Flight

Chapter 2

            A stray cat was on our porch. It was round, obviously well fed by the neighborhood. She came around often, and we'd always save a piece of our dinner for her in case she decided to show up. She had a calico pelt, spotted intricately with reds and oranges and blacks and whites. Her eyes matched mine and Zach's, a warm brown that looked like honey when hit with light. I was sure that every house on our street has named her something different, but we called her Millie.

Millie got a piece of the chicken we had for dinner last night. She took it in her mouth and ran off, and we didn't expect her to come back until she wanted more, but I was scratching her belly a few seconds later. Zach and I sat on the floor of our front porch, leaning against the wall of the house. He was on his phone while Millie was on my lap. She realized that my brother didn't like animals a few days after she started showing up. I on the other hand would love to claim her as a pet. I whispered to her about the trio on the way here, told her how nice Zach really is, and started to recite a story before the honking of a car scared her away. With a sigh, my brother and I stood in unison, heading towards our room.

We flopped down on our bed, bouncing a few times as the old springs held us up. Grandmother wasn't home yet; she worked at a bakery she made all on her own. When we were little, we'd help her every day. We were still learning how to walk together then, so all we really did was flop around and eat the pastries she made. We always begged for coffee, but grandmother would never give us any. We still aren't allowed to drink it. The costumers thought we were cute; it was like the city came together to help the three of us. We were tipped generously, which helped tremendously with our delicate financial situation.

Now that school work was a top priority, we only helped at the bakery once a week, at most. I would try to come as much as my schedule would let me. We probably should have come today, and I knew this pang of guilt would be with me would stay with me for a week. Instead, I would wait patiently for her to come home. She promised us any leftover pastries or bread tonight.

To pass the time, Zach and I continued looking at universities. We had applied to the top schools in the country already, and we even began looking into schools in other parts of the world. The sad truth that colleges would pity us gave us more hope for our future in a weird way. We were planned to be the valedictorians of the school, and the system had to be changed to allow the both of us to be fully awarded.

The truth is, we should have done this much sooner, but we have been putting it off for financial reasons. Grandmother wanted us to go wherever we wanted to go for college, but even she knew that she'd have to open ten more bakeries to pay for a semester.

After less than an hour of typing and searching, we heard our squeaky door open, along with the clanking of groceries in our reusable bag. I forced my brother up, and we practically slid down the stairs to see what she had for us. Just like this morning, we were greeted with her old smiling face. The bag we always used, that had a raccoon with a little bird on its head, was set on the wooden counter. The straps were worn, the blue color was faded, and the light-colored cloth of the main compartment was torn. Even with its flaws, the tote did its job.

Every time grandmother went to the store, an old childish joy overtook me. Even Zach was excited to see what she would bring home. Today we had a box of frozen mozzarella sticks, two cans of soup, milk, and a carton of eggs. A thank you left my brother and I's mouths at the same time as we started moving the groceries to their appropriate place.

And then I saw our reward for, well, if I'm being honest, I didn't do anything to deserve this. In a logo stamped box, half a loaf of fresh banana nut bread and two muffins lay. I reached for the drawer of bread knives, pulling out one carefully. As old as these knives may be, they were still terrifyingly sharp, and yes, I learned this the hard way. I avoid showing people my scarred foot, though.