A Bridge to Dreams

Phil was the sole proprietor and operator of Jo’s Diner. While Rene held a part-time job as a cook at Jo’s, Phil hardly ever noticed him. At first, Rene had been thrilled to secure the position. He was certain it would provide the vital experience he needed to springboard his career in the food service industry. His excitement had diminished considerably as time passed. Jo’s had failed to provide opportunities for his aspiring inner chef to shine.

Eggs, canned corn beef, potatoes and onions were the staples at Jo’s Diner. Frying was safest cooking method for preparing anything in the kitchen. A decades old oven had formerly sat in the corner but had been ousted after the bread experiment.

Early on, Rene had attempted to add bread to the menu at Jo’s. Purchasing all the ingredients out of his own pocket, he had lovingly crafted the dough. Even Phil, busily gnawing a match while glancing over Rene’s shoulder, had taken notice. The oven began preheating normally when suddenly, sparks flew in its interior. Smoke began belching forth from around the door and an acrid odor had filled the diner.

Yelling back over his shoulder, Phil had charged to open the diner’s front door.

“Shut it off! Shut it off!”

Reaching to push the off button, Rene had jumped back when flames burst from the oven’s control panel. He grabbed the fire extinguisher, dowsed the oven then used a mop handle to knock the plug loose from the wall outlet. Rene’s baking experiment had ended with him dragging the stinking, smoldering appliance out back to help rid the kitchen of the smell.

………………………………

The bread experiment about summed up Rene’s experience as a chef. It also explained, at least in part, how he came to be standing atop the bridge’s superstructure contemplating a plunge to his own demise. He felt as if he had reached the end of a long journey only to discovered he was at the wrong destination.

Looking down at the tips of his tennis shoes, a choked sob escaped his lips. Noticing their frayed appearance, he had started to make a mental note to buy new shoestrings. The absurdity of the idea had dawned on him. Standing over 200 feet above the San Francisco Bay, seriously considering the jump, shoelaces were not his most pressing concern.

Wavering at the edge of ending it all, Rene closed his eyes. He took a deep breath; certain he was going to let himself fall. No one would care. His life had reached a dead-end and Rene was weary. Unclenching his handhold on the cable he began leaning out toward the water.

………………………………

Rene blended into the wallpaper of life. Being born third in a family with 5 boys and 2 girls, his early years had prepared him to be overlooked. School was largely a non-event for him. Getting by without finding any real trouble, his grades were neither dismal nor were they exceptional. A bit too small for sports and lacking any natural musical talent, he managed to get by backstage while others stood in the lights.

After graduating, he found steady employment at a local grocery store. There, he stocked the shelves with cans of food and then bagged them for customers. It was a humble existence in which he felt at home. While perhaps not consciously, Rene settled for joining the ranks of the faceless masses. It seemed his destiny to live an unremarkable life with a sea of similar lives surrounding him.

Five years passed and Rene seldom gave thought to his mediocrity. It was then that a certain melancholy began to descend like a heavy blanket. Although not naturally inclined to reflection, he became aware of this progressive despondency over the next year. Meeting his own gaze in the mirror, he watched as a persistent emptiness marched into his eyes and occupied them.

After he moved away from home his involvement with family had naturally declined. His complete absence now went essentially unnoticed by parents and siblings who were busily distracted in their own worlds. Similarly, his lack of engagement with casual acquaintances and co-workers failed to raise anyone’s eyebrows.

This grim reality seemed to stretch out into his future as far as his eyes could see. Desperation might well have taken him had it not been for a broken tooth. One stormy Thursday afternoon, while sitting in his dentist’s waiting room, Rene made a discovery that was to become his great obsession.

…………………………………

Clouds were pushed aside by the wind and overhead a crescent moon came into view. Its light was clear but not so overpowering as to render the stars around it invisible. Through closed eyelids, Rene could tell the light had changed. He opened his eye and took in the view of the night sky. Hesitating, he glanced down the route he had climbed to reach this perch. Maybe he was making a mistake.

He strained to grab hold of his dream again. There was a purpose for him here. He had been blissfully unaware of it for most of his life. When he finally did catch a glimpse, it had stirred his imagination and ignited his passion. He desperately needed to remember it.

……………………………

Doctor Spinelli entertained a host of hobbies, never quite finding one he could settle on. During his early years of practicing dentistry, gardening was his passion. He then switched to collecting art but, finding it too pricey a pastime he shifted to painting. When that fizzled, he moved on to photography then cooking and wine, before developing an interest in his current pursuit, beachcombing with a metal detector.

This range of hobbies did produce a notable outcome in Spinelli’s office. The large coffee table and end tables in his waiting room featured an astounding library of magazines. Waiting patients could distract themselves from thoughts of impending cavity repairs or crown replacements with titles such as, Gardening’s Universe, Digital Lenses and A Baker’s Life. It was from among these flashy full-color pages that Rene found his true love.

………………………………….

Suddenly, a fat pigeon flew out of nowhere and landed on Rene’s shoulder. Startled, he reacted, grabbing hold of the cable. Turning his head slightly, he was treated to a closeup view of the bird. The pigeon seemed curiously unafraid of him and, cocking its head to one side, blinked twice in rapid succession. Rene then questioned his sanity because he distinctly heard a quiet voice say,

“Go home.”

Looking back down past the tips of his tennis shoes he shuddered at the thought of the freezing water below. Then, he began navigating back down off the bridge’s superstructure.

……………………………

Back in South Vallejo, he stared up the steep set of steps to his 3rd floor walk-up. Was that it? Was life a never-ending set of stairs to climb? A flash-back to the bridge set his feet in motion. At the top of the steps, he immediately noticed the package leaned against his door.

Entering his cramped efficiency, he unfolded his lone folding metal chair, Rene sat down and opened the box. A long-handled wooden spoon was all it contained. A quizzical look on his face, he picked it up and a strange sensation seemed to seep into his hand. It moved through his arm and then a warm tingling sensation enveloped his body. Startled, he returned it to the box.

At the sight of his bed, a feeling of weariness overwhelmed him. He laid the package aside and headed straight for his pillow and blanket. A deep sleep overcame him within minutes and was closely followed by something more.

“Reny!”

Exercising all his willpower Rene was finally able to turn and look toward the voice. He was greeted by his grandmother’s soft smiling eyes peering out from the tangle of wrinkles in her face.

“Reny, my baby boy, where are you?”

Tears instantly filled his eyes at the sound of her voice.

“I’m right here gramma!”

He choked through the emotion that swept over him.

“Gramma! I’m here!”

Her figure receded into darkness and the sound of her voice faded as she plaintively said his name once more. Alone in the lightless space, he struggled to look around but could see nothing. Then he was falling. Flailing his arms and legs he saw the bridge’s structure stretching upward as he hurdled toward the icy waters. A scream welled up from his gut.

Busy sounds of the kitchen came to him as it instantly materialized around him. Pots and pans hung from hooks above eye level. He could feel waves of heat from the cooktop to his left. Looking down, he saw a large bowl in front of him with a rich looking deep brown colored batter in it. His left hand held a long spoon with which had had been mixing the batter while his right steadied the bowl on the counter. A floured cake pan sat beside it waiting for the batter.

“Sir?”

The voice came from his right. Turning he saw the face of a young man who glanced down at the bowl and back up at him expectantly.

“Is it ready, sir?”

Rene mentally raced down the list of ingredients checking each one off as he went. Somehow knowing that everything on the list had indeed been added to the bowl, he nodded and began pouring it into the pan. A lazy river of batter flowed creamily from the lip of the bowl into the large round cake pan. The pan filled to just a half inch below its rim.

Turning to the young man, he nodded and moved on to a massive commercial refrigerator to retrieve butter and cream and for the icing. His assistant carefully scooped up the pan and deposited it in a cavernous oven behind them. Rene’s hands seemed to have a life of their own. Measured confectioner’s sugar, and pinches of spice began filling the chilled mixing bowl in front of him. Chocolate flakes were sprinkled in behind the ingredients as the mixing paddle turned in the large mixer.

Rene’s presentation of the precisely sliced wedge of heavenly chocolate cake was flawless. The editor of “Today’s Best Cuisine”, Edmond Duveen, a man widely acknowledged as the supreme being of food snobbery, played coy with Rene. He leaned neither friendly nor hostile as the offering of cacao was laid before him on a pristine white plate.

All eyes in the exclusively intimate eatery strained to steal a glimpse the food royalty’s face. The kitchen staff who had trailed Rene’s march to the table held their breath in unison. The first sign of reaction came in the form of a harumph which elicited a silence as fragile as a snowflake.

The connoisseur then surprised everyone by closing his eyes and taking a second bite. A few seconds of eternity ticked by on the wall clock. Duveen then bolted upright out of his chair, turned and faced Rene. The aristocratic superiority he normally wore like a coat was uncharacteristically laid aside as he executed a deep graceful bow to Rene.

The dream’s climatic moment proved so powerful that it severed the bonds of sleep holding Rene unconscious. He awoke with a wide smile on his lips feeling almost as if he could fly. As his eyes regained focus and cobwebs of sleep were swept away, he looked around.

Rising from the bed he walked back to the table and again opened the box. The spoon was exactly like the one in his dream. It was the one in his dream. He suddenly knew that to be true. He also knew his dream would become reality as unlikely as it might seem.

Again, taking the spoon in his hand, he felt the sensation course through his body. Something remarkable had transpired though he did not fully grasp it. It was only a matter of time before he would. This tale of his was only just beginning.