Golden Buttercream Fairy: Part 3

I left the building and surveyed the street scenario, nothing spectacular or out of the ordinary here.   I could be in Brooklyn at the coop, even though the coop is a little more polished and gleaming with its smooth wooden shelves and finely curated products, its soft overhead lighting, and obscure World Music soundtrack.  The Zol V’Gadol (Cheap and Big) on the street was more ramshackle and rough. Neon lights pop on with an industrial buzz. Moms and their kids doing a pre-dinner ingredient run before it really starts to pour. People coming home from work: the Hurriers and the Laggers.  I am smug in my theory that the hurriers are in good relationships, or at least in new relationships, and didn’t want to miss out on another minute with their partners.  The laggers were disenchanted, disgusted, and/or disappointed by their partners and wanted to stretch the time before having to face them as far as they could.   

I waited for the bus, and wondered at what point Myriam went from a Hurrier to a Lagger? When did she become disenchanted with Georges? Was it after she received the letter from his wife? All information pointed there.   

I sat back on the hard metal bench underneath the metal rafter and heard fat rain drops splatting off the surface.  A woman bent sideways and supported by an upright umbrella stood with back to me. she was being pelted by the rain.  I studied her faded carrot colored hair that was collected into a measly pony tail of flat matte strips under neath a faded bandana.  

She needs a red re-up I thought to myself, running my hand through my own less-than-spectacular auburn updo. It had taken just two months for my skunk strip to display my fraudulence.  I didn’t want to waste precious resources on something as frivolous as a dye job. 

The faded carrot top turns around, and addresses me directly

Carrot: Excuse me?

Bish: Yes?

Carrot: Do you know if the 18 stops at the Mall?

Bish: I think so, it might be the last stop, so you’ll be on for a while.

Carrot: yeah I usually take the 14 to the Mall, but I was working here today, and don’t feel like walking in the rain to get the 14

Bish: I understand.

Carrot: I just hope I can get there in time

Bish: I don’t think the mall closes until later. I mean I haven’t been really, to be honest, but I can’t imagine it closes before 7 or 8

Carrot: I think I left my cell phone in one of the stores— my ADD  has been really uncontrollable

Bish: I know what that’s like. 

At this point I’m into it, I am settled on having a conversation with this person, who I’m not sure is normal. But let’s go…

Carrot: yeah and I CANNOT afford another phone, I can’t even afford rent, really.

Bish: How did you know I speak English?

Carrot: I dunno, I guess I’d say you have a different kind of style than most people here.  (She offers a shy smile).

I notice her lower teeth which are stubs in various stages of broken disrepair. This woman is in trouble. 

Bish: where are you from?

Carrot: Pittsburgh but I haven’t been back since my divorce three years ago. 

Bish: I’m sorry

Carrot: Yeah he kinda chased me outta town, and somehow I found myself here.  Shit outta luck. 

Bish: It’s that bad?

Carrot: Well I can’t get a job and six months ago I slipped on the Jerusalem stone broke my arm and all my lower teeth.  

The bus arrives and we both stand in the rectangular standing section buffered by bars against the reckless bus driver and his sharp turns around tight Jerusalem corners in the rain. 

Carrot: Yeah I started cleaning apartments because I got so desperate. I have a Masters in politics from a pretty good school and I’m cleaning bathrooms, can you believe it?  

I thought of Myriam, and then she thought about herself, and in some corner of her self she understood the parable’s message. In essence it is: There for the grace of God go I.  What is it in Jewish terms?  Had timelines collapsed and she was granted an opportunity to see an alternate version of herself.  Is it luck? Or it perspective?

Just then I saw the ice cream sign ahead of her, the place where she had the best dark chocolate scoop of her life. It was a few weeks ago, in celebration of a good writing day. I had found a record of Myriam and of Georges in the library, and was able to fill in some details in the manuscript.

The ice cream at Zava’s was creamy in its texture and dreamy in its flavor.  I needed this woman to have a taste of it. 

Bish: I know you’re in a rush to get to the Mall and find your phone, but why don’t we get off and grab a scoop of ice cream?

Carrot: Ummm.. ice cream? It’s kind of cold.  and I don’t really have money for…

Bish: Best ice cream in the world, it’s a mood changer and  don’t worry it’s on me. It would be my pleasure in fact. 

Carrot: Well… I guess I could.  

Bish: What’s your name? 

Lea: I’m Lea like the Princess hah! What’s your name?

Bish: My name is Bish 

We got off the bus, it was raining pretty hard, but the shop was a few meters away  so it wasn’t’t worth the hassle of extending my problematic umbrella ( flimsy spokes).  

The trademark Jerusalem stone floors were softened by wood paneled walls and activated by hot pink painted stripes that extended to the ceiling. The ice cream glistened behind a thick glass showcase- a beautiful pink one with colorful gumball studs.  A snowy white one with meringue corners and bursts of berry jam, a caramel melee with butter cookie crumbs, peanut brittle, and dark chocolate chips….But my true love, my one and only is the dark chocolate birthday cake. Yessss Hashem! My God is that good! Thick dark chocolate that has the consistency of ice cold pudding, cocoa cake crumbs and a ribbon of milk chocolate frosting that appears as whipped cream in this ice cream masterpiece.

She got the cookies and cream, which reminded me of a dalmation, and she seemed very happy with it. 

Lea: Thanks.  This is really really good.

Bish: So is this.  Sometimes you just gotta treat yourself, y’know? Like hit pause and stop for ice cream.  

Lea: I like your style and your attitude. 

At that point Lea’s whole demeanor changed. She stood up straight, pulled off her handkerchief and shook out her hair, smiled, and took my hand. 

Lea: You are the golden buttercream.

Bish: What?

Lea: You are the Golden Buttercream Fairy.  

Bish: I am?

Lea: Yes of course you are. How can you not know it? 

Bish: I don’t know it per se…but I guess I’m open to hearing more.  This is Jerusalem after all.

Lea: I got a direct message from my grandmother a few weeks ago. Where she instructed me clearly of this moment. 

Bish: really? What exactly did she tell you?

 Lea: She said A woman with unique personal style will give you something sweet this woman is the golden buttercream fairy, and with her you will build the empire that was meant for me but that I now bequeath to you.  

Bish: Is he a baker or a candymaker or something>

Lea: Well she’s been dead for about 5 years. But was an incredible baker. Her poundcake was my very favorite, it was so good, she would make it for me specially whenever I visited her.

So now how to respond? First I went in for a generous spoonful of my ice cream.  Taking a second to live in the perfect balance of bitter,sweet creamy chocolate, and also to be kind of grateful for this Jerusalem moment with most likely an absolute NUTTER!  

Something about this place brings it out, Jerusalem.  But what if she really is some kind of sweet treat prophet? It’s true I’ve always kind of fucked with the idea of being a sweet treat fairy…..