Dream Come True

by Gina Calanni

  I laugh. “Yes, ma’am, there are males and females in the class.” I take a big bite of the cornbread. I’m sure Ms. Myra won’t like me talking with food in my mouth.

  Her eyes are on me as I chew. I can’t help but want to laugh, but then cornbread would be all over the table and that would be really gross. I swallow and take a sip of my tea. It is much too sweet but I would never mention this to Ms. Myra.

  “Yes, ma’am. I met a guy called Brandon.” I take a bite of chili; it is delicious. I bet Ms. Myra’s been cooking this all day long. It’s got those savory flavors from having been simmering for hours.

  “Brandon… what’s his last name?”

  “Rollins. We studied together at Starbucks.”

  “Oh my, that sounds nice.” She winks at me.

  My cheeks are warmer than a hot cookie from the oven. I take a gulp of the too-sweet tea.

  “Sahara Smith, you like this boy, don’t you?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. I sure don’t want to tell Ms. Myra a fib. But it’s a bit embarrassing to be sharing how I feel about Brandon when I just met him. It seems a little soon and I just met Ms. Myra, too, even though it feels like this isn’t the case.

  “I just met him.”

  “Well, that doesn’t mean anything. Was he sweet to you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He tried to buy my lunch, then he asked me to dinner but I said I couldn’t, that I had to study and of course I had already planned on having dinner with you. So finally he asked if I would study with him at Starbucks and he bought my latte.” I take a deep breath.

  “Sounds like this boy has some good manners. I like that.” She takes a small bite of her chili. Her bowl is as full as when we sat down. Here, I’ve been doing most of the talking and she has hardly touched her food.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I can’t help wondering if he likes me, too, or if he had liked me until I ruined it by not answering that question right. I scrape up the last of my meal and stand up. “I’d better get to studying so I don’t mess up tomorrow in class.” I rinse off my plate and put it in the dishwasher. “Thank you for dinner; it was real tasty.”

  “You’re welcome, Sahara. I’m so glad you’re here.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. My whole body is warm, like I’m swirling around in a forest of good feelings. I squeeze it back and make my way to my room and hop on my bed. I’ve got to get today’s lessons down – who knows what the class for tomorrow will bring.

  I head back to my new room and suddenly it hits me: I might be shipped out before I even get settled in. “Accreditation is just a word” has been on repeat in my mind today, ever since Brandon said it. I have done my best to silence it but now I’ve got to check it out – does that really mean that my degree isn’t real? I need to see if I’m as big a fool as I suspect I might be. Did I fall for some big scam? I log on to my computer; thankfully, Ms. Myra has internet service. Clickety clack and I’m all set to search every which way I can about Eagle Online. But there is no need for any hooping hollering of a search. All I have to do is type in Eagle Online and underneath their website reads a list of other sites which all talk about it being a scam, fake school, do not go, not real, fake degrees, accreditation is more than a word and Eagle Online knows this. Shoot, and darn it! If only Sahara Smith had known this before she signed over a bunch of money and the idea that she could be something. I shut my computer down and climb into bed to shut myself down, too. This day, this realization, is more than I can handle and I know when it’s time to fold.

  ***

  I blare down the hallway and in through the kitchen with my spiral notepad in hand. Ms. Myra has put the coffee on and I’m taking it upon myself to use one of her to-go cups. I pour a half-cup and nearly drop it from my hand. Ms. Myra is in the doorway with her eyes on me.

  “Good morning. I was just going to take some of this coffee for the road, if that’s all right?”

  Ms. Myra adjusts her robe. “Of course it’s all right, but don’t you want to sit down and have a proper breakfast?” She passes through the kitchen and pulls out a frying pan and it’s like the kitchen got hotter without her even turning on the burner. “I suppose you might like your eggs sunny side up, yes?”

  I swallow. I haven’t had sunny side up eggs since my daddy left. It was the one thing he made food-wise. Sunny side eggs, the whitest eggs with a bit of sunshine in the middle. My mama never made them and I can’t imagine she even considered it after my daddy left.

  “I haven’t had sunny side eggs in, gosh, forever.”

  “Well then, sit down. You’ve got time, don’t you? Class doesn’t begin for another hour, right?” Ms. Myra bustles to the stove and takes out a frying pan. I suppose I’ll be in the frying pan if I don’t sit down and partake in her offering. I can’t say I’m not a bit put off about having the eggs, and how did she know? Did my mama mention something to her? This seems so out of character, like if she were to wear her gardening culottes to church, just something that she wouldn’t do. I shake my head. But then again, how did we get here? Where I’m getting to know this woman who seems to know bits and pieces about me, but I only know what I’m seeing here in the house about her.

  “Can I help with anything?” I take a side step as I can’t help but be uncomfortable sitting while she prepares me breakfast.

  “Yes, sweetie, why don’t you tell me about the last time you had sunny side up eggs?” Ms. Myra casts her eyes back at me and I let our stares meet for a second longer than is comfortable before I swipe my coffee up like it’s a life raft in the ocean and the Titanic is going under. This is the only thing running through my mind, sinking into freezing water: I don’t discuss my daddy with anyone, not even my mama. Well, that much is her doing. But we just don’t speak of him. Ever.

  “Um, well, my daddy used to make them for me.” There, not hard. I spoke the truth and not a thing more.

  “That’s right and did he make them good for you? I remember sometimes – well, in his earlier years – he was always worried about the runniness of the eggs.” She cracks the egg on the side of the counter.

  My eyes are bigger than the egg yolks, I’m sure. How does Ms. Myra know that my daddy likes to make sunny side up eggs, and better yet that he worried about them?

  “Yes, ma’am, they were always good.” I swallow my question. I want to ask how she knows my daddy but I can’t; it doesn’t seem proper. Like a question that I should know the answer to, and if I don’t then there is probably a reason for that so I can’t poke and ask. I need to let it settle down in my tummy and try not to focus on it.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. At least he got something right.” Ms. Myra scoops some of the prettiest sunny side eggs onto a light-blue plate and I do my best not to shed a tear. Not about my daddy, no. Lord knows I haven’t cried about that man for a decade. But this moment. Ms. Myra going out of her way to make me breakfast. I haven’t had someone make breakfast for me since, well, since my daddy left. That was always his thing. My mama handled dinner until I turned eight, then that was my job, as she was always picking up extra cleaning shifts and said it was high time I learned how to use a kitchen properly and not just for running around in. Though I was never much of a runner in the kitchen, I suppose this was just one of her sayings.

  I scoop up a bit of the center and a slice of the white and let the flavors do a little jig in my mouth. Shucks corn, that’s a tasty egg. The perfect seasoning too. “Wow, Ms. Myra, these are delicious. Thank you.” I fork up another biteful and practically devour the eggs before she responds.

  “Well, sugar, that’s good to hear. Thank you for being here. It’s nice having you. Now, you best get on to your class. Don’t you worry about this mess. I’ll take care of it.” She reaches for my plate.

  I glance at the big green clock with an apple center that hangs on the wall. “I could clean them up over my lunch break or when I get home?”

  “Hush now with that nonsense. Scoot on to class and we’ll catch up later over dinner.” S
he nods at me. And I know this type of head move. It means go on and get what you’re supposed to do done. And I plan on doing just that.

  I’ve got to settle up the situation with Eagle Online. I only tossed and turned about a thousand times last night. Took a zillion gasps for air. I suppose what they say is true: you don’t have to have water to drown, and boy am I drowning. Drowning in debt and in utter failure. I wasted a bunch of time at a fake school. I still can’t believe this is true or possible. I’m going to make some phone calls over my lunch break and see if I can find some answers and maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe all those sites online weren’t real. Maybe they are the ones that are fake.

  Chapter Four

  The sound of a dial tone slams against my ear. Really? Forty-two minutes on hold only to be passed to a representative – which I know happened because I heard the click of them picking up, and then the sound of their breath. Yes, their breath – I gosh darn heard it. It was soft but it was there. And then came the machine of death. Letting me know I’d been hung up on. Hung up on after forty-two minutes of being on hold? What in the world type of institution am I dealing with? I am so strung out over the idea of my growing debt, side-saddled by the possibility – and I’m still saying possibility as I haven’t had a confirmation yet – that the school is a fake. That my degree isn’t real. That I’m here at Blue Ribbon Creamery under false pretenses. What if they find out? I’ll probably be thrown off the program, and lose my associate product developer job. And then it’ll be back to Mexia and Dairy Queen for me, with my tail between my legs.

  And here it is, the end of the week, and I’m boots-deep in despair, and this is without my normal fretting about studying for this week’s lessons. I’m worried about all the training material we’ve covered. We’ve learned everything from the homogenization process to the exact temperature to freeze ice cream. All these degrees and pressures to remember is making me feel like I’m in over my head. It’s like I’m a dog with my head out the window and I’m taking in the sights but my hair is whipping around in front of my face and I know I’m missing something.

  Today is the last day of week one, and if we don’t pass this morning’s test then we are out. Out, as in no more big, important job for Sahara. No need to worry about Eagle Online and if they are real or not, as I will be out on my ear with the bucket of debt I’m accumulating. I’ll have to let go of any type of embarrassment because I’ll be too busy trying to fix things. There aren’t any special sprinkle toppings that can make this vanilla cone a special one-of-a-kind sundae. I passed every time Brandon asked if I wanted to get together this week. I didn’t want to tell him that I would prefer never to study with him as the last time we tried to study together I was only asked one question and I got it wrong. No siree. I don’t want to embarrass myself again. I need to focus on this class and getting good grades, that’s why I’m here. No other reason or dreamy, blue-eyed guy is going to stand in my way. I place my scantron in the box and make my way out of the class.

  “Hey, do you want to grab some lunch?” Brandon is waiting up against the wall. I take a step back as I’m a bit surprised to see him, even though he has asked me every day this week if I wanted to get lunch. I’ve told him each time I couldn’t, that I had something to take care of. And I do. I’m trying to get a hold of my mama. I have been calling her every morning, at lunch, and after training, and the phone has just rung and rung. I’m considering driving home to see her but I promised Ms. Myra I would start on the chore list this weekend.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” My chest tightens. But I want to. I’d like to eat lunch with Brandon. But I’m kind of afraid of making a fool of myself. Besides, I don’t know what he sees in me or why he keeps asking to hang out and things like that.

  “Is it really that you can’t or that you don’t want to?” Brandon’s eyes are clear and lighter than normal. My stomach twinges. Is he bothered that I’m turning him down?

  I let out a small, nervous laugh. “I really can’t. I’m tryin’ –” I stop myself from continuing telling him about not being able to reach my mama. That’s probably something he doesn’t care about hearing.

  “Trying to what? Maybe I can help?”

  I laugh. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’m trying to reach my mama. I haven’t talked to her since I left and I’m worried about her.”

  “Oh.” Brandon runs his hand through his shiny brown hair.

  “Yeppers… excuse me.” I push past him and down the hallway. I always go to the courtyard to make my phone calls. I dial up the whole list of contacts for my mama. Starting with her house phone, the neighbors, and then my Aunt Karen. Unfortunately, my mama doesn’t have a cell phone. She says she doesn’t believe in them. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she has somehow unplugged the answering machine I set up for her. I haven’t called any of the houses she cleans yet… but I’m getting mighty tempted. I’ve never gone this long without talking to my mom ever.

  I stroll out into the courtyard. The air is nice and soft against my skin. I’m surprised more people aren’t taking advantage of this sunny day and eating outside among the pretty flowers. The groundskeeper has an assortment of roses and even some tulips are popping up. I sit down at one of the concrete picnic tables and put my notebook down. I go down the list of numbers on my phone of people that might have talked to my mama this week. Nobody has heard from her and the rest I leave voicemails.

  My stomach is whirling around a mess of worry. What if something happened to her? What if she fell and she’s lying unconscious in our house? I can’t bear to think of something like that. I bite the bullet and dial her Friday house. I know I’m not supposed to do this. But I’ve got to know if my mama is okay. The ringing goes in my ear for two times. Not like the five for the previous phone calls.

  “Hello, Calandrino residence.”

  “Hello, this is Sahara Smith and I normally wouldn’t do this but is my mama there? Jolene Smith?”

  “Jolene Smith – let me see if she clocked in this morning. One minute. Marshall? Is Jolene here today? Her daughter is on the phone.”

  I hear some mumblings in the background and then silence.

  “Sahara Smith, didn’t I teach you better? You can’t be calling your mama at work. Now there better be a reason for this? I’m having to skip my break to take this call.”

  “I’m sorry, mama. I was just worried. I’ve been trying to reach you all week.”

  “Well, sugar, I’ve been trying to reach you, too. But you know I’m not going to leave a message. Messages are for the birds. Now listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay, mama. I love you.”

  The dial tone is blaring in my ear as I wait for a response. But I know there won’t be. Not because I’m aware of the dial tone but because my mama isn’t one for love-you’s and the like. My chest tightens. I miss her so much. I was so sure of myself when I left on Sunday. Yet, here we are on Friday afternoon and all my confidence is gone. It seemed like I was making the right move. Spreading my wings and flying far away from Mexia. I didn’t think that meant I would be distancing myself from my mama, too. She didn’t even seem like she missed me. Maybe she’s happier without me there. I hope I’m not making a mistake by wanting something more than being a girl who scoops ice cream at Dairy Queen.

  I make my way back home and Ms. Myra is asleep on the couch. I tiptoe into the kitchen and take a peak in the refrigerator. It’s probably time I did my part and went grocery shopping. I slide back into Rontu. This is a familiar sight – me and Rontu together on a Friday night. Look out, city, we are going to paint it a pale shade of blue. Not red, as I’m not in the least bit excited. I’m making no progress with Eagle Online. I sent several emails to their customer service team – and I mean several, as in ten this week. And not one reply. I even put that red exclamation point in the last one to let them know I was serious and meant business. But still no reply. I stumb
le out of Rontu like how I’m stumbling out of life and bump into Brandon.

  His hands are on my elbows holding me up as if he thinks I’m about to fall, and it might have seemed like I would, as I was just going to trip for a second there. I wasn’t going to do a full-fledged fall like in second grade when I fell down the bleachers at my first Friday Night Lights football game. I blink my lashes to shut that memory out… if only!

  “Hey, you all right?” Brandon’s sky blues are peering down at me and I’m about as all right as a baby deer the first time it tries to walk. I am falling all over the place.

  “Yes, right as can be. Just getting some groceries.” I nod at the store as if he wouldn’t know this is the reason for my obvious trip. I want to bop the side of my head but this would only add to the obvious oddity of my existence in front of Brandon.

  “Me, too.” Brandon raises a bag in his hand and peeks in the bag. “Aw, man, I’m missing an ingredient. I’m going to drop this in my truck and then I’ll join you, okay?”

  “Okay,” passes through my lips without making any kind of brain connection. Hello, Sahara, are you up there? I don’t even know anymore. Where is my mind? I need to move on and get to my groceries and figure out what I’m going to make for dinner. I tap the home button on my phone; it’s after seven. Will Ms. Myra even be hungry? I’m guessing from the way she sounded when I left she is out for the night. I pass through the doors and let my hands dispute the idea of a basket over a cart.

  “I’ll carry your basket unless you think it will be more than this? But I could hold two of these overfilled.” Brandon winks at me and my insides ignite to the small flicker of his lashes.

  “A basket will probably be plenty.” I clear my throat. Though, the idea of Brandon carrying two baskets of food reminds me of watching the Sawyer boys baling hay in the summer. That was a summer to remember. I had just turned sixteen and Sally Jane and I would get a soda at the corner store and stroll past the Sawyer farm and take our time passing by the hay bales if Jake and Tate were working. Shoot. I’m getting feverish thinking about it and that was almost ten years ago. And now I’m scooting along the aisles of the grocery store with an even hotter item, as Sally Jane would say.