The Great Breakfast Taco Hunt (excerpt)

Joe had never been in the basement of Mulberry Baptist Church. Today would change that. You see today he turned the magnificently amazing age of thirteen. Why just yesterday he would not have been allowed to navigate the steep stairs that led to basement of the hundred year old church. The basement housed the church kitchen, the maintenance office and the room where the Teen Sunday School class gathered. Joe’s old class, the youth group met in the new building that had been constructed behind the old church. It was a nice new building, but Joe knew he wanted to join the teens in the main building’s belly. He loved to explore and couldn’t wait for the opportunity to discover the mysteries that would surely live downstairs. But just as important was the kitchen, for it was here that what is believed to be the best breakfast taco in the whole town is crafted. Sundays past provided glazed donuts to the members of the youth group. Now Joe didn’t complain about a glazed doughnut but a breakfast taco...well a breakfast taco meant you were growing up. What a great birthday this would be!

Joe bounded up the front stairs to the church ahead of his father and two younger sisters. “Come on Dad,” Joe yelled over his shoulder, “we are going to be late!”

They weren’t going to be late. His father was never late for anything; Joe wanted to be sure he would have time to get a breakfast taco before classes began.

“Slow down birthday boy, we have plenty of time.” His father replied with a smile on his face. He knew from where his son’s urgency stemmed. Jake Walker had grown up in Mulberry Church, he remembered the first Sunday when, as a new teenager, he had been allowed downstairs. They weren’t serving breakfast tacos way back then but the fascination of the basement had been just as alluring for him as it was now for his son; not only his son but for every boy or girl that promenaded into their  teen years  while attending Mulberry Baptist Church. And even though Jake had felt the basement’s draw himself nearly thirty years ago he could still not understand what it was that caused this feeling of eagerness in so many children.

“Dad, can I have a dollar to buy a breakfast taco? Please!” Joe said with his hand extended.

“I guess, after all it is your birthday.” Jake handed his son a five dollar bill. “Do you know where to go?”

“I think so. But don’t worry Dad,” Joe smiled, “remember I was born an explorer.”

Joe’s mom had been killed two years earlier in a plane crash. Her favorite pet name for their first born had been The Great Explorer. She had told Joe hundreds of times that he arrived five weeks premature because he was born to explore.

“All right then Joe, commence your great breakfast taco hunt. Get one for your sisters too, and bring me one. We can have full bellies before Sunday school begins.”

“You want me to bring them back now?” Joe almost whined, “I will be late if I do that.”

“You have plenty of time son. “

What Joe’s father didn’t know was that his son had hoped that by arriving early to church, as usual, he would have time to do some exploring in the basement. He looked at his father and down at his sisters. His enthusiasm was momentarily replaced with exasperation, but the smiles of his two little sisters beaming up at their big brother, their teenage brother, was enough to extinguish the exasperation before it could grow.

“Okay Dad, I’ll be right back.” And with that Joe ran down the long corridor that leads to the basement stairs.

J

oe opened the heavy door and looked down the steep stairwell. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit passage. The lighting had not been added until the fiftieth anniversary of Mulberry Church, and it had not been updated since then. The thick stone walls made it difficult to add the wiring that would be needed to modernize the basement area or the stairwell.

Joe tried to listen for any sounds coming from the rooms below. Silence was all that came up the stairs. They had arrived at the church almost thirty minutes before most others; his father hated being late, so it was likely the basement was empty. Carefully he stepped down onto the first tread; it creaked loudly in the silence. Joe had been warned how steep the stairs were, the runs were short and the risers deep. It was because of this precarious construction that children were not allowed beyond the door. But Joe wasn’t a child anymore, today is his birthday he reminded himself before continuing his dissent.

Halfway down, Joe’s nose detected the smell of bacon, bacon that would sit on top of the eggs, eggs that would sit on top of the tortilla. Then all that topped with freshly grated cheddar cheese! Joe quickened his dissent.

At the bottom landing the hallway way provided Joe with three choices in which direction to take. Straight ahead, the hallway continued for some distance. It didn’t appear as if any lights were on in this direction so Joe looked to his left and right. To his right, through the only open door, he could see a brightly lit large room which he was sure was the classroom. To his left he could see the double doors at the end of the hallway that led to the kitchen. Two other doors lined the hallway, one on the left and one on the right, both closed. The sign on the door to the right read “Luke’s Office”; on the left the sign read “Maintenance”.

Joe walked to the double doors and peered through the plastic windows. The smell of bacon frying filled the air. For the birthday boy this was the most incredible aroma to ever reach his nostrils. He placed his hand on the door to the right and pushed.

“Hey, where are you going?” A voice bellowed from behind him.

The Anything Tree (conclusion)

Things did not go well for Thomas Gallo.  It would turn out to be a long winter with many cold shoulders and rude utterances mumbled surreptitiously.  Thomas had heeded Gabriel’s advice, telling the townspeople whatever it was they wanted to hear. When Mrs. Crossly had asked Thomas if it was a pear tree his reply had been a resounding “Yes ma’am!”  Larry Haley received the same positive response when he asked Thomas if he had found the perfect River Oak to buy. The three Crenshaw sisters, members of Eden’s founding family all wanted a lemon tree. They stopped Thomas in the street just a day or two after the Anything tree had been planted, “We hope you found a good lemon tree Thomas Gallo.” They chimed. Thomas smiled at the trio and replied, “Me too!” At least this time it wasn’t a flat out lie.

That was how things went for the first few days, which really wasn’t too bad except that Thomas’ conscience kept him from getting a good night’s sleep.  Thomas wondered why he had listened to that old man at the roadside diner. The fondness that had come on so quickly upon meeting Gabriel faded just as quickly. Thomas wanted to blame the old man for taking advantage of him, but no money had really even exchanged hands. He didn’t think the shop owner was somebody that would do a mean trick just for laughs. If he ever saw him again he would ask him why. But Thomas didn’t think he would ever see the old man again. He was wrong.

On the first Sunday after planting the tree, some members of Eden Baptist church gathered together at Sal’s Diner for a late breakfast (brunch was a word for Northerners, in the south it was just a late breakfast). Among those that sat at the Formica tables with the faded vinyl yellow chairs were Larry Haley and the Crenshaw sisters. The table top conversations naturally turned to the new town square and the freshly planted tree.

“I can’t wait to pick the first lemon from that tree. Do you think it will produce lemons this year?” asked one of the Crenshaw sisters to no one special.

“It’s going to be a little hard to get lemons from an oak tree.” Larry Haley laughed.

“It is not an oak tree” chimed one of the sisters.

“I beg to differ. Thomas Gallo told me it was.”

“He told us that it was a lemon tree!” The three sisters harmonized.

Customers sitting at other tables and the booths were politely eavesdropping on the Baptist folks’ conversation.  One of those customers was George Handan, the mayor’s assistant.

“Well you are both wrong. That is most definitely a young willow tree.  I asked Thomas when he was putting it in the ground. It’s a willow.”

There was complete silence in Sal’s Diner for half a minute. And then the conversations exploded like a flock of startled grackles. At least a dozen people had similar stories about what one Thomas Gallo had told them. Some identified the tree the same, others were told something else. All in all Thomas had claimed the tree as at least seven different species. George Handan, being the mayor’s assistant, decided that a meeting with Thomas was most definitely in order.

On Monday morning the mayor, his assistant and four community leaders met with Thomas at the maintenance shed. It didn’t take long for Thomas to breakdown in tears, confessing his goof-ups. The conversation in the small maintenance shed that day would be the longest one that anybody in Eden would have with Thomas Gallo over the next few months. It seems that expressing disappointment was easier to dispense than showing forgiveness.  Even the preacher at the Baptist church Thomas occasionally attended changed his sermon series from stewardship to honesty and integrity. Thomas only attended church one time during this most difficult time of his life. At the end of the day the town leaders elected to let the tree stay where it was. Come spring they would learn its identity. They could decide then what to do with the tree. Rest assured, Thomas Gallo was not part of the plans.

Rain that winter was plentiful. The rich soil combined with warm days and the covert fertilizing that Thomas provided resulted in an impressive growth spurt for the unknown tree. By late February the tree had added almost three feet to its height. March came in with beautiful weather that God reserves for the south. The second Saturday in March was exceptional bringing most folks outdoors for morning strolls. Eden was a small town, and if one chose to take a morning stroll it was likely they would pass the town square. But on this morning no one passed the square; they all stopped to see the tree.

As if by magic, overnight the Anything tree had opened its buds, revealing thousands of tiny white and pink flowers. The morning sun shined its rays down upon the beautiful tree, casting a halo-like effect above the canopy. By nine o’clock the square was surrounded by almost a hundred townsfolk. No one had ever seen a tree so beautiful. And still no one knew what kind of tree was growing in the middle of the square. The Crenshaw sisters maintained belief that it was a lemon tree, only a “Different kind.”

Thomas had noticed the crowd gathering and walked over to join them. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the tree. Had he done that?  He heard the voices speaking about the beauty of the tree. He also heard the questions. “

What kind of tree is it?”

“Does it have fruit on it?”

Others still convinced of their own arboreal expertise claimed to know-

“It’s definitely a fruit bearer.”

“No it is some kind of nut tree.”

“It is neither; it is in the oak family for sure.”

Thomas heard a voice raise above all the others, “It is called an Apple Blossom Tree.”

Thomas looked across the square to where the voice had come from. Standing there, wearing a clean white apron with the words ““Tip the Cook, there ain’t no waitress” written in the brightest green Thomas had ever seen was Gabriel.

  “A what?” Someone in the crowd asked.

“What’s an apple blossom?”

Someone else asked, “Who is that? How does he know what kind of tree it is?”

Old Mrs. Cooper, the town’s only Yankee said, “It can’t be an apple blossom. It may look like one, but an apple blossom would never grow this far south. I had them in my back yard growing up. This can’t be an apple blossom.”

“Well it is” replied Gabriel. “And it looks like its growing pretty darn good.”

“Who are you mister?”

“I’m just a cook that happens to know an apple blossom tree when I see one.”

“He doesn’t know.” Someone yelled.

“No one does. I’m telling you, it’s a fruit tree. We just need to wait a little longer. The proof will be in the fruit.”

Quite a few people laughed at the last. Most shook their heads in agreement. “Let’s wait a little longer, it ain’t like the tree is going anywhere.”

Slowly the town folk began to disperse, heading back to their homes or continuing a longer Saturday morning walk to the river’s edge. Thomas could hear opinions being opined-

“It’s a lemon tree.”

“It looks like a young oak to me.”

“I hope it’s a willow. If there is fruit on it then I hope it’s a pear tree. Oh I love pears!”

 Thomas looked across the square; Gabriel was still standing there, smiling at Thomas. Thomas walked over to the little old man.

“Good to see you my friend! I hope you had a grand winter. You did well with that little nothing of a tree I gave you.”

Thomas looked at the old man before replying.

“I was mad at you. All the people here in town were mad at me. Nope, I didn’t have a very good winter.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Thomas. But it all worked out didn’t it?”

“I guess, unless you’re right about the tree. That old lady said an apple blossom won’t grow here. “

“Well she’s wrong. Looks to me like God has blessed that tree. Have you ever seen so many blossoms?”

“People still don’t believe you. They don’t think it’s an apple blossom.”

“I heard. I guess maybe that tag was right Thomas.”

“Tag?”

“Oh you remember, N.E Thing. The anything tree. That’s what they believe anyway. They want that tree to be anything they want it to be. But at the end of the day Thomas, that there is an apple blossom tree.”

“You heard them. I don’t think they will ever believe you. I know they won’t believe me. You might call it an apple blossom tree, but I don’t know if they ever will.”  Thomas looked around the small town square, everyone was gone except for Gabriel and him.

“Thomas, do you believe in God?”

“Yeah, sure I do.”

“God made that tree. He made it an apple blossom tree. He breathed on it and made it grow right here the town square. Maybe it’s not supposed to, but it is. You know why? Because God can. The folks around have a hard time believing that. It doesn’t matter what they call it, it’s an apple blossom. They can’t change what it is, what God made it, just by calling it another name. Ignoring the truth never changes the truth. God’s perfect design for this tree was to make it an apple blossom tree. They can wait a little longer to see if it changes, it won’t. God gave us this tree. You planted it and cared for it, and God made it grow.  It is an apple blossom tree. Always has been. Always will be.

Thomas turned and looked at the tree. The beauty of the tree was indescribable.  An apple blossom, God’s perfect design, Thomas began to understand.

Thomas turned around. Gabriel was gone. Where had he gone? Thomas quickly looked off in every direction but the cook slash waitress was nowhere to be seen. Thomas looked down at the ground and spotted a small white tag lying where Gabriel had been standing just a moment before. He picked it up and read the neat block writing on the back;

The Anything Tree

“Always has been. Always will be.” Thomas headed to the maintenance shop, this tree was going to need some help.

Author’s note-Mixing politics and faith makes for strange bedfellows, so I try my hardest to avoid mixing the two. I felt that writing this short story might allow me to approach the political side of an issue without ruffling too many. Marriage has been in the news quite a bit lately. I believe that marriage was designed by God. His perfect plan is one man/one woman. Changing the name or ignoring the rules does not change the definition. Never has. Never will.