April had always been very close to her great-grandfather, who was a highly-respected baker and decorator of wedding cakes. When he died, April was heart-broken. I barely spoke or interacted with anybody, she says. A few weeks later, she was awakened from a sound sleep. She noticed something out of the corner of her eye. I turned to look at the hall leading to my room. There was my great-grandfather standing there with another being. My great-grandfather just looked at me, raised his hand and lowered it back to his side slowly while saying, Everything will be okay. I'll always be with you. April was told to lie down and go back to sleep. But her great-grandfather left April with an incredible gift. Ever since then, I have been able to decorate and make any type of dessert exactly the way he did. Before that, I had never even tried to ice a cake.
It was an otherwise ordinary night in August of 1975 when 18-year-old Kris was taking her clothes to the laundromat behind the restaurant where she worked. She put she clothes in the washer and headed back to the restaurant to help her boyfriend, who was a cook there, close up the place. While walking to the back entrance, Kriss attention was grabbed be a nondescript gold-colored car, although she didnt know why. I even turned around to look at it a final time before entering the back of the kitchen area, she remembers. Once inside, she started to walk to the front of the kitchen area, then decided against it and simply leaned against a door area where she could not be seen from the front, as she was not in uniform and could hear customers. Suddenly, it became quiet. Thinking that the last of the evening patrons had left, I started to take a step when I heard my mom's voice, as though she were standing there say, Kris, don't move! Fortunately, Kris listened. Then one of the waitresses came screaming to the back and grabbed the phone to call the police. The restaurant had just been robbed at gunpoint! Had I walked into view of the doorway, Kris says, I would have seen my boyfriend lying face down on the floor, the waitress and the few customers on their knees and I would have been directly behind the gunman, who was so nervous I probably would have been shot when I startled him.
One night in June, 1942, George D. had a conversation with his brother that he could not explain. His brother, you see, was not there. He was flying bombers out of Trinidad, on a mission to destroy German submarines. He told me he was going on a long trip and would not return, George says. I asked if I could go with him and he said not for a long time. When George told his mother and sister about this impossible conversation, they dismissed it as a dream. Several days later, Georges family received the official notification that his brother died in a plane crash on 7 June, 1942. Many years later, I was wounded and delirious during WW2, George says. When admitted for medical care, I could only remember my brother's name, serial number and military organization identification. I am still waiting for my brother's permission to go on his long trip.
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