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Cinnamon, Sugar, And Softly Spoken Lies
He was sprinkling cinnamon on his French toast when he realized he didn’t love her anymore.
They had run out of things to talk about over a year ago, he figured. He was only halfway
through when he ran out of cinnamon. He pounded the bottom of the bottle. A couple of specks
flew out, but nothing more.
“It’s empty, John,” his wife said. “Put it down before you break it.”
He sat the bottle down and stared at it for a moment.
“Have you looked for a job today?” she asked.
“No, Sarah. I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are no jobs. Haven’t been for three months.”
He began to cut the toast with the side of his fork.
“You can’t give up. Even part time is better than nothing at all.”
John stuffed his mouth full with a piece of toast.
“Have you tried at that factory? They make fake sugar there. I hear there’s an opening.”
He began to chew.
“It would just be temporary,” she said.
It was a hefty serving of toast. He would chew for a while.
“Just until you find something better.”
He swallowed hard. He looked at the empty cinnamon bottle for a couple of seconds before throwing
it against the wall.
“Honey, you don’t have to be so upset. Calm down.”
Calm down! Calming down was the last thing he needed to do.
“I heard that Bill Mathis is the manager now,” she said.
Bill. He knew all about Bill. He also knew about her and Bill. She didn’t know that he knew.
But he knew about Bill.
“I heard they have great benefits,” she said.
He began to look at the floor, at the shattered remains of the empty cinnamon bottle.
“They have health insurance, paid vacation...”
His neck began to turn a darker red.
She began to message his shoulders.
That vein in his neck began to pop out again.
She bent down toward his ear and began to whisper, like she used to, in that sexy, soft voice that lovers use.
“It’ll be okay...Just...”
Her words were like a soft breeze in his ear, but he could no longer understand their meaning.
He stood up.
“Where are you going? To go talk to Bill?”
He told her that he would go talk to Bill. Pulling her closely to him, he seemed to almost envelop
her tiny waist with his hands. He gave her a deep kiss goodbye and went to his car.
He sat there for a minute before turning the key.
After starting the car, he gave it the gas a couple of times just to hear the glass packs rumble.
He put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. He jerked the gear selector into drive and
pushed down the gas pedal, this time a little further than usual.
He had to force back a smile.
“Did you talk to Bill today?” they would ask him. He licked his lips. He could still taste the French toast.
All that cinnamon and sugar and those softly spoken lies.
Paul Vantine is currently an English instructor at Cameron University in Lawton,
OK, where he teaches freshman-level composition classes and Developmental Writing courses.
In addition to his teaching duties, he serves as the Director for the Student Support Services
Writing Lab, where at-risk college students receive additional and valuable one-on-one instruction.
He has been published in The Armchair Aesthete, The Rose Review, The Cameron Forum, The Cameron Collegiate,
The Wichita and another story has been accepted for publication in the magazine My Legacy.
Email: Paul Vantine
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