’t a constant thought. I was resolute in my determination to do what I had to do. I still found pleasure in my work, and of course the daily telephone calls I would receive from my children. That was my pleasure in life, the kids. Little did either one of them know that by the end of the week they would both be without their Papa. I knew they would both grieve deeply.
My daughter, Valentina will be especially hurt. She was my little girl. She looks so much like her Mother. The dark wavy hair, the olive complexion, and that bright smile; it was what first attracted me to Maria. And her personality was Maria's to a fine point. My daughter, I miss her so much since she married and moved to Connecticut with her husband Mike. Another reason to be depressed I thought.
Friday arrives, and I am eager for it to end. Standing in the passenger queue of the Ashby station I look at my cell phone to check the time. The cell phone is my watch as I don't want my Rolex destroyed when the train rolls over my body. As I glance at the time I see it's 4:25 pm, a couple more minutes and I’ll be dead. As I start to put my cell into my pocket I notice an alert flashing on the screen...”You have one unread message”. OK, I thought as I dialed my voice mail. I’ve got a couple of minutes. One last message, and I laughed as it would definitely be the last. The message then began. “Hola Papa, it's Valentina. You’ll never guess what I have to tell you...I’m pregnant! Mike and I have known for three months, but we wanted to be sure I would make it through the first trimester before we told you. Papa, it’s a girl too…we want to have your blessing and name her after Mother; Maria Ysabel. Papa, I love you. Please call me when you get this message. Bye.”
That night I got down on my knees to talk to God, and I humbly apologized to him for being so selfish...so weak. I reminded myself that I’m a much stronger man than that...my Papa raised me to be stronger. Now I will be a Grandfather to Maria Ysabel and teach her about hard work, love for your fellow man, honesty, but above all that, I'll teach her about her beautiful Abuela Maria. Yes, Maria would like that.
I should sleep now I thought...tomorrow is Saturday and the señoras will be hungry.
