Deena’s sick again this morning. She’s okay in bed for now so I thought I might as well run down to St. Matthew’s and see if there’s any bread left. Had to call in this morning so I could take care of her, the chemo’s starting to leave a mark. I’ve been through two jobs since she was diagnosed with breast cancer last year. Probably get fired from this one too, maybe get one more absence out of Boss before he finally loses patience.

One last look at Deena, asleep now, and then out, down three flights to Corman St., a nod to old lady Beson as she’s coming up from the mailboxes, and then outside. My overall feeling of confinement, enclosure, eases substantially; it usually does when I get outside. I’m dealing with a lot inside. I should say we’re dealing with a lot, she’s the one who’s sick. We’ll get through it. Still, outside’s a whole other world.

There’s a farmer’s market two blocks over and I head in that direction. The church is over that way too. Sometimes you can get free bread at the market; the local grocery stores drop off their “day old” bread there on Mondays and Thursdays. St. Matthews gets their bread from a franchise bread store. I’m glad they don’t throw it away. I’ve never encountered anything that was stale—maybe past the “sell by” date but perfectly edible nonetheless.

A dumpster full of that kind of food, headed for the landfill or the incinerator or wherever, would be a crime. If you don’t think so then you’ve never been really hungry before and good lucky for you! Most of the people in the world know what I’m talking about. Think about it.

The bread we can scrounge makes a fair part of our diet. Any money I gain from employment goes to the rent and ongoing medical bills. Our food budget is almost non-existent but I did fill out an application for food stamps and the clerk said we’d probably get them. There are other charities, churches, and foodbanks around that help with food, thanks to people who care.

I haven’t discounted the common sense it makes to give food to the poor. Starving people tend to do desperate things. Lots of starving people could be a real problem especially if they’re living next to people that have more than plenty. It’s a pretty old story.

The people I see on the street aren’t on this train of thought, however. They pass by, everyone to his own. We all have things to do, I suppose. We all have good days and bad days, trials and tribulations, glory and 15 minutes of fame. It’s another aspect of being outside that helps me get my own troubles into perspective. It’s uplifting.

So I told my boss about Deena and what we’re going through and he told me he was sorry about our misfortune. He also told me he was responsible for making, packaging, and shipping as many brooms as he can every day. He went on to say that when one worker doesn’t come in it starts a ripple effect through the production line that ultimately impacts the bottom line. Boss said he understands the situation and will bend as far as he can but there are others who can do the job for him without added headaches. Boss is a good guy, he should have fired me months ago.

Got a couple bagels at the market! It’s late to be checking these places, they’re mostly picked over with little but scraps left, but these bagels were there and they’re not too hard.

It’s another block to St. Matthews. A gentle breeze off the lake rustles my hair and a wisp gets in my eye. I remove my ball cap, finger comb my hair, then reseat my cap, stray hairs contained for the moment. I look ahead and see the church door is still open, a good sign. There aren’t any people in line, though, not such a good sign.

When I get there I see that it’s over. Not even a mashed cupcake left. I guess I should have gone sooner but I couldn’t leave Deena huddled over the commode dry heaving like some kind of clogged garden hose.

I take a short detour to the lake. The breeze is lifting choppy little wavelets that splash onto the riprap and gabions of the seawall. They just keep coming, again and again, inexorable. I’m leaning with my arms on the galvanized pipe guardrail, hands together with my fingers interlocked and clutching my bagels just looking out over the water. Time passes. It’s a big lake, nothing but water on the horizon. And those little waves keep coming.

Deena and I are going to be okay. The doctor said she’ll fully recover and she has a very good chance of complete remission. We’re both young and strong and, like I said, we’ll get through it. We’re going to be like those little waves, we’re going to keep on coming. I smile and turn back toward the apartment.

Somebody, or something must be looking out for us. Those bagels are the only thing Deena and I will have to eat today.