Michael - Part 5: Returning home (B@GoE)
Gloria & Michael Story - Backstage at the Garden of Eden
Michael opened the back door quietly. He didn’t want to disturb his mother who was likely asleep. He crept carefully into the kitchen, knowing where the curling lino creaked, having sneaked into this house so many times as a teenager. She always knew, she always greeted him. Sometimes with a smile, other times with a disappointed look that sat like bricks on his chest. A shame he carried for days. Promises not to be late again, not to let her down. He prayed harder in church, his head on his folded hands. He knelt longer on the wooden bench, felt the hardwood press on his knees, while the sermon drove home the lessons of the week. His mother in rapture, praying for her children.
“She’s asleep. I doubt she’ll hear you.” His sister Judith’s voice made him jump.
“Don’t look so guilty, Michael, I won’t tell,” she said giggling into her hand.
Michael laughed with her, breaking the tension. They hugged each other a while, their giggles dissolved into tears. They clung to each other. “How’s she doing?” Michael asked breaking away from her.
“She has her moments. I keep thinking she’s gonna get up and start giving me orders any minute. Actually, I’d give anything for her to do that again.” Judith scrunched her face like she does when her tears start. She held her nose to stop the impulse.
“Tea?” she said turning away from Michael.
“Please. Any biscuits? I didn’t stop for breakfast.”
“Of course. On the cupboard.”
Michael retrieve the blue Royal Dansk tin. It was a Christmas gift from a neighbor years ago, full of Danish butter cookies. Dinged and dented now, it wasn’t worth anything though it was certainly an antique. Gloria never spent money on store bought sweets. She made her own variety of cookies, biscuits and squares. No matter how bad things got, the tin was always well supplied. “Put on the kettle” was the first order of business for any celebration, tragedy or regular daily event. Sweets were the accompaniment to the tea no matter what time of day. ‘A little something’, to take the edge off the moment or lighten the mood. She was known for her lemon squares, mince tarts and buttery shortbread.
Today, Michael found some basic oatmeal cookies. Judith’s recipe. He tried not to look on the underside as he bit into one, the slight taste of char overcame the sugary oatmeal. Still, they helped stave off the tummy growls he experienced. Munching on his third, he didn’t really mind they were a tad overdone. Judith didn’t have the patience to watch the cookies as carefully as Gloria. She had a sixth sense about things. Her oven was a bit hot so you had to “watch it like a hawk”. He smiled at that memory.
As a young man learning to cook for himself, he heard Gloria’s instructions and felt her eyes over his shoulder whenever he attempted one of her recipes.
“Don’t stir the pastry too much, you’ll make it tired. It won’t be light and delicate. Treat it like a woman. Talk nice, use a light touch and she’ll treat you good. Roll it out gentle, not too thin, mind. She’ll fall apart on you. Golden brown, that’s what you want. The secret is, brush on a bit of milk near the end to give that nice color. Not too dark. Keep an eye.”
There was many a tough crust to chew through in his youth but he finally got a handle on it. In fact, he changed recipes years later. He found it easier and tastier than his mother’s. He never told her as much, he praised and fawned over her baking. Her pride and joy.
“Guess I’ll have to make some more. Glad you like ‘em well done.”
Michael realized he’d nearly emptied the tin as he sat mechanically eating his sister’s cookies.
“Sorry.”
“No, that’s fine. They’re a little overdone. I got distracted and forgot the last tray. Got a little crispy.”
“Watch ‘em like a hawk,” they chimed, imitating Gloria, then laughed.
“Glad you’re here,” Judith smiled.
“Yeah,” Michael said, pushing the tin away from him. “How’s she been?”
“Quiet. The medication keeps her pretty quiet. Having the nurse the Hospice recommended come 2 times per week now. Helps me get out a bit more. I never thought grocery shopping could feel so much like an outing. I’m baking like crazy, makes the house feel like I… I hope she can smell it.” Judith touched her nose again, her tell for the tears coming again.
She cleared her throat and went to the counter to return the tin to it’s place.
“You wanna see her?”
Michael gazed into his teacup and drained the rest. “Sure,” he said pushing his chair back, standing to his full height, and rolling his shoulders back. The feeling of being a young man in his mother’s house receded. It was time.