caution against the revolt I briefly considered; it is reassuring to know my efforts would have been in vain anyway. Ah, the cool air greets me; it is actually refreshing after what I have been through. Now the waiting game begins.
I am placed in the staging area while those resembling ravenous vultures lick at their chops until they get the go ahead to devour. They are cunning I can tell, keeping a watchful eye on the master in hopes that with a turned back they could gain a head start; but not today, the master has joined them amongst the lingering.
It felt like an eternity passed as I am waiting, but then it happened, the flag was dropped and the signal given. Grubbing hands flung out at me and caressed and obtrusively massaged me and the others; I guess testing us for the proper choice. I guess I was good enough, because I was a first round draft. I am lifted and I near an anticipating smile, knowing that I can only lead to dissatisfaction. The teeth sink in and I am introduced to pain, and now I am no longer whole; a feeling I had grown used to already.
I am pulled away and I hear the noshing and gnawing on what was once me. I hear a crunch and I know that is the sound of the culprit and my downfall; I knew I was not fully done, not like that would have helped. The master must have seen the look on the face of the consumer and she quickly fetched a tall glass full of a white liquid to hand to the free hand of my holder. The face grew from grim to glad as a healthy chug was taken; perhaps an antidote to my foul poison?
After the swig I am reintroduced to the chompers and this time a sign of pleasure graced the lips. A curl of contentment? Could this be? Me? But this cannot be true? I was created to be a disaster. I thought I was a punishment of sorts. What baker in their right mind starts creating without checking their stock? To not have semisweet chips, and to make a replacement with those on the opposite spectrum, baking blasphemy.
But alas, I am to be ultimately enjoyed and I fulfill my true destiny. I guess there are those in life that can overlook what is inside and see the big picture. My faith in life has been restored in knowing that a chocolate chip cookie with a bittersweet heart can still be enjoyed by a child.
Track 7 – String of Pearls
Jennifer Paddock felt as if she were on top of the world, and why shouldn’t she? Her family had recently fallen on some hard times, in which Jenny, as her husband called her, utilized some of her specialty skills and found a way to feed her son. Jenny looked down at the score resting in her hand while she passed underneath an illuminated street lamp which shone off the glimmering pearls. Each of the thirty or so black beads of wealth was larger than the next, with the grandest of them all intended to fall right below the clavicle, and the green hue to them was breathtaking.
“Like taking candy from a baby,” Jenny snickered aloud, “or at least jewelry from the wife of an unfaithful millionaire.”
Upon her quick examination she was certain that this set of Tahitian pearls would fetch her enough to feed her family of three for at least half a year living on the lap of luxury; or at least they would consider luxury. This particular piece, of which she also had some lesser ones snug in her purse, had to be a family heirloom and looked over a century old. They certainly do not make them like this anymore, Jenny thought as she spun the necklace on her finger in a display of victory.
Jenny could not help but smile at the ease of the lift, but then the aged fastener on the necklace was indeed as ancient as she had guessed and as such it’s structural integrity had deteriorated over time, thus the necklace snapped and black pearls of all sizes decorated the poorly lit street corner.
“Damn it,” Jenny cursed as she fell to her knees in haste in a futile attempt to grab the falling payday. Unbeknownst to Jenny, at that exact time, Paul Edwards was behind the wheel of his clunker of a car racing down the slick street with mind dedicated to his destination and not anything on the road in which he drove.
Jenny Paddock had managed to pick up seven of the pearls when she just so happened to look up and see the dim headlights of a car with no intentions of stopping on behalf of her occupying the same road. Stunned at first, all she could do was stare, and in that gaze she witnessed the possessed eyes of the man behind the wheel. In a final moment of clarity she dove deeper onto the sidewalk in an attempt o find refuge, but to her dismay she was clipped by the bumper.
“What was that honey?” The calm breathing Wilma Edwards called out from her lounging position in the backseat on her way into labor of what the doctors suspected to be a high risk pregnancy.
“Nothing,” Paul called back, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He needed to get Wilma to the hospital, the doctors said that there could be complications and that he may lose everything he holds dear and he could not allow that.
“I heard a thud,” Wilma attempted to sit up to look out of the window.
“Must have been a raccoon or something,” Paul lied. “Lay back down love.”
Fifteen minutes later, Paul screeched into the driveway of the hospital where he and his wife were met by two nurses and a wheelchair. Wilma was rushed in, and the next twelve hours passed like a haze inside of a blur for Paul Edwards. Never leaving Wilma’s side and holding her hand for the entire duration, Paul assisted his wife through the difficult birth which resulted in a healthy baby boy; albeit that the baby boy had two legs, four arms, and two heads, and some argue that the pluralization of boys would be more apt.
Paul and Wilma Edwards raised their boys, Phillip and Jacob, as best as they could and went on to home school them to avoid their sons undergoing the ridicule of being conjoined twins in the public school system. Then when they were eight years old, Paul Edwards was diagnosed with a terminal brain disorder which resulted in his abrupt death only months later. It was at that point, with their mother under extreme duress and depression, that Phillip and Jacob decided it would be best to relieve their mother of the burden of their education and they would endure the public. That is where the twins truly blossomed; Phillip taking on a strong interest in the student government and climbing the social latter with the most popular kids, and Jacob on the other hands, although dragged along to the parties which Phillip was always invited, preferred to socialize with the intellectuals and ‘nerds’ as Phillips friends would label.
Public schooling was the greatest thing to happen to the boys and they learned to embrace their differences both within each other and with the norm. To the credit of Jacob’s studying, the boys won a full scholarship to Harvard and became prominent in investment banking before turning their sights for bigger and better things. As one thing led to another, the now men grew wiser and more respected, they entered politics and where unstoppable. Pairing the conservative nature of Phillip with the liberal ways of Jacob, the Edward’s twins were able to cover both left and right politics without ever being accused of flip-flopping.
Sitting in the Senate, Phillip and Jacob Edwards were convinced with little hesitation, to enter the Presidential race; which they went on to win with staggering results under the campaign slogan ‘Two Ed’s are Better than One’. Then, just two years into their term, all major news sources were reporting that President Edwards would go down as the greatest President of all times. Little did the media know that one late night while Phillip and Jacob were reviewing policies in their office that Frank Paddock would enter the room and lock the door behind him.
“Frank,” Phillip greeted his long time Secret Service Agent. “What can I do for you?”
“Forty-three years ago,” Frank solemnly said with a sigh of fatigue. “That’s how long ago my search began.”
“We are a little confused,” Jacob adjusted his glasses.
“I was young, but I knew I would one day track him down,” Frank went on. “Her name was Jennifer Paddock and she was my mother.”
“I don’t recall ever meeting your mother,” Phillip stated.
“Is she well?” Jacob asked.
“She is dead,” Frank shouted.
“We are sorry to hear that,” Jacob said as he grew
uneasy.
“She was walking in the street when she was struck by a car, that is what I learned,” Frank hissed, his eyes growing fiery and unpredictable. “There were witnesses, but none of them put it all together. Not even the cops put it all together, but I did. Forty-three years ago, on the day you were born, Paul Edwards struck a woman with his car on the way to the hospital.”
“Our father?” Phillip and Jacob exclaimed in unison as they sometimes did.
“Yes,” Frank let a tear drop from bloodshot eyes as he produced a knife. “He killed her so that he could get you to the hospital and never said a word to anybody. He could have driven her and she could have been saved, but by the time the ambulance got her there she was gone. He selfishly left her. He traded her life to make yours a little easier; give you a few more seconds.”
“Why are you here Frank?” Jacob regained his composure and tried to level with the man. “Our father passed away some time ago.”
“I know that,” Frank Paddock cried out. “You think I didn’t know that? It eats away at me to know that I did not have the chance to slide my blade into his heart and watch him die. You are the next best thing. After all it was you that drove your father, so to speak.”
“Frank you have worked for us since the Senate