Little Moments

by Madison Street

  I turn to collect the box off the floor as his deep voice echoes. “Just get out.”

  His violent outburst catches me off guard, causing an emotional response. I can feel my eyes start to fill with tears, but I stay strong. Don’t cry.

  Keeping my head up high and standing tall, I grab the box off the floor and place it on the dresser. I glance a quick look at him, just as he peeks at me. Our eyes meet for a millisecond until I look away and turn out the door.

  Melanie

  THE ELEVATED TRAIN pulls up to the Crosby Avenue station and I put away my headphones as I exit the train. I wrap my red scarf around my neck and button up my dark chocolate pea coat as I carefully walk down the steps and make my way to the street below. The chill shocks my body as the wind blows and I stuff my hands inside my pocket, having forgotten my gloves at home. Looking both ways, I step into the street and carefully walk across the frozen snow, making my way to Zeppieri’s Bakery.

  Once inside, my body immediately starts to warm up and Mrs. Zeppieri greets me. “Oh, hi Melanie. Surprising to see you here.”

  “Uh, hi. I was in the mood for some éclairs so I traveled all the way just to get some.”

  With a somber frown she says, “I’m sorry. We’re all out of éclairs. We run out pretty quickly on holidays.”

  “Oh, well I suppose I’ll get something else.”

  I think about getting a cheesecake, but carrying a box into the snow with no gloves wouldn’t be very smart. I step toward the cookie case and take a peek inside. Skimming my options, my eyes land on the three-layer cookies.

  “I’ll have a half pound of the three-layer cookies then.”

  Mrs. Zeppieri beams bright and grabs a wax paper and a small white paper bag, carefully placing each cookie inside. Once she’s grabbed enough, she weighs the bag on the scale and tells me the total.

  I hand her my debit card as she hands me the bags of cookies. She rings up the register and swipes the card in the machine. Seconds later, I sign the receipt and give her a warm smile, thanking her for the dessert.

  As I prepare to venture back out into the cold, she asks, “Any plans for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “Yes, I’ll be heading to Long Island to spend the day there.”

  She smiles. “How lovely. Will you see that precious goddaughter of yours?”

  “Yes she’ll be there. Are you going to head to the hospital soon?”

  “Yes, Vincent and I are heading there in a bit. It’s a shame we can’t bring any food for Roman. I understand the hospital’s policy about outside food, but goodness he hates the cafeteria food.”

  I nervously chuckle. “Well, it’s not the greatest.”

  “Funny, he said the same thing. Well, I know you must be needing to head out soon. We do too, to rush over and spend as much time with Roman as we can before visiting hours are up.”

  “You’re not going to sleep at the hospital tonight? It’s Thanksgiving.”

  She frowns, shaking her head. “No, he didn’t want us. He said he wanted us to head up to Connecticut instead, to see my son.”

  “Oh, okay. Well Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Happy Thanksgiving to you dear. Have fun in Long Island.”

  I give her a warm smile as I exit the bakery. On the train ride home, I manage to only eat two cookies, devouring them in seconds. Saving the rest, I fold the bag and place it inside my purse. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Forty minutes later I arrive at the apartment and start packing for my trip to Long Island. Rob said he would pick me up by around one o’clock so that gives me two hours to get ready and have everything in order.

  I start preparing my famous baked macaroni and cheese, gathering and arranging all the ingredients. In college, I was obsessed with food television and would watch dozens of cooking shows. Mastering recipes was a great past time for me and pasta was always my favorite thing to make. Over the years I learned to make fresh homemade pasta on my own and I must say, I’m pretty damn good at it.

  Thirty minutes later, the macaroni and cheese bakes in the oven, so I head to the bedroom to quickly pack an overnight bag. Making sure I don’t forget anything, I cautiously skim the room and the bathroom for my toiletries. Okay, toothbrush, hairbrush, comb, deodorant, makeup bag, hairspray. Am I missing anything else?

  The aroma from the mac and cheese spreads throughout the apartment as I fold my outfits and carefully place them into my bag. A few minutes later, the timer on the stove dings, indicating the baked masterpiece is ready. Opening the oven, my nose is flooded with the delicious aroma of cheesy noodles. I grab the dish, holding on tight with my oven mitt, and place it on the stove. Perfection.

  I cover the pasta with a lid and glance at the clock. I have an hour until Rob arrives so I hop in the shower. Once dressed and ready to go, I look at the time on my phone. Rob should be here soon. I send him a quick text.

  Me: Hey, almost here?

  Rob: Stuck on the bridge. Be there in 30 min.

  Me: Okay, be careful driving.

  Rob: Will do.

  With time to wind down, I turn on the TV and flip to today’s football game to watch the Cowboys in action. Football has always been my favorite sport to watch, but I don’t have a favorite team. Many think I’m strange, but for me I can’t like one specific team; there are too many to choose from. I’ve always been that way, even about movies. I have several favorites, and of course, they’re classics. But then, I also enjoy those stupid romantic comedies and parody films that are meant to crack people up.

  Halftime airs and I glance at my phone, not realizing how much time has passed. I call Rob and breath a sigh of relief as he answers. “Where are you?”

  “Relax, I’m almost there. Come downstairs in five minutes.”

  “Okay.” Hanging up the phone, I head into the bedroom to grab my overnight bag and place it at the front door. After putting on my boots and pea coat, I head into the kitchen to grab a quick glass of water before the drive. Opening the refrigerator, I spot the bag from the bakery and immediately think of Roman. Remembering what his aunt said earlier, I think about how they must be in Connecticut by now. A sudden sense of melancholy fills me as I imagine him at the hospital, all alone on Thanksgiving. I catch myself staring at the white paper bag full of yummy goodness, and I let out a deep sigh.

  A loud car horn honks from the street below indicating that Rob is waiting for me. I glance at my overnight bag and back to the bakery bag. Closing my eyes, I make the spontaneous decision. Dammit.

  Shutting the fridge, I pick up the dish filled with my homemade baked macaroni and cheese and head out the door. I look downward as I step carefully down each flight of stairs, praying I don’t trip and bust my ass.

  I step outside into the frigid air and find Rob standing by his Jeep. “All set? Let’s go.”

  He takes the dish out of my hands and places it in the trunk. Then he glances toward me, confused. “Where’s your stuff?”

  I give him a please-don’t-be-mad-at-me look. “I’m not going.”

  He throws his hands in the air. “What! Why not?”

  “There’s something I have to do at work.”

  He shuts the trunk. “But you took today and tomorrow off. Is it an emergency?”

  “Well, no, but I just have to do something.”

  He shakes his head and scoffs. “Man, Raya is gonna be pissed.”

  “I’ll call her and let her know.”

  He pleads with me. “You sure about this?”

  I confidently nod. “Yes, now go, before you get stuck in more traffic. By the time you get there Thanksgiving will be over.”

  His laughs. “Ha, not the way I drive. Tokyo drift baby!”

  I give him a hug, wish him a safe drive, and wave as he speeds off toward the island. Heading upstairs my mind spins at my spontaneous decision and I immediately call Raya to break the news.

  Roman

  WRAPPING MY ARM around my aunt, I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Safe trip to Connecti
cut. Say hi to the gang for me.”

  She kisses me back, then steps away with tears in her eyes.

  “Aw, please don’t cry Aunt Maggie.”

  She wipes a tear. “I don’t understand why we can’t stay here tonight. I don’t want you to be all alone on Thanksgiving. Other families are here.”

  I explain myself to her. “Because I don’t want you guys to have to spend Thanksgiving in a dreary hospital. You should be with your kids. Don’t diminish your holiday for me, okay?”

  “But we will be with our kids; we’ll be here, with you.”

  Her loving confession pulls at my heartstrings as tears threaten to form. I’ve always loved Aunt Maggie and in ways I’ve loved her as my own mother. She raised me, made me the man I am today. But looking down at my fragile appearance, dreadfulness washes over me. This woman deserves to be in a place where she’s warm and surrounded by family and good food, a place that has a nice bed waiting to be slept on, not some piece of shit cot that’ll probably tear up her back.

  “Trust me, I’ll be fine here. Just go.”

  She stands up and rubs the top of my head, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. Uncle Vinny shakes my left hand and leads her out of the room. Letting out a deep sigh, I reach for the remote and turn on the TV to watch today’s football game.

  Two hours later, one of the other nurses comes in with my dinner. “Here you go Roman. On the menu for today is sliced turkey with steamed broccoli, mashed potatoes, and, of course, jello.” She places the dinner on the serving tray and scoots it over to me. She pushes the button on the mechanical bed and slowly raises it so I am able to reach my plate.

  She offers, “I also have apple juice, if you want that, or milk.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll just have water.”

  She pours a fresh glass of water and hands me a napkin. “Anything else I can get for you?”

  I shake my head. “Nope, I’m good.”

  She smiles. “Very well. Happy Thanksgiving.”

  I watch as she exits the room and shuts the door behind her. I pick up the fork and steadily try to eat with my left hand. Having an injured right hand sucks. I feel handicapped. With the shaky fork, I stab the broccoli and insert it into my mouth. God, it’s awful. No flavor whatsoever. Forcing myself to swallow it, I scoop some potatoes. Now you can’t mess these up. As the potatoes roll onto my tongue, I have the sudden urge to spit them out. Apparently I was wrong. I don’t even bother trying the turkey, as it just looks gross.

  I never saw myself as a picky eater. I’ve always eaten whatever my aunt made for dinner, but I guess that’s the issue at hand. When you’ve had Aunt Maggie’s cooking, nothing will ever come close to how delicious and scrumptious her food is. She could make something disgusting like cow tongue and I’d probably eat it. Come to think of it, I’ve never really enjoyed anyone else’s cooking besides hers. There were times when one of the women I dated would cook for me, and it’d be pleasant, but I never fawned over a meal.

  I place the fork back on the tray and push it away from the bed. It’s been days since I ate an actual meal and it’s starting to piss me off. God, I would kill for some real food right now. My stomach growls as my daydream of being at home with the family, eating a nice hearty meal comes to mind: the roasted pork in the center of the table, Aunt Maggie’s homemade lasagna, and Uncle Vinny’s vegetable medley.

  I lower the volume on the TV and click the button to dim the lights in the room. Glancing at the night sky, I stare out and hope that Aunt Maggie and Uncle Vinny are enjoying themselves in Connecticut. I have the urge to call them, but decide not to. In a way, I feel it’ll make things worse; she’ll feel bad and make Uncle Vinny drive back down here.

  It’s been five days since I was admitted. A few of the fire crewmembers, including Carter and Captain, have come to visit. They all called me either a badass or a dumbass when it came to discussing the fire and the collapse. Carter stayed longer than anyone and told me everything that happened once he caught the boy. Eventually, we found out that the child’s father returned from Japan and they ended up moving to New Jersey.

  Dr. Ferguson says I’m making great progress. The burns are still in bad shape, but are slowly healing. My spinal injury is aligning well and I’m starting to get more control of my legs. Yesterday, I was able to slide my left leg off the bed and lift it back up. I was ecstatic, practically crying as the doc observed the event. Overall, he expressed good news all around. We just have to wait for the burns to heal and then I’ll be off to physical therapy.

  The constant pain still bothers me and sometimes I’m able to ignore it, but some days it’s worse and I just want to rip my skin off. There are times when I feel I am on fire and I can feel the blisters. Thinking about the pain somehow brings it to focus and my nerves go into shock again. Why did I start thinking? Ah hell.

  Inhaling and exhaling, I breathe through the pain, trying to focus on something else. The football game is over and there’s no way I’m watching reality TV so I flip the channels, trying to find something that’ll distract me from the agonizing pain. I land on a family channel and chuckle as Charlie Brown plays on the screen. Who doesn’t love Charlie Brown?

  Raising the volume, I lower the bed to the right angle where I’m able to see the TV perfectly. I watch as Charlie and his friends get into their usual pickles. Laughing along, a soft knock comes from the door and it slowly opens. My eyes expand as I witness Melanie walk in the door. She’s not wearing her scrubs and still has on her coat and scarf, which are covered with snowflakes.

  She shuts the door behind her and removes her coat, settling it on one of the chairs. She places a white paper bag on the coat and steps toward me with a smile on her face. I mute the TV as she stalks closer.

  I stop her before she has the chance to speak. “What are you doing here?”

  Her soft voice whispers, “I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

  With a stern voice I respond, “Well, I’m here, still in the hospital.”

  She looks toward the ground for a second and huffs before returning her eye contact. “I wanted to tell you that I…I remember.”

  A volt of electricity flows through my body, but I burry it deep.

  I keep my face stern. “Remember what?”

  “Re-remember when I used to come into the bakery all the time in high school and order the éclairs?”

  I play dumb. “Hmm, lot’s of people ordered éclairs. I don’t recall seeing you.”

  “Well, there was one time that it poured and I got stuck in the rain so I ran inside the shop. You were studying for an exam and you stayed with me until my boyfriend came.”

  That moment is one of the greatest memories I’ve cherished throughout the years and to hear her tell me she remembers it makes my heartbeat skip once, twice, three times. I want to reach out to her and tell her how I’ve wanted to see her a million times since then, but I fight the urge.

  I look away. “Yeah, I remember now. Small world.”

  “Yes. Yes it is.”

  The sound of her voice soothes my soul but at the same time aggravates me. I don’t want her here, seeing me like this, feeling pity. She steps closer as I bark out, “Is there a specific reason you’re here?”

  She stops dead in her tracks, flinching at the loud volume of my voice. A frown curves on her lips. “No, I…I guess not. I’m sorry.”

  She turns around, walks to the chair, and grabs the bag and her coat. She stalks to the door and pulls it open, about to leave. As she steps forward a sudden hint of guilt fills my chest. My mind tells me to let her go, but my heart says something else. Fighting the responsible thing to do, I ball my left hand into a fist.

  Letting out a deep sigh, I give in. “Wait.”

  She stops, frozen in place.

  I speak up. “Stay.”

  She steps backward and slowly turns her head toward me, taking a quick peek. She hesitates for a couple seconds, but then shuts the door and returns her coat and bag to the e
mpty chair.

  My lips curve into a small smile. “No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.”

  She returns the smile as my eyes follow her taking a seat in the empty chair. She glances at the TV screen and nods toward it. “So, Charlie Brown huh?”

  “Yeah, it’s a classic. You can’t resist Charlie Brown.”

  She agrees. “I just love how they block out the adult voices and give them that weird speech.” She imitates the tone. “Wahhh wahh wahh wah wah.”

  I bust out laughing at her impression and she joins in. Seeing her laugh sends chills down my spine and my heart starts to pound again. Getting control of myself, I raise the volume and keep quiet as we watch in silence.

  Suddenly, she bounces off her seat. “Oh, I have something for you.”

  She grabs the bag off the other chair and walks toward me. “Now, I know you probably haven’t eaten much since you’ve been here.”

  I nod. “Yeah, the food tastes like shit.”

  She giggles. “Yes, I figured. So, I brought a little treat. It’s nothing big, but I thought you might enjoy a little something from home.”

  Clueless as to what she’s talking about, I watch as she opens the bag and takes out a three-layer cookie. Holy shit.

  She puts the cookie on a napkin and offers it to me. “I hope you like them.”

  Taking the cookie from her, I thank her with a smile. “They’re my favorite.”

  Roman

  AS THE BLINDING SUN hits my eyelids, I squint as I take in my surroundings. Glancing around the hospital room, I notice the TV is turned off and my food tray is gone. Reaching to look closer at the chair she sat in, I note that it’s empty. Her coat is gone as well. Looking at my cellphone, I see it’s early morning; she must have left after I fell asleep last night. She couldn’t have stayed too long because I don’t recall us talking much. Unless it was a dream.

  I trace my eyes around my area searching for anything that might indicate that she really was here last night. I start to doubt myself until my eyes fix on the empty white paper bag in the trash. A huge smiles spreads across my face as the realization hits: yes, she was here with me.