Cherry Oh!

Cherry Oh!

          Let me start off by introducing myself, my name is Bolivar Scagyankle and I am the first in my family to attend a school of any kind.  Formal education is not a necessity for my occupation but from what I have seen those that have it seem to use those that don't in order to get things done. I'm a doer and this is what I have done.
         I met a pie man, by the name of Cass Kincade. He was a short gray haired fellow, with a plumply face and body to match.  You could say that tasting his product over the years had somewhat affected his exterior disposition. However, he never failed to smile and greet his customer’s with cheery expressions. 
         His pie shop sat on the corner of the busiest street in the district.  The sweet aroma that came swirling down the alleys and thru the doors of all the local businesses, begged the taste buds of potential customer’s to visit on a frequent bases. But I had never passed thru the door of his shop, mainly due to the lack of money. 
           I had past this shop countless times, I could always smell the mouth watering aroma coming from within, but never allowed my stomach to control my money.  Besides, I was told he only made one kind of pie.  How weird was that?  You own a bakery, you are situated in a place where business is thriving, and you only offer one kind of pie!
         On this day, the day I met Mr. Kincade, while seeking shelter from a storm.  I entered the small shop, shelves littered the wall, encased with glass, and each shelf was filled with pies. There must have been hundreds of pies waiting for buyers. A voice, accented with a jolly tone, spoke out, “Top of the day to ya!” “How may I be of assistance?”  I hesitated for a moment and replied, “I seek shelter from the Storm”.  Mr. Kincade with a smile upon his face told me to come in.  Pointing to a table near the entry, he invited me to sit and offered me a slice of pie.  I sat down at the table but resisted the offer of pie, knowing that I could not afford pleasures before the bills were paid.  Mr. Kincade then said it comes with the table and there is no charge for the pie. 
         Not to offend him, I accepted his offer.  On the table was a glass pie plate with a matching glass dome shaped lid slightly dulled by the moisture from the contents inside.  Mr. Kincade brought a small white plate, fork, and a coffee mug and placed them in front of me.  Then he reached for the coffee pot and filled the mug.  While he was doing this, I asked for his menu of pies.  Menu! He laughed. I only have one kind of pie. “Cherry Pie!”, he exclaimed with laughter. 
         Opening the lid to the freshly cooked pie, he carved out a large piece and placed it on the small white plate.  The luscious red filling oozed out slowly on the white back drop of the plate and the plump cherries slowly lingering ever so close to the edges of the lightly baked crust. The aroma of sweet cherry pie filled the air and caused my mouth to moisten.  Taking the fork, I broke the outer crust, gently pressing thru to the bottom, and then slowly with a rolling motion I lifted the fork holding what seemed to be the most valuable thing I had ever held in my hand.  Steam slowly lifted from the contents on the fork, so I paused a moment before taking my first bite.  Mr. Kincade peered at me from across the table as if I were a certified taste tester. It seemed as if he were opening his store for the first time and I would be the deciding factor of his business.  I then placed the first bite in my mouth, the warm sensation of pure unadulterated goodness flooded my taste buds.  I was in shock, disbelief, or just plain dumbfounded by the goodness I had just experienced.  Mr. Kincade knew instantly, as he had seen the same expression thousands of times before, how I felt.  He closed the lid on the pie plate and politely excused himself from the table. 
         Mr. Kincade then disappeared behind the counter into the baking area of the bakery.  As I finished the pie and mug of coffee, the storm had dissipated to a mere trickle, and I knew it was time to be going.  But first I had to show my gratitude to the man that had been so kind to me. 
         I called out his name from the counter.  There was no reply.  Worried, I went to the door of the baking area.  I knocked and got no reply.  So I entered.  Once thru the door, I saw him standing next to a large blender working vigorously. The tables lined the room, stacked with pie pans and prepped with dough.  Two large ovens glowing from the flames within.  He saw me standing at the door, he stopped, and with a smile he said, “There is no need to thank me it was a privilege to serve you”. 
         I asked, “why make only one kind of pie?”  “Did you not enjoy the pie I made?”, he replied.  I did but I don't understand why you, a great baker, would make only one kind of pie when a variety would bring more people and more money.
         Mr. Kincade simply stated, “Do your best and people will notice the best in you.” I thanked him and left without saying another word.  His best was making Cherry pies, serving others and kindness.
         As I said in my introduction I was the first in my family to attend school, Mr. Cass Kincade was my teacher.