Being a bread baker, Papa had to be at the shop around three in the morning and sometimes wouldn't make it home until nineteen hundred hours. He was responsible for baking, cleaning, and prepping the kitchen for the next day. Despite the hours he worked, Papa never showed his exhaustion. Instead, he would come home with a fresh loaf or two and a smile from ear to ear. As a child, I sometimes asked if he was having fun baking all day. He said he was living his dream.
However, there were times when I would walk by his and Mama's bedroom at night, spotting Papa rubbing his sore heels and Mama cleaning up the aftermath from a burn he gained from one of the ovens. I never knew Papa to be without swollen veins across both of his temples.
"School was fine," I answered. In truth, school was getting the best of me. Our academics had seen a change in focus. We were learning more about war, politics, and economics; none of which I had an interest in learning. It was much of what Mama was talking about at home, but more pointed and direct.
Things were changing in the world, and no one was shy about the matter.
There was talk about a new school program correlating with efforts to help the suffering economy, but the teachers didn't seem to have much information on the subject. The only information shared was that if the school opened, only the boys would move to the new school. I debated having a discussion on the matter with my parents because I didn't know how they would feel about what might have been no more than a rumor. Although, I also wondered if Mama and Papa had already known, but chose not to discuss the possibility with me for the same reason.
"How is Claude doing? Is his leg healing up all right?" Papa asked while running his fingers through his light blonde hair that mirrored my own.
Claude had been my closest friend since we started grade school. He lived two houses down the road. We were sometimes referred to as double trouble—not because we were mischievous, but because we were curious, and our curiosity often led us to adventures that would land us on our behinds in a ditch. Claude was the one who fell in the ditch this last time. We had been lucky before, but our last adventure earned him to a broken fibular. Now his leg was in traction. Claude couldn't even leave the first floor of his house, so our adventures had come to a pause.
"He's still stuck in bed for another two weeks," I told Papa.
Papa made a double tsk sound with his tongue. "Well, I have something for you. Maybe you could bring it to Claude's house and keep him company for a bit, later,” Papa said, reaching into his deep pocket before pulling out a palm-size pouch.
I took the black suede pouch from Papa's hand and tugged on the thin cord that held the opening together. I poured the loose contents into my hand. "I've seen these before, Jacks, right? They're nice, Papa. Where did you get these?" We never went hungry, but extras didn't come around often. Mama always said we lived within our means.
I rolled the round nubs in my palm, swiveling them around the small rubber ball. "A man, Jacque, came into the shop yesterday. He was raving about the oatmeal raisin loaf he had picked up the night before. He was so pleased with the measly bread that he requested to speak directly to the baker ... me."
"No one ever asks to speak to you, you've said that before," I reminded him of his own words.
"No onehasever asked to speak to me before yesterday, sohn. I was thrilled to receive such a compliment. Paul called me out into the storefront and the man, Jacque, was dressed in a nice pair of slacks and a long, forest green coat. It was obvious he's an affluent man. Imagine, a man like that telling me my bread tastes good—it was unreal." Papa paused a moment, and his icy blue eyes stared through the wall behind me. "It was wonderful. He took my hands and shook them both at the same time, asking if I had any children. When I mentioned your name, he reached into his pocket and pulled out this pouch, and then told me to give it to my sohn."
"That was very nice of the man," I told Papa.
"He said to me, 'Any man who can make my family smile on account of food, deserves praise. I hope you are teaching your son to bake as well as you.' His smile was endearing, and it was so nice to be spoken to the way I was, Charlie."
I didn't know what to say to Papa. It made me sad to hear how happy he was from one mere compliment. "That is wonderful, Papa."
"I spoke to the man for a bit longer and found out he was new to the area, brought in for government business. It was a nice talk."
The mention of government business made me feel skittish. Our town was small, and other than the newspapers, and household chatter, all happenings within the government seemed too far away to affect us.
"Let's eat. Shall we?" Mama said, placing down a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. Mama looked between Papa and me, squinting her eyes as if she was trying to figure out what we were discussing. Her eyes settled on my hands, and the bag I was holding. "You told him, Elias?"
That was the moment when I started looking back and forth between the two of them, wondering what Papa supposedly told me.
Papa cleared his throat. "I just gave him the Jacks, so he could take them to Claude's later."
Mama closed her eyes, her lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. "Charlie, starting this coming fall, you are enlisting in a new school for boys your age." Part of me wanted to ask her to repeat what she had said, but I heard her clearly.
My eyes went wide, staring at Mama with wonder. I couldn't think of a good reason for Mama and Papa to pull me out of my school. I had friends. For the most part, I liked my class.
"Soon, your other classmates will be joining you, as well, Charlie."
It made no sense. There was nothing wrong with our school. "But why?"
"It's what's best for you. Plus, you were offered a spot and we should be considered lucky that you have been chosen and admitted at this time."
I didn't understand a word of what she was saying, because it was as if they were leaving some critical information out of the explanation.
"Why me?" I asked. "Why was I lucky to be offered a spot in this new school?"
"Well, Charlie, according to society, you are perfect. Blonde hair, blue eyes—you have what it takes. So, we are fortunate for that, ja2?"
"What does my hair or eye color have to do with this school?" I questioned.
