The Break In

Jeremy and I didn't have a fighting chance of becoming good friends.

“They’ll never find us in here.” The smell of baked bread hung in the air. We’d brought our own butter, melted into creamy paste by the sun.

I spread my blanket on the floor next to stacks of tomorrow’s delivery, sat on it, and cut off a slice of the roll Jeremy handed me. “Cheers.”

The sound of the back door we’d pried open, squealed at us. “Don’t move!” Jeremy hissed, freezing in place. His part of the roll he held squished against my arm. Melted butter dripped down to create a small puddle on my lap.

Jeremy began nervous silent giggles waiting to explode. Out of desperation, I smacked his face with my buttered up roll..

Two faces appeared around the corner, each one trying to outdo the other with shocked surprise. One was my Mom’s, the other was Jeremy’s. “We’ve been searching for you. Wait until your Dad finds out what you've done!" My Mom threatened. “You know better than to sneak into our bakery and act like this. Whatever came over you?”

Jeremy's Mom had to get in on the act, “Yesterday we had to bail you out of the principal’s office for fighting each other. I’m ashamed of you, son, for letting him involve you in something like this.”

“We made up. We’re best friends. He said he knew a way to really butter me up like I’d never been buttered up before.” Jeffery stifled a tortured giggle while licking melted butter off his lips.

I hastened to explain us being here. “We’d both lose face if word got out we’d caved in from the fight. The kids are looking for us to finish it.”

The door behind the Mom's squealed in protest as the school kids forced their way in. "We found them! Fight. Fight. Fight," the wild chorus shouted. There were too many for the small open space. Fresh bread and rolls tumbled, freedom from their shelf prisons. The crowd began to dance around the falling mess, suddenly realizing there stood our Mom's. All motion stopped, but it was too late.

Jeremy's mom leaned against my Mom who leaned back in alarm, both seeking support against the mad disaster. Their own dance became disaster. Over went the vat of fresh warm butter used to coat and shine fresh baked bread and bakery goods before early morning delivery or put on display out front.

We were up on our feet, both of us angry as wet hens. "Let's get them," I said between grinding teeth.

Jeremy nodded, reaching for a sodden butter covered roll at his feet. Our doomed future gave extra energy to his arm swing and toss. Splat went the roll, right into the closest intruder's face.

The riot began. Bread and butter flew like drenched missiles in every direction as laughter joined them in the air. Bodies slipped, bounced together, only to rise up and do it all over again.

Unable to begin to stop the mayhem, our mom's retreated towards us, dodging flying food projectiles as best they could, while we returnied fire.

"Good Lord!" The voice of Jeremy and my Dad shattered the moment, freezing everyone in place.

"It's Okay, Harold. They're just kids." My Mom's voice shook with sudden laughter. "They thought we were having fun."

Jeremy's Mom joined her, "Cast your bread upon the waters, and new friendships have been won."

It turned out this morning's delivery was the extra holiday supply Thanksgiving always created.The cleanup went faster than expected with all the help we had.

"If you guys learned to be friends, anyone can," our class president shook our hands on it. The class historian, ever ready to add momentous moments had his cell phone out to take the picture that went into the center of our yearbook, words flowing around it about how a lesson out of school had been learned, a wrong made right, where and how it had been done.

Sales at the bakery skyrocketed as the fame grew. New employees were hired. Jeremy became the first to become one.

I hadn't planned on making a career working at the family bakery, but so far, it's been kind of fun. Every year we host a replay of the first throwing match, a little better organized, with prizes for the best aims. The school sponsors and pays for it. Old grudges are tossed aside and new friendships made.

It's how I met my wife. She turned into a hit right into my heart, that buttered me up so completely that I fell for her without needing another shot.



WC 790