The alarm went off, I turned it off and thought about sleeping a little longer. My boyfriend told me to get up, he had already put the coffee on.
I turned on my phone and I had more than 23 calls from my father and almost as many from my mother. My heart was about to burst out of my chest, without reading or listening to the messages I already knew what had happened.
23 years ago I lived with them and it was my mother who woke us up to go to school. Andrea would run to the table to sit down before me, we always fought for the ends of the bread, my father would chop it and give one to each of us (baker’s daughters fought for the part of the bread that almost nobody wants, although it sounds ironic it was true).
One morning I had to go to school alone because my mother spent the whole night with Andrea in the hospital and unfortunately my little sister stayed there for a while. After a few days I didn’t want any more of the bread, I wanted Andrea to come back and be able to eat both pieces.
I wanted to see her running into the dining room, smiling and shouting that she had won and that she would eat our favorite part of the manna.
After 23 days she was discharged, she was very languid and had no appetite, she didn’t want the ends of the bread either. Andrea didn’t even want to eat the ends of the bread! Little by little she got better, and her appetite returned.
But now she was on a strict diet, as she had made her debut as a diabetic. My father made whole wheat bread without sugar and we all ate it without complaining, even the ends. We never fought over them again, we shared them gladly and many times I let her have both, I was very happy to see her eat them.
Even though we grew up eating in different houses, cities and even countries, the moment when we would bite the bread and take the tips was memorable for both of us, it was the magical moment of thinking of each other. The tips of the bread connected us, broke borders and kept us united.
My hands were shaking and I didn’t want to talk to my parents, but it was necessary. So I called my mother. In the middle of crying, but with a serene voice she told me:
– You have to come home, we need you. Now you get the two ends of the bread, your sister left them with much love for you.
