Sourdough
by Shauna Checkley
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 4 |
conclusion
After Petra’s swimming lesson was over, Jasmyn drove straight to the bakery at the strip mall nearby their house.
Petra began to whine immediately. “Can I get something? Can I pick just one thing?”
“Yes, just one thing, that’s all,” Jasmyn firmly said.
Inside, Jasmyn noticed that things had changed since she worked there: whole work stations had been rearranged, equipment was gone or moved. But overall it looked cleaner, more efficient, even pared down, as if a whole new vibe had emerged. Then she saw someone she knew: her former supervisor, complete with white apron and long gloves.
“Joann! How are you?” Jasmyn called.
“Oh, hi, Jasmyn! I’m good, thanks. And you?”
“Alright. Say, would you be hiring right now? I’m looking again.”
Joann frowned. “Darn. I just hired someone. That’s too bad. But I’ll keep you in mind. It’d be nice to have you back. You still at the same number?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll keep it in mind then,” Joann promised.
Jasmyn chatted for a while with her former boss. It felt inviting and familiar to be there again, echoes of early morning bread shifts, fresh and aromatic. Jasmyn had quit only because the early shifts interfered with the very young and needy Petra, and Jasmyn had opted for her child over work. She never could understand the cultural obsession with work. Why can’t we be like Iceland? But now Petra was finishing off Grade Two, a veteran, it seemed.
Like the crack-the-whip game, Jasmyn felt Petra continue to tug impatiently on her hand, pulling her wildly. Jasmyn wheeled around: “Stop it!”
Petra did, immediately dropping her mother’s hand.
Joann laughed lightly and said, “I’ll let you go, then.”
“I want Nanaimo Bars!” Petra pleaded.
Jasmyn bought a tray of the squares and they left.
Once home, Petra had a Nanaimo square. Then Petra announced that she was going next door to play with Caitlyn, though they had been on the outs only yesterday.
“Okay, then,” Jasmyn agreed. She was glad to be relieved of her child for a while and needed to have quiet times to recoup. She wished Gordie would stay away, maybe hang with Drew, go shoot a game of pool or something. Wouldn’t that be nice? I could get caught up on things around here. Check my sourdough mother... Do a few things.
* * *
That evening, after a supper of instant, runny, mashed potatoes and beans, Reid lay back on his cot and closed his eyes to unwind from the day.
“So have you heard from your bitch lately?” Colton began. He was covered in snake tattoos on both arms. His skin was like ugly dough, pasty from a lack of sun.
Reid watched as the lines and shapes changed around his cellmate’s mouth as he spoke.
“Uhh ya... yesterday,” Reid said.
“Can you get her to send some money? Like deposit it in your account or fold it up teeny tiny and tape it inside cards and stuff,” Colton interjected. It had become his rant and threat as of late, a familiar refrain that pained Reid to no end.
Colton grinned his wide, gap-toothed, maniacal grin.
Reid shrugged. “I guess.”
“You better, dude,” Colton warned.
But Reid had no intention of doing so. He was only trying to appease his cellmate, deflect any pent-up tension. Colton reflected the status quo of prison life whereby he abused everyone on the inside and attempted to manipulate everyone on the outside. He was a consummate con man, it seemed.
Within minutes though, Reid heard Colton snoring. The same thing he did after supper every evening.
Good, the asshole’s finally asleep, Reid thought. I hate that guy! Despite all his recent spiritual training, Reid still felt overwhelmed at times while in the presence of great evil, of that negative, banal, energy that sucked everyone and everything lifeless and dry. Vampire-like, it felt. Still, Reid tried to forgive. He knew Colton had been an abused child, too. He tried not to hate and judge, though at times like this he found it difficult.
To try and forget Colton, Reid purposefully thought of Jasmyn. But the image of Pastor Rob came to him as well. Reid winced. Should I go tell Pastor Rob about us? He’s probably in his office tonight. I could beg a guard to take me down and just end this chicanery once and for all.
Reid continue to lie inert. Gotta let go of her. But I don’t think I’m strong enough. It feels just as bad as booze sometimes. Can’t quit you, babe. He was reminded of that old Led Zeppelin tune, the one off the C.D. that he used to listen to while drinking himself to sleep some nights.
* * *
Lying down, Jasmyn decided to have a rest. She had been on the go so much in the past week that she just wanted to relax, let glorious inertia feed and replenish her spent body. She felt like a lump of dough or jelly. She just free floated in consciousness. She let thoughts and memories come to her like fleeting visitors, fleeing friends.
Jasmyn recalled her days in the bakery, when she was relatively content. When things between her and Gordie, though not exciting, were pleasant enough, tranquil and stable, a good transitional stage for her from the chaos that was Neville. But then she thought of Reid. Handsome. Dark. Gangsta. Bad boy. Faraway Reid. The Reid in that black t-shirt, that very pop-up window.
Yet, as she became more deeply relaxed, as her consciousness flickered on the verge of sleep, her memories carried her even farther away. She recalled early times of Mommy and Daddy. Then — poof — gone. Then moving to Grandma’s. But then that unsettling incident when the scary man cut the screen door and tried to break in. It came back to her just as it had the other day.
Jasmyn often thought of the screen door incident. Sometimes even more so than other, happier memories. Why though? Why does my mind always work its way back to that one disturbing pinprick in time? Probably because it frightened me so deeply that it’s stayed with me for an eternity, living in my consciousness like a cancer that won’t heal. Cells mutating, buried, changing, spreading. Whatever, she thought. Yet, as much as it traumatized her, it thrilled her. Excited her. She vaguely considered her vibrator then. Don’t have the energy for that. Just don’t. Though that one memory, that specific image seemed almost always to work, she knew. Still, she let the matter go.
Jasmyn rolled over in bed. Not quite awake and yet not able to sleep, either, she just opted to lie still for a few more minutes before getting up. Then she considered all that she could do: check on her sourdough mother, maybe make another fresh batch of biscuits, unload the dish washer. Oh, hell, it just never ends.
* * *
A week passed with Jasmyn awaiting the next Sunday when she and Reid could speak, even if reservations about it all had begun to move like tiny feet. Should I even be doing this? The passage of time since she and Reid had last spoken allowed for an emerging sense of introspection. She had become thoughtful as of late instead of her usual curious self. It had all come about in degrees like an oven cooling down.
Returning home from playing with her friend, Petra crept in quietly. She wanted to scare her mom just as she often did, enjoying the wild, startled reaction it brought. Petra headed to the computer room believing her mom would likely be there.
“You want to bring an end to this? No more FaceTime, then? Nothing?” Jasmyn said, the wonder rising in her voice
“Mommy who are you talking to? Who is that man?”
Panicked, Jasmyn hit the button and wheeled around. “Nothing baby... It was nobody,”
Petra nodded.
Feeling a wave of relief, Jasmyn ran her fingers through her beloved child’s hair and felt her fear abate. Yet her concern was no longer about being busted over online dalliances, these shameful shenanigans. Rather, it was simply for her daughter’s well-being. How could I be doing this to her and Gordie? Just how? I’m just going to let Reid go, for my family’s sake, if nothing else. I’m so glad he ended it, too. It’s for the best. She knew it had all gone too far. It’s my fault with all this online flirting bullshit. Never again! Enough is enough!
Exhaling in relief, Jasmyn was glad, deep down, that it was over. Like one rising from a fever, she felt relieved and spent.
* * *
With his face slightly averted, Reid toyed with the cup of coffee in his hand as he spoke to the chaplain. His sight became fixed on a little fish symbol on the corner of the pastor’s desk: some place, any place, besides having to look the other man in the face. All Reid could think of was that he had been strengthened and helped by Jesus.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, leading her on, ’cept I’ve been kinda lonely in here, I guess,” Reid confessed.
“That’s understandable, of course,” Pastor Rob said.
“I didn’t mean to—” Reid started to say.
Smiling softly and nodding, the chaplain said, “It’s in the past now.” Pastor Rob smiled warmly at the prisoner who looked like a younger version of himself.
They drank their coffee in peace. Taking sips and reflecting quietly in each other’s presence, it felt like an absolute, luxurious state of being to Reid. He suddenly felt free at last, free spiritually, free of Jasmyn and the guilt wrought by such an association; gloriously free. He had had his road to Damascus experience.
Even though he wore an orange prison jumpsuit and sat sipping coffee with an older man he was only beginning to get to know, one who was refined and restrained; one who was so very different from anyone else Reid had ever experienced that he seemed to have almost emerged from some other world. Reid felt at last very free indeed; and blessed, like the multitudes fed by the fish and the loaves.
* * *
The next morning, they all sat at the table. Reaching across the table to pluck another pancake from the stack of sourdough ones piled on a plate, Gordie said, “So, girls, how was your day yesterday?”
Jasmyn smiled, shrugged.
“Boring!” Petra insisted “Caitlyn wouldn’t come out to play!”
Gordie shook his head in mock disgust. Jasmyn smiled.
“I like it when we have breakfast suppers every now and then like this,” Gordie said.
Appreciative of the remark, Jasmyn smiled and said, “Me, too. They’re easy.”
They both laughed. Noticing an ever so tiny glob of syrup in the corner of his mouth, Jasmyn reached over and gently dabbed it away.
“Hey, I was saving that for later,” Gordie quipped.
Petra crinkled her nose and said, “Eww, gross!”
Jasmyn continued to eat while the child began to play with her food, etching patterns and faces into the pancake. Watching her daughter, Jasmyn felt none of her usual urge to correct the child; she felt at peace, instead.
Copyright © 2025 by Shauna Checkley
