Breaking Bread

I. BREAKING BREAD

I walked out onto the rocky path from my home that led me to bread shop. I was wearing a ratty, white t-shirt with my black pants that had holes down the legs.

I saw some of my classmates walking in the opposite direction. A few of them whispered to each other as we crossed paths. I kept my head down and continued to walk towards the shop.

There was no problem getting there today. No abuse. No names. My father greeted me as I entered the shop.

"Hey! Get your ass downstairs and make some focaccia! We're running low."

Shockingly, that was one of the nicest greetings my father has ever given me. I started to hustle downstairs as I tripped over a broomstick and fell onto the cold floor. I had an enormous gash on my chin, but I took some cheesecloth from the nearby shelf to try and stop the bleeding.

I was in so much pain. It felt like someone was continuously pinching my skin. The air was irritating the cut and I couldn't stop it.

Why the hell do I even work here? That's right! I need money. That's the only reason. My father, being the cheapskate he is, does not pay me much. He barely has enough money to run this shop. If I'm being completely honest, I don't even know why he does.

I spent the rest of the day crying and making focaccia. No, I wasn't crying because I was upset. I'm a man! I don't get upset! The cut on my chin began to feel worse as the day progressed.

At the end of the work day, I closed up the shop and began to walk home.

About one minute into my walk, it began to rain. I felt each drop hit me like a bullet. Each one was just another burden placed on me. I didn't have an answer. It just kept building and building.

I don't know why I even do this to myself. I overthink everything!

I walked into my home and sat down at the dinner table with my father.

"We had three customers today!" he shouted.

"Hi, Dad! Nice to see you too," I said.

"Don't give me that! How could we have only three?"

"I don't know, Dad. Slow day," I replied.

How would I know? I'm in the basement all day making focaccia!

"Son, help me out. I miss your mother," he said as a tear fell from his eye.

For those who don't know, my mother recently passed away from lymphoma recently. It has taken a massive toll on our family and I haven't figured out how to live with the fact that it happened. I guess I'm still in denial along with my father. It seems surreal to me that cancer did this. It doesn't have any direction. Cancer takes and doesn't give back.

"I miss her too," I said.

I noticed the tear falling from my dad's eye.

"Don't cry, Dad. There's no need to cry," I assured him.

My dad wiped away the tear from his cheek and gathered himself.

"You're right. Men don't cry!"