Issue 10.1 Fall 2014

issue 10.1 cover image

 

 

White Bread

 

Gary Berg

 

 

Stevie took his time. He walked past the kitchen door three, maybe four times. On each pass he peeked inside to see if Mrs. Otto was still there--she was. Stevie was hungry, real hungry. He had eaten lunch, but it didn't matter. Stevie was always already hungry as soon as he finished eating.


Two aides walked by laughing. Stevie watched. Laughter was mocking, humiliation. They laughed at his voices, the funny way he twisted his lips. Even when he did nothing, they laughed. Laughter made him hungry. The hallway was clear now. He quickly went to the kitchen door and looked in--no one was there.


Stevie had everything worked out. He walked directly over to the food service line and began eating

pudding with a large serving spoon. His eyes darted back and forth across the room as he ate wildly. Footsteps—someone was coming. Stevie hurried over to a large tray full of buttered white bread, shoved two slices in his mouth, and began stuffing bread into his shirt. Then he was off running.


2


No matter what might be wrong with a patient, or how confused he might seem, they all knew when it was time to eat. They started to collect in the dining-hall an hour before serving time. They would save seats nearest to the kitchen in order to be first. Patients had favorite places, and when anyone tried to move closer an argument would ensue. By meal time, the dining hall was full of patients, and there was a tense atmosphere of anticipation. They would mumble complaints to each other, and stare at the kitchen door.


Black teenagers wearing white plastic aprons would push the large stainless steel cabinets full of trays through the swinging doors. They would have to pass out the trays quickly before they were overwhelmed by the grabbing patients. "Sit down, or you won't get anything."


Joey, Stevie’s friend, always ate in the corner furthest away from the kitchen. He hadn't been hungry for years, but ate out of habit. After everyone else was served, a skinny young man would take out a tray, walk across the room and put it in front of Joey. He would pat Joey softly on the shoulder, "What do you say?" and then walk back to the kitchen. By the time Joey got his tray everyone else had finished eating. Some patients left the hall, a few watched as Joey began to eat.


Stevie looked around the dining hall, pulled a slice of white bread from his shirt, gave it to Joey, and walked away quickly.


"God, am I hungry," Lizaveta, a middle-aged patient in heavy face makeup, said as she walked towards Joey and took the bread from him. "Seen any good movies lately?"


Joey put his fork down and looked at her--she stared at his food.


"Funny thing about the pictures--you think Gable's there, but he’s not." She picked up Joey's spoon and took a bite of his scalloped potatoes. "The little pieces of dust are the only thing that's really there," she said with her mouth full. "You know, the ones you see floating in the light." She took another bite. "I think he's there, but he's not--it makes me feel hungry." She pulled Joey's tray a little closer to her. He held his fork in one hand and watched Lizaveta eat.


Joey examined the details of Lizaveta's face. The first thing he saw were the series of fine wrinkles around her eyes that formed a part circle coming together at the end of her eye. He watched her hands as she ate. She had strong, thick fingers that shook. Joey tried to imagine what they'd look like relaxed or asleep; he thought they'd be beautiful.


Joey went to sleep hungry that night, but that was all right. It had been a long time since he had wanted anything. He lay in bed with his eyes open and listened to his stomach groan, like it was talking. It reminded him of something from before.


3

 

"But Mrs. Otto, I'm supposed to be on a low sodium diet, not low sugar," Stevie whined. He was a constant visitor to the kitchen even though it was off limits to patients.

 

"I know Stevie. I have files on all of the patients here." She was trapped behind the desk in her office. After a number of years Mrs. Otto had found it easiest to avoid Stevie by pretending to listen to him.
He hung his hands on the side of his waist by his thumbs.

 

"You're not even allowed in here." She pointed to the door with one hand, and then fixed the back of her hair with the other. Mrs. Otto was dressed in the white uniform, nylons, and the shoes of a nurse, with her hair sprayed together in an intricate, curly mass on top of her head.

 

"Got a dollar for a candy bar, Mrs. Otto?"

 

"Go on, get away from here," Mrs. Otto said, shooing Stevie away with her hands and then walking quickly the other way out the door. Stevie caught the handle just before it closed and slipped inside. The kitchen was empty--it was in the afternoon between meals when the entire staff was on break. The cold tile floor and stainless steel appliances made Stevie shiver.

 

They didn't serve many sweets at the hospital--not real ones. Occasionally they had fruit or bread pudding, but ice cream was the only real sweet. Stevie pulled the cooler door open wide and stepped inside without delay. He knew exactly where to go; he had watched the aides steal ice cream. They would wait until Mrs. Otto was out of the kitchen and then get the ice cream out of the freezer and eat behind the dishwasher in case she came back. They didn't care if Stevie saw them do it.

 

In the cooler there were big pans full of hamburger casseroles and salad. The heavy cooler door swung partway closed. The freezer was at the back of the cooler, with a separate thick door. Stevie struggled to pull it open--ice formed on the top and bottom made it difficult. The door swung free with a jolt and then shut tight behind him. The frozen silence was interrupted when the automatic blower went on. Stevie was already on his fourth ice cream when he noticed it was getting cold. The blower was on the back of his neck, so he turned his shirt collar up, staining it with chocolate ice cream. "Don't be mad at me, Mrs. Otto."

 

Stevie ripped open another box and started in on strawberry. He was getting sleepy. He squatted down and leaned against the metal shelves below the freezing air stream. The empty ice cream containers were scattered on the floor. "Mrs. Otto thinks she knows what I need." Stevie tasted the strawberry ice cream with his eyes shut, feeling it melt on his tongue. Icy sleep came over him--his mind that was always slowly ripping in two relaxed. The blower hummed like a mechanical mother, hushing baby.

 

Mrs. Otto returned to the kitchen annoyed with Dr. Anderson. “How dare he complain about the quality of the food? I'm not responsible for the budget--I’m just making ends meet. He can do his job--I'll do mine.”

 

She saw the cooler door open and became enraged. “Who left the door open?" She looked around--no one was in the kitchen. She opened the cooler to see inside. An ice cream container had strayed from the freezer out onto the cooler floor. Mrs. Otto picked it up and opened the freezer door. She screamed. Stevie was asleep on the floor with ice cream all over his face, hands, and clothes. His head was bent forward against the steel rack--he was smiling.

 

4

 

Twice a week they let the patients outside to sit on the grass and walk around the grounds. For some it was suffocating in the open air; the sunshine was bitter. But Joey had a favorite tree he liked to sit under; it was a large maple off in a remote area. There he could be alone while he laid on his back and looked up at the lace work of the tree tops gently swaying in the wind.

 

Joey blocked the sun with his hand and saw Lizaveta looking down at him. "You didn't think anybody was watching you." She sat down beside Joey and began picking grass casually. Then she sprinkled the grass on top of Joey's head as he sat up. They looked at the leaves of the tree blowing in the wind. She pulled a piece of white bread from her pocket and handed it to him. “From Stevie.”

 

He ate slowly. Joey's hand gently held Lizaveta's.

 

"When do we start shooting?" she asked.

 

"This is the first scene," Joey said.

 

Lizaveta pulled out a compact and powdered her face. She smiled at Joey, "Is my makeup alright?"

 

"Fine."

 

They stood and walked in silence across the grass.

 

"How's it gonna end, Joey?"

 

"I can't remember just yet."

 

Hand in hand they strolled out the hospital garden.


 

 

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