A loaf of bread
K.Park
I gently knocked on the door three times, but there was no answer. After a while, I finally heard some noise inside the apartment. The door creaked open, and a tiny old woman peeked out. Although her hollowed cheeks were nothing like those of my own grandmother, I felt as though I had known her for a very long time. Her face was lined and creased like the pages of an old notebook with a lifetime of stories. Perhaps that was why, as I stepped into the cramped and cinnamon-scented room, there was a feeling of comfort embracing me in her gentle smile and wise eyes.
In contrast to the soothing smell of warm cinnamon, the room was gray and dim. Soon the awkward movement of a small soul crawling about near my feet caught my attention. There, on the floor, was a little girl whose anxious eyes met mine. I turned to the old woman as she began talking.
“Come in, come in. Oh, look at your face. The weather must’ve been killin’ you!”
Trying not to alarm the girl, I tried to say hello but realized that she was nervously dragging herself away from where I stood toward her grandmother.
“Don’t worry my dear, my little one needs no legs. She has me here all the time.”
The old woman put her bony arms around the child, brushing her soft hair and hugging her tightly as if she would never let her go. Watching her cuddling the little girl as if she were holding a treasure, I felt tears welling in my eyes.
Lost in my thoughts in this beautiful yet sorrowful scene, I didn’t realize that the old woman had stopped talking and seemed to be waiting for something. Suddenly remembering why I was there, I hurriedly rummaged through my bag for the loaf of bread and gave it to her, who now appeared sincerely apologetic. I felt my face redden for making her feel this way and silently watched as she tore the bread into tiny pieces and put them into the girl’s hungry mouth. As she slowly and carefully fed each piece to the beaming child, I wondered whether I had ever had such as a delicious meal myself.