A Bowl Of Chili And A Cinnamon Roll Opened My Eight-Year-Old Eyes

This lunch was the school's favorite. My brother and I had to go home for lunch. Not this day

The bell rings for the lunch period. Our teacher announces the wildly popular duo of chilli with cinnamon rolls as the daily special. Kids cheer and everyone busts out the door, racing down the hallway to the cafeteria. Willing their ears to tune out our teacher’s “No Running!”

Everyone that is, except me and bro, one year older and another conscript to mother’s edict. “There’s better food at home and we only live a few blocks away. No further discussion.”

We didn’t care about the food. We wanted to be with our friends.

As usual, we met up outside and walked briskly down the sidewalk. We were often marked tardy upon return. We were kids number 7 and 8 in the family lineup, with two younger bros still at home.

Lunch was a scramble and seldom on Mother’s priority list. Sometimes we made it ourselves and always ate hastily. Hoping we’d get back in time for the end of lunch recess. Forget it. Never happened.

This warm Spring day was different. Our front door was usually open on a sunny day. Now it was closed. We both tried the handle, twisting as hard as we could.

We banged on the door and knocked on the upper panel of frosted glass. Pressing our noses against it. Hoping we’d see the shadow of our mother, coming to let us in.

Our developing brains suddenly flashed with possibilities. Try the back door! Locked. The windows? Screened and locked.

Where was Mom? This had never happened before.

We drifted back to the front porch and sat down stunned on the stoop. “What should we do?” I asked bro.

“We better wait. She’s probably on her way home right now.”

I looked at him doubtfully. “What if she’s not? What if she’s been in an accident? What if she’s dead?” I blurted out a fear I never had before.

He looked at me in horror. “Don’t say that! You could make it come true.” He kept protesting until I finally realized it was his fear too. He was working so hard to deny it, he gave me a light punch in my arm.

“Hey, stop! What are you doing!” Disagree we did, but we weren’t fighters.

He was immediately remorseful and apologized. “Sorry. I don’t know what to do. Let’s wait a bit longer. If she doesn’t show up soon, we’ll just go back to school.”

Wait we did. The sun beat down and baked our olive skin a shade darker before we reluctantly gave up and walked with trepidation back to school. Bro lecturing me the entire way.

“Don’t you dare say anything to anybody! We could get Mom in trouble. Promise me you won’t squeal. You know what Mom says. What happens in our family is nobody else’s business.”

We were usually only tardy for a few minutes. I glanced at the classroom clock upon entry and saw I was twenty minutes late a new record.

My stomach was growling and my nerves were dancing on the edge. The teacher checked the clock as well and walked down the aisle to my desk. I picked up my pencil, willing myself not to cry. I was a tough cookie, not some stinking crybaby.

She took one look at my trembling lips and shaking hands, leaned in and softly said, “Let’s go out to the hallway for a minute.” My best friend sitting across the aisle became agitated and asked “Is she in trouble?”

“No, not at all,” the teacher reassures her. “We’ll be right back. Everyone open your book to Chapter 3 and start reading.”

The hallway was quiet. Classroom doors were closed and we were the only ones around. The teacher kneeled to look face to face. I made the mistake of meeting her concerned gaze and the tears start flowing.

“We went home for lunch and our mom wasn’t there!” I blurted out my story as she gently tucked the wild hair I had unbound from braids, behind my ears.

She handed me her hanky and I blew my nose. I finished off with a small sob. “She might be lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“I doubt that.” The teacher extends her hand to clasp mine and we walk down the hall together. Until she stops and knocks on my brother’s class door. Oh no, he’s never going to forgive me for being a ratter. That is unforgivable treason among our siblings.

The door opens. Teachers swiftly exchange a few hushed words and Bro appears alongside me in the hallway with flushed cheeks, sending eye daggers my way. How dreadfully embarrassing to be called out of class.

The teacher walks us to the cafeteria and tells us to sit anywhere we want as she hustles over to the kitchen crew cleaning up from lunch. She returns in a few minutes and gives both of us a warm smile.

“There are two bowls of chilli on the way and the two biggest cinnamon rolls are warming up. See you soon and don’t worry. We’re calling your mom to see what happened and will let you know as soon as we hear.”

She disappears and I’m left to face bro who’s been steadily kicking my shoes under the table.

“I can’t believe you told your teacher. You promised you wouldn’t!”

“No, I didn’t! I said I would try not to and I failed miserably,” I pleaded.

The cook arrived with our lunch before he could torment me further at the stake of family misdeeds.

“Good news kids! We got ahold of your mom. She’s back at home and was glad to know you were getting some lunch. She was held up in line at the Driver’s License Bureau.

You don’t have anything to worry about now, so eat up and don’t leave any leftovers.” This was delivered with a wink as I unwound my cinnamon roll with glee.

Bro forgave me for the second time that afternoon. He was such a softie he couldn’t keep a grudge if he tried. We both ate heartily, basking in the concern we had received and relishing the fabled cinnamon rolls and chilli.

Bro and I normally parted ways after school and tore off to play with friends. Not this afternoon. He was waiting for me in our spot and waved me over.

“Let’s go home and see Mom before we do anything else okay?”

I nodded an eager yes. The front door of our house and all of the windows were open as usual. We raced in and I dashed over to Mom standing in the kitchen. Hugging her waist so tightly I almost knocked her over.

She protested, but I could see she didn’t really mind. She ruffled Bro’s hair, brushed his cowlick back and gave us both a big smile.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it back for lunch. You must’ve been worried. I’m glad you told them you didn’t eat and they gave you some food.”

Bro looked at her in disbelief, astonished she didn’t mind I confided in my teacher. His world was turned upside down once again. He was staring at Mom like she was speaking a foreign language.

I knew Mom was feeling remorseful. I couldn’t resist pressing our advantage. “Can we have lunch at school when they have cinnamon rolls and chilli? Please, please, please,” I plaintively add. Giving her my Orphan Annie look, saved for special occasions.

She hesitated a brief moment, then looked at our hopeful faces. “All right, it’s a deal.” We jumped with glee and Bro gave me a high five on his way out the door.

Even though I had somewhat returned to my usual passionate self, I needed to be alone. Too much happened that I didn’t understand. I kicked off my school shoes and wandered outdoors barefoot to the sturdy swing set in the backyard.

I sat on the generous seat, tracing lines with my toes. Back and forth in the sun-warmed sand below. Thoughts and questions bubbled up and out of my head.

What if Mom or Dad died? Could we live without them? Would my older sisters and brothers have to go to work? These thoughts were new and most unwelcome, but their niggling kept driving me deeper.

I was autonomous by nature and took pride in being self-contained. Now I knew it was all a cover. I had been served a piece of humble pie.

I needed Mom and Dad. We all did. I wasn’t grown up yet and I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was. I deflated slowly like a tired balloon and dejectedly kicked the sand.

Then I heard it. The very special voice I only heard once before, when I was 6 years old. The voice I never told anyone about.

“You are not alone. You will never be alone. We are always here with you.”

I looked up into the deep blue sky, dug my feet into the sand and pushed off for the heavens. Straightening my legs and leaning back as I pumped hard on the ascent.

Digging back into the earth as my toes touched the ground. My kicks grew stronger as the swing soared higher and higher.

I knew this voice and its message flooded my body with peace.

I was no longer an 8-year-old girl pondering the unknowable mysteries of life.

I was vibrantly alive in every fiber of my being and had no room for thoughts.

I was the girl flying so high into that desert sky I might not come back down.

My name was Joy.

That was all I knew.

It was enough.