Apple Pie

As she trudged down the alley, Cenessa saw a small crate of the freshest, reddest apples shes ever seen. No longer with the means of a home or the privileged finances that came with it, a side from being a piano player all this young woman knows is that she hasn't eaten in weeks. Delicate cautious steps she ever so quietly shifts towards them. Being a law bidding citizen and a decent girl at heart it wasn't in her to steel, but her stomach said otherwise. As she reaches for the rose red flesh of a glistening fresh apple. Suddenly, a door opens, startling her causing her to lose breath. Slowly looking up at a tall, bear size man in an apron and lightly dusted in flour.

“Hey!” he said getting her attention. “You bringing those in or what?” he asks “Come on, come on sweetheart I ain't got all day, these apple pies ain't going to cook themselves.”

Her eyes roll, her lips smack with the mere mention of food which in an instant her and the crate were inside.

Her sense of smell in absolute euphoria, she finds herself surrounded by the decadent aromas of a bakery. Breathing in deep the sugar dusted air it was like being in a dream, scents from her childhood: cookies, cakes, pastries and home made apple pie. All this excitement and her stomach lets out a loud grumble, covering her stomach with embarrassment the giant man in the apron asks,

“When was the last time you ate?”

“two weeks, three days and going on eight hours.” she says rushing through the words for they were a sore reminder of the sadness and misfortune that had passed.

“Come over here, “ he says insistently as he walks her over to a small bistro table where he politely pulls out her chair.

“Thank you.” she says quietly.

Sitting down across from her he gives her half of his sandwich, “here eat something before that stomach of yours collapses my souffles.”

Without hesitation she attacks the sandwich,

“woa! chew your food, you ain't an animal, didn't your parents teach yous anything?” he says adjusting her behavior at the table.

“Piano.” she says with a mouth full of food.

“I'm sorry?” he says as if he didn't catch that.

Swallowing her food she takes a breath before her next bite and replies,

“Piano.”

“Could've fooled me.” he says jokingly.

“I ain't got no use for a pampered dame such as yourself, that and a piano isn't exactly something you find in a bakery.” he says cracking a smile easing her tension.

A thick New York accent with a touch of jive calls out from the front of the store, “ Hey, Kermit?”

“Yo!” he calls back, “excuse me.” he stands up and walks over to a skinny man in the apron. Their conversation is kept low.

“You taking in strays now?” the skinny man asks.

“Just a mouse looking for food, she's easy enough on the eyes, what's going?” he asks motioning down into the cellar.

Conversation on folds as Cennessa continues to eat her sandwich and steals a swig of beer from a bottle. Finishing she stands up and abruptly walks into Kermit, he looks at her curious as to where she's going. Not letting her by he ties an apron around her waist and without hesitation or a second thought he hands her a bowl full of eggs, “ dump those in the mixer will ya? And when you're done you can start peeling them apples.”

Uncertain of what just happened, but Cenessa is absolutely certain about one thing, this outcome is far better than being out on the streets. What could've been another day of hunger and sleeping on a bench, turned into learning how to bake. Entire day of flour, yeast, egg, fruits and a fresh batch of apple pies Cenessa blotched with flour hears Kermit from the front giving an order,

“Hey, get them pies out will ya, put'em on the cooling rack.”

“sure thing.” she calls out.

With a flat shovel like object on the end of a large handle she slowly pulls the pies out and places them on a near by wooden cooling rack. Kermit walks in wiping off his hands on his apron with a focused look on his face as he addressees a tall well built woman in a tailored three piece gray suit.

“V, what can I do for you?”

“ Rumor has it, that you're running something more than pies out of this place of yours.”

“we have breads, muffins, I'm still working on souffles, but I haven't gotten it down yet.” he says with a mild arrogance.

“You sure?” she asks.

Handing her an envelope and boxed pie, “for your grandfather.”

Pointing at him with a smile on her face, pleased with his charismatic means of conversation and she leaves out the back door where she hands the money off to a brute of a man and gets inside the back of a large white Royce handing the pie to a well groomed white haired man in a white suit who opens the box and falls in love with the smell of the pie.

“who?”

“no one that concerns you.” Kermit says before she could finish her sentence.

Overly curious, she looks around the kitchen wandering if he was actually running something else out of this bakery of his. Heading down into the cellar, she looks around, but much to her own disappointment she finds nothing but what's used in the kitchen. Heading back up she looks at Kermit with a concerned look on her face looking for some reassurance.

“ So there's nothing to worry about?” she asks with a quirky face.

Letting out a sigh he looks over at a worrisome little mouse face and gives a little insight,

“ Do me a favor, repeat after me, “There's no room for worrying in Apple Pie.”

“There's no room for worrying in Apple Pie..” she says not understanding.

“Just keep saying that, until it starts making sense, alright? Hey, um, you can stay with my sister's kid she's alright a little out of touch with the real world, but she's alright. You can stay with her, but be here at 5ish we got bread to make. Here,” he hands her a ten dollar bill “you've earned yourself a hot meal.”

That's how it started, a friendship that formed over years. Day in and Day out, she showed up to work and learned something new every day, never forgetting where she came from. Much of life's lessons she learned right in the kitchen, but the most important one was the quote that he taught her, “There's no room for worry in Apple Pie.”

One night after work, she sees two beautiful women in sparkling flapper dresses and head pieces to match, stumbling down in the same direction of the bakery.

“a little late for a stroll isn't it ladies?” she says curious as to what their destination was.

Following them down into an alley way where a hidden door behind a poster is then opened, watching as the two go down and inside. Looking at where she's at, it's right under the bakery.

“Well that can't be right, the cellar is right under the bakery and two objects cannot obtain the same space.” she says quietly to herself. Walking over to the door she knocks on it and it opens up, walking inside it was if the door was a gateway to a world of swinging jazz, gin martini's with champagne chasers, high fashion and high class. The further she stepped in she allowed herself to be taken away by this lively atmosphere, but it was the music, the music is what captured her, remembering the feel of piano keys at her finger tips and the overwhelming feeling she'd get from playing. Like a moth lead to a flame she was glued to the flow of key strokes from an old black box shaped piano losing all sense of time in the sound of the piano.

Leaving a dollar in the tip jar she slowly makes her way to the door when the piano player calls out.

“Hey sista, you play the keys?” the piano man calls out.

“I use to,” she humbly replies.

“Hey man, don't be square can you play or not?” he asks

“yes?” she says holding her talent in question.

“Well alright then.” he says with a smile on his face as he motions for her to take up the keys.

With the slightest touch of those ivory keys a song comes to mind, she begins to play a soulful jazz melody and begins to sing.

“ Love can and is anything but true, but baby I'm telling you. Life is better off without you. These streets of stone, these walls of brick hold me truer then you ever did, because baby Life is better off without you. Your shoulder is colder than Brooklyn in January, your welcoming embrace is like a cemetery, yes baby it's true Life is better off without you.”

When she finishes the sound of the applause brings her back from the music, she realizes that the entire waiting staff, the bartenders and Kermit were all watching her.

“Kitchen.” says Kermit with an absent expression face.

“Hey right on sista.” says one of the band members who low fives her.

Following Kermit through a hidden door behind located behind the bar, walking through it leads to the cellar of the bakery. In the kitchen Kermit stands there with a wad of cash in his hands.

“Go and get yourself something nice to wear, preferably something you can play in, have your done nice too. Give ya some class.”

With a smile on her face she's relieved that he's not mad at her, she gives him a big hug which catches him off guard and warms his heart. Looking up at him she asks,

“Can I still work in the bakery?”

This brought a warming smile of pride on his face, “Sure, kid. You can still work in the bakery. Now go home, we have bread deliveries in the morning.”

Watching as she leaves out the back, after she cuts the corner V steps in.

“Nice kid, seems to be doing well here, nice of you to bring her in and all that.”

“V, what brings you here at this time of night?” Kermit asks.

With a smirk on her face, a little man untouched walks in smelling of booze. Kermit knows that he was in his place.

“I've made a little discovery, this little stool pigeon decided to spill his beans about where he got the best show in town and got loaded for a reasonable price and do you know where he said he was? Someplace next to a bakery. How about that?”looking at the little man, “you may go.”

The little man scurries out the door, V takes off her jacket and stares the big man in the eyes.

Morning comes and as she's on her way to the bakery, fire trucks speed passed, a feeling hits her stomach, she begins to sprint towards the noise. Arriving at what use to be the bakery was now rubble and ash. Her heart sunk into her chest, reporters snap pictures, police start taking statements and as she's listening through all the commotion Kermit grabs her arm and pulls her off to the side.

“Kermit!?” she exclaims only to be hushed by his over sized hand covering her face.

“We have to leave.” he says

“What about the bakery? The piano?” she asks.

“Look I didn't have much of a choice in the matter, it was either leave the city and burn the bakery or be inside it.” he stresses to Cenessa whose finding herself to be more enraged than scared.

Not ready to give up the fight, she looks around and spots the white Rolls, eyes sharpen like a hawk spotting it's pray.

“Excuse me, I'll be right back.” she says as she with haste walks over to the car,

Kermit's eyes go wide and he winces in thought on what's going to happen, she gets inside and now he can't help but stare.

In the back of the white rolls Cenessa sits next to the older gentlemen in a white suit knowing all to well who he is.

“What makes you think, I'd be interested in a bakery or rebuilding one for that matter?” he asks with eloquence and pa-nosh.

“ two words, apple pie,” she says looking at him hinting to something else entirely. “ V, was nice enough to set the place on fire because of a poor business decision made by my friend, the baker. One too many hits in the head when he was a fighter, I suppose.”

“uh-huh, I see.” he says. “what a, did you have in mind?”

Looking him in the eyes, she sees a softness to him a hint of sympathy and makes her deal.

Still watching from the outside, the car then drives over to Kermit where Cenessa steps out and she pulls Kermit over to her. With sympathy in his eyes the old man reaches his hand out to Kermit.

“you have a heck of partner there, I'm sorry about V's actions she has an tendency of being a little over dramatic. I'm sure your insurance policy will have this place up and running again in a month or two. In the mean time, there's going to be some more business that needs to be done, here.” he hands him an envelope of money. “get yourself a new piano.” The window rolls up and the car drives off.

Without the words Kermit looks at Cenessa who is radiating with happiness,

“Why did you do it? Kid?” Kermit asks overwhelmed with joy, but doesn't know how to express it.

“You pulled me from the streets, now I get to return the favor.” she says with a heart warming smile on her face. “Only this time, we cut in the suppliers. What? Daughter of a business man.”

“a broke business man.” Kermit replies

Cenessa then corrects him,

“Not at all, my father was a very successful man, who unfortunately had too many bad habits, after he died my mother in absolute depression drank the family into bankruptcy, lost the house, the business, everything.”

Hearing the truth, Kermit is without words and looks at her with a hint of worry on his face which Cenessa corrects.

“uh-huh, none of that now, there's no room for worry in apple pie.”

A Piper I Am

A Piper I am, I am,

A Piper I am,

My tartan is as true as the notes that I play

As they are heard in the head of battle putting fear far away,

My soul echos out of my reads as I play a song,

My fingers flow through melody as the drummers drum on.

A piper I am, I am,

A piper I am,

May the sounds of the pipes touch your soul,

May it remind you who are as I play God Bless America and Going Home.

Let the songs that I play make you strong, brave and free

Through and Through a piper I am and so it will forever be.

A piper I am, I am,

A piper I am.

Bags and Boxes

A  man 's man , tall in stature, naturally disciplined is in desperate search for something and for the life of him he can't find it. Now in a great state of annoyance he calls up to his girlfriend. 

“Where is the bag?!” he shouts early in morning up the stairs to his girlfriend in a frantic state.

“What? What bag?” she replies as she just steps out of the bathroom starting her day.

“The bag, the little blue bag that had the flask in it?” he shouts back rushing his words.

What women in her right mind could respond to such a question without a drop of coffee in her system. Thinking upon this she goes to the location in his home where the gift bags usually are, next to the toilet paper in the guest bathroom. (Strange place, but it is the mind of a man who shapes his own home as he sees fit.) Retrieving the bag, in it's freshly folded state, it is then placed on the table. How those in a frantic state pay no attention that which is in front of them. Watching as the man she loves scurries about in the same small space looking for the bag as if he had some personal grudge with the last Where's Waldo book.

“Last place it was, was in the back seat of the car, where is should be, where the hell is the blue bag!”

“It's on the table.” she calls out.

“Where? I don't see it!” he yells back from the other room.

“There on the table, here on the table.” she replies pointing to the bag.

Coming out of the room he sees the bag and yet he's far from being pleased, because in fact the bag was not his true objective.

“What happened to the box?” he asks even more in a frantic state then when he started. Before she could utter a single word he continues. “you were so primed on bringing everything in last night from the car, what did you do with the box. The funnel to the flask is in the box, did you throw it out?!”

Calmly keeping her distance from this wild fox twitching with foam in his mouth she replies,

“I don't remember and with that attitude quite frankly I don't give a shit.”

Knowing she's tidy and organized he goes to the liquor cabinet and next to the flasks there he discovers his little black box and the tiny funnel that was located within.

“Why do you have to move shit!?” he shouts absolutely annoyed.

Thinking to herself this manly man of man hers has transformed into a five year old boy, not saying a word or really listening to his rant of hysterics.

“Do me a favor?!” he shouts which catches her attention. His face now red with fury and much like that five year old boy patients simply doesn't exist.

“Stop moving my shit! You know how stressed I get when I can't find shit!” He shouts.

Without skipping a beat she calls out from the bathroom with a piece of floss hanging out of her mouth,

“You're stressed out even when you can find shit, so I don't see how this is significant.”

It was in this moment when silence falls upon the house, a silence so stilling not even a cricket wanted to make noise. A fevered rage of boiling blood and blood vessels on the verge of bursting all on account of a bag and a box. Perhaps the ludicrous behavior will be forgotten by him and the offense made will soon disappear in the days events. There the thought lingers in the mind of this woman, such intensity, such passion never have a bag and a box felt such importance. A simple blue gift bag all of sudden felt like it was a high dollar piece of luggage that carried an assortment of jewels. The simple black cardboard box basked in it's glory of love and importance feeling as if it a bullet proof , impenetrable portable safe which contained the secret recipe to coke a cola. How special these inanimate objects must have felt that day if they were actually capable of feelings. It makes one wander how truly lonely that packet of mayo in your fridge really is.

Lost in Love

Lost in Love

By: Sarah Hoyt

Chic and uncomfortably modern this uptown apartment holds in the sounds of a young woman's obsessive crying. A worrisome sound echoes from behind the brilliant frosted glass shower door. With her knees to her chest with the only comfort of her arms embrace, this soaking wet young woman in her thirties bares the epic expression of heart break. Her marathon of sadness is cut short by the sound of polite knocking at her bathroom door. From the other end of this wooden barrier the only sounds heard was that of the shower being silenced and that of physics from the opening and closing of the magnetic shower door. He stood there this man in a tuxedo, this man of comfort, this older man of eloquence and wisdom. His face bares the expression of concern and understanding. Only guessing what's taking place on the other side of the door. The search for truth and strength, standing in front of this fogged picturesque mirror she stares at herself as if staring in the eyes of a stranger. Sizing up this person in the reflection, wandering what type of person they are. Finally grabbing a hold of her composure with a mask of confidence and absolute acceptance of all that has taken place over the last month. Realizing that those tears that were washed away with her body scrub were in fact the only evidence needed, it was real. What she felt for this man, this Mr. Wonderful whom fate dropped in her lap unexpectedly, the feelings, the emotions, the joy and the LOVE, it was all real. A concept that up until then was very new to her. Letting out her final sigh this young woman steps out of her bathroom with the taste of artificial confidence in her mouth which pairs very well with the glass of a red blend which was handed to her by the well groomed middle aged poet of the city.

“You are welcome,” he says with his British accent.

Closing her bedroom door, she goes to ready herself for the evening of all evenings. Within a blink she reappears in front of him in formal attire, Cinderellaesque with a modern Venetian touch. Still without the right words, she receives a reassuring kiss on her head and the two leave.

Despite the sounds of the city: the Rolls Royce driving through traffic, mixed voices of an entire city carrying on with their lives and yet with all this distraction she found herself composed in a wandering state of mind. Composed because she knows that she can't settle on an emotion, should she be relieved because now she's the women she was meant to be, distraught from the loss of true love, angry because he should've understood and he should've came back. Glancing over at her friend, in search for some form of relief she asks,

“What am I suppose to feel CK?” she asks with great severity.

“Welcome to the world, Kristine, the biggest conflict in human history is that between the head and the heart.” he says with sympathetic words.

Mass emotion, turning through the past and present all comes to a sudden halt as the car arrives, the doors to a grand room are opened and the masquerade begins. Over a hundred masks are seen, that of animal, saint and sinner alike all bearing various emotions as if her late father's charity event was being hosted in the vast privacy of her mind. A familiar hand grabs hers and she's swiftly moved to the sounds of orchestral strings with an uptown sound. Whirled into a waltz she finds herself following the lead of her best friend, who in his own Jerry O'Connor style. Managing to pull off his peacock styled tuxedo Felix holds her close and gives her two words that instantly recalled every single tear that was shed.

“He's here.” Felix says softly with means of giving hope. “Ah, don't look right away; what’s the matter with you? Make him work for it.” he says as his hand is unknowingly replaced by that of her father's. The two hands meet and everything around them go dark; the only light in the room is the one that's on the center floor.

“Because my daughter, you finally know you're worth it.” Said this tall, dark haired dapper man who shares Kristine's eyes and smile.

And so they danced, just as they danced in the pub in midtown where his spirit lingered. Where she faced her father for the first time in fifteen years, as a drab automaton lost in her own existence and now a beautiful, confidant woman, with her own sense of direction. All of this was compliments of the local voodoo Queen who in her own grace and beauty is always the ideal woman to straighten the proverbial “shit out”. A tall ravishing black women in a gown of royal purple steps into the light and continues to watch. Standing there as she did in the pub, watching the effects of her work take shape within Kristine. Like her personal Fairy God Mother whose Cajun born background gave her the inspirational means to become very successful in an unforgiving city. Standing there, watching as she gives Kristine her final dance with her father.

Two worlds collide as the footsteps of reality blend in with that of this final moment of closure. Fates footsteps, a pair of polished black shoes, walk in stride toward them. A voice belonging to the man she never stopped loving is heard,

“May I?” he asks humbly.

Wearing the last smile Kristine will ever see, he hands his daughter's hand to this man. Clasping their hands together he gives a relieved nod. Before he steps into the crowd he blows a kiss to his daughter for the last time. Giving a subtle wave she watches as his spirit vanishes. Music begins and as their hands connect, it was as if every ridge in their finger prints aligned perfectly. Slowly they begin to move,

“Nick, I” before she could finish he speaks ever so softly and sincerely,

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry for not understanding, I'm sorry that we were both blind to what was important.”

“What made you come back?” she asks rushing through the words.

“Emily, she opened her father's eyes to the notion that his insecure and childish behavior was upsetting the universe causing him to shut himself off from ever truly loving someone.”

“Smart girl.” she replies with a smile

“She’s very fond of you and it’s nice to finally have someone who can influence her in such a way as you have.”

As they dance the light expands illuminating familiar faces as they reappear in the crowd: every one she had a connection with through this journey of hers, leading her to this man, this Mr. Wonderful. Music begins to grow louder and more upbeat others begin to dance around them giving both Kristine and Nick a sense that this reality no longer is filled with uncertainty or a sense misdirection.

Watching as the two of them dance as if they were the only ones in the room CK hands Felix a drink and they toast.

“Felix my boy, may we all be so lucky to have such confidence having come from being such a crumbled ruin of a wretch, only to brace the unknown with hope, faith,” CK says with eyes all a glow.

“And blind optimism,” Felix adds

“That could lead us down such a glorious path, to those who lead, to all those that came before him, the actor, the affair, the chef, the painter and the poet”

“To THEM?” Felix asks.

Nodding his head towards Nick and Kristine agreeing in an absolute, “To them.”