Five Years Later
Iron dust fought its way into Sidney's lungs like smoke from a long drag on a steel blunt. She choked. Gagged. She knew what was coming.
The piercing scream.
The thud.
The crunching sound that made her grind her teeth and snap her shoulders up near her ears. Today was not going to be a good day. Sidney burrowed into the crowd behind her on the train platform.
"You could say excuse me." A woman with gray hair framings her cocoa skin spat out at her. But Sid couldn't say 'excuse me'. She couldn't say anything. Her voice was held prisoner in her throat because that hat - a brown fedora with a tiny peacocks feather fastened beneath a black band— was floating toward her again. The last time she saw it in a dream, it rode the air right over to her until it settled above her head, tripled in size, and swallowed her up whole.
Yeah.
She had to get the fuck off of this train platform.
As the train rattled closer in the distance, Sid shouldered her way through the crowd toward the exit, gathering cusses and wishes of ill will from her fellow Brooklynites as she did. When she reached the end of the concrete platform she did not stop moving her legs until she had covered all the stairs up to ground level and her black sensible flats rested on the pavement. She put her arms above her head like she'd been taught to do. Deep breaths in. Deep breaths out. An alarm sounded in the pocket of her denim jacket. Sid did not have to check it to know what it meant. If she looked at the screen the time would read 8:30 AM. The last possible time that she could get on that train and make it to work on time.
She cursed at herself as she fished the phone out of her pocket. The custom message screamed Get on the train NOW! Swiping away her message of self-deprecation from the screen, she checked her Uber app to see that she only had ten cents left on her account. Damn, this week must have been a bad one. She craned her neck back down the sweeping staircase at the sound of the train plowing into the station below. That train would have her to work in twenty-five minutes. It would be the fastest route but Sid knew better than anyone that the fastest route could easily become the slowest when there were land mines of childhood trauma between you and the finish line. The bus it was.
Forty-five minutes later she finally broke free from the slow-moving bus into open air. She didn't even dare to check her phone. Sure that the messages were piling up. She sprinted down the street, skating along the outer edge of the curb to avoid the masses of people. Two blocks later the awning of Grazie Cucina Italiana came into view but instead of going in the front Sid rounded the corner and entered through the side.
The kitchen of Grazie's was like Port Authority. All the hustle and chaos of Grand Central but no beautiful architecture to distract you from it. She heard shouting from the front of the kitchen and thought of ignoring it but the least she could do --being late and all-- was to jump right into work. Sid slid her light jacket and backpack off and stuffed them behind a rack of spices. After weaving through the kitchen she entered the dining area to see the Head Chef making wild gestures at an obviously overwhelmed delivery guy.
"Hey, hey, what's going on here?" She said smoothly stepping between the two of them.
"Focaccia, Sidney! All this goddamn Focaccia!" Raymond was riled and red in the face. He made the bread sound like a cuss word. His old Sicilian accent dripped off of every word. Even though he was forty-two years old, Puerto Rican, and born right in Staten Island.
"Yes, Focaccia. You said you wanted to switch the Ciabatta for Focaccia. I have it in my notes somewhere." She patted around her person trying to locate her little notepad while she watched Raymond's hand fly to his forehead in exasperation.
"The Fall, Sidney. I'd swap them out in the Fall."
"But it's Spring. Why would you mention that now? I thought you meant swap it now."
"I was brainstorming, my God! " He flailed again.
"Ok, it's ok. We can use this, right? We can, um, tweak the menu a little bit, maybe use it in a dessert?" Sid spit-balled ideas while looking at the racks full of bread. She thought it was stupid that they ordered bread anyway. Any chef worth his salt would have it made fresh in house. But she remembered this was the Grazie, not some revered establishment nestled along on Central Park.
"In a dessert? A dessert? Jesus. And store it where Sidney?" He always used her full name. It grated on her nerves. Made her feel like she was back in culinary school. An era she'd rather forget. "We don't have room for it!" His voice boomed in the empty space. "I don't want to see it. Get it out of here. Get me Ciabatta."
"Ok, yep, sure. Getting it out." Sid placed a hand on the delivery guy's shoulder and offered him an apologetic look. Raymond rolled his eyes and stormed off at her show of compassion. After she was sure Raymond was out of earshot, she turned to the delivery guy.
"Go across the street to the Green Deli. Tell John to hold this for me. Did you catch my name? It's Sidney." She whispered to him with a smirk. He looked relieved to not have to load the bread back on the truck and thanked her before he tilted the bread back up on the dolly and made a quick exit.
She stood in the empty dining room and took a deep breath for the first time since she opened her eyes this morning. The morning had been dizzying. She wished that she could chalk it up to a rare crazy morning but it was like this every morning. Sid always felt like she was one step behind progress. Always falling short of the mark. It was brutal trying to keep it all together. But even if she was hanging on by a pinky finger, she was hanging on. It could always be worse. She doubled back to the kitchen, scooped up her coat and backpack. She stopped and spoke to the Sous Chef, an easy-going Haitian guy named Frantz.
"Hey, Frantz." Sid leaned on the counter and put her head in her hands. She didn't need to put on any heirs with Frantz. He, better than anyone, knew what they were working with when it came to Raymond.
"Sup, Sid. Fun morning?" He teased her, his pepper gray mustache rose as his lips curled into a smile. He'd heard the uproar.
"Delightful. Can you get that bread from John later and make a dessert from it? Maybe a cinnamon bread--"
"With caramel drizzle or something?"
"Yes! I'll add an insert to the menu now and give a few complementary to get a buzz going. You're a lifesaver." Sid called behind her as she followed the narrow hallway that led to the back office. She prayed it was empty. Her boss, Quinn, usually didn't stroll in until 11 AM, shortly before opening. It would be her luck that today would be the day that she decided to get here bright and early. She held her breath and turned the knob of the heavy wooden door to find it empty. She exhaled. God was real.
She hung up her things on the coat rack and took her seat at her desk. Booting up her old computer often took a while so she scrolled through Instagram to kill time. Tomiju's face was the first to grace her screen. Her best friend since college was, undoubtedly, in the middle of a meeting but managed to snap a killer selfie with the churning Hudson River visible through floor-to-ceiling conference room windows behind her. Tomi Ito sat comfortably-- although begrudgingly-- atop the Ito Hotel Dynasty.
Sid looked around her own office. She sat behind a brief span of desk mashed in the corner of the tiny room. Perched on top of a rickety office chair that barely contained her wide-set hips. Her plaque-- Sidney Berry, Assistant Restaurant Manager -- sat at the front of her desk. She remembered having to order it herself after everyone kept calling her the receptionist. It wasn't much. Certainly wasn't a corner office in a downtown Brooklyn high-rise like Tomi had. Sid sighed every time she visited her, staring out of those windows and wondering if she'd be able to right the ship that was her life.
Her office line rang. She answered without taking her eyes away from her timeline.
"Grazie. Sidney speaking."
"What's going on? Raymond called." Quinn's high pitched voice carried through the receiver. Sid cringed. Raymond. Piece of shit.
"It's all handled. Just a little order mix up." Sid replied coolly.
"He also said he had to receive inventory this morning because you just got there."
What an undeniable piece of shit. Sid thought of lying but what was the point? Quinn's favorite pastime was watching the security cameras they had placed all over the restaurant. People taking leftover food home to feed their families had become a problem -- these were Quinn's words. Food not going to waste and feeding hungry people? That wasn't exactly an issue in Sid's eyes.
"I had a little train trouble this morning." Sid closer her eyes and pinched at the bridge of her nose to coax the screams, the thud, back into the cage.
"Then leave earlier. You need to be to work on time Sidney. I'm not kidding. We don't pay you to stroll in whenever you want."
Yeah, that's your job. And stroll? Sid hadn't strolled anywhere ever. Especially not since college.
And the pay, oh, the pay. The whopping thirty thousand she pulled in annually was more like thirty after taxes and more like negative ten thousand after life in New York City as a single mom. Her sweet little boy's face popped into her mind.
"I understand. I'll try to leave earlier." She mumbled. There was no way she could leave earlier. Daycare didn't open until 8 AM. Society frowned upon mothers who left their babies on the doorsteps of businesses. Which is why she was even trying to get over her fear of trains. Trying to take steps to get closer to being a whole person.
Quinn ended the call with an abrupt 'see you soon'. Sidney's computer screen finally flicked on in front of her. She sighed deeply like she was trying to expel ancient witches that had cast a spell of bad luck on her life. That's how she felt. Really and truly. Her life had been a series of unfortunate events. This job being one of them so far.
She remembered waddling through Grazie's worn wooden door almost two years ago, seven months pregnant with her son AJ. She hoped to get a position as a Sou Chef right out of college but after five months of job searching and being turned down by nearly every restaurant in the city, she hoped she could get a position as a line cook.
Raymond turned her down as soon as he caught sight of her rounded belly which she tried to hide beneath a flowing dress and oversized coat. Sid was so fed up and near tears that she threatened him. Reminded him that not hiring a woman because she was pregnant was discrimination. Raymond went into the back and grabbed the Owner, a sweet (and actually Italian) old guy named Victor who said she reminded him of his wife with her spunk. He'd made a deal with her. They needed help running the place. She could start out in the office and once she had the baby, work her way into the kitchen.
The pay was shit and it wasn't the position that she wanted but she needed a job. She could be self-sufficient. Sid accepted and planned to work her way up and cut her teeth at the Grazie before taking on the elite of Brooklyn and Manhattan.
Well... Brooklyn.
Manhattan involves a train ride that seemed like an insurmountable trip to her. That was the plan until Victor died shortly after her son was born. His family owned the restaurant and brought in a family friend--and highly unqualified individual-- Quinn to manage the day-to-day. Two years later, Sid was still stocking inventory, making schedules, and handling customer service complaints. Definitely, not the plan at all.
"Miss Sidney?" Lisa, the eighteen-year-old hostess poked her head in the doorway. Quinn's niece. Sid rolled her eyes.
"Lisa, I'm only like five years older than you. Drop the Miss."
"Sorry," She giggled, "Um, that pipe in the women's bathroom is leaking again. Like, a lot."
"Ugh, have Adam get in there with some buckets while I call the plumber." Lisa nodded and trotted off.
Sid took a long look at Tomi's photo, allowed herself to be jealous for one lingering moment, and then plucked a worn post it with a number scrawled across it off her computer monitor to call the plumber.