Twilight Baking

Fresh fine white powder fell through the slits of my intertwined fingers. It was twilight, the time between the moon's departure, and the sun's arrival. A table full of crucial ingredients sat to the side.

No, we weren't making crack. Although what we were making was as addictive as the drug. The smell of fresh butter and sugar intermingled with the fresh scent of something not unlike cut celery. I wet my lips in anticipation.

Zucchini Bread. 

The common delicacy would drive men to murder in desire of it, if made through my mother's recipe. Everyone in the family adored its taste.

My older sister was standing off to one side, shredding the zucchini that filled the air with that fresh scent. I had just finished sifting flour and was now packing brown sugar into a measuring cup. As expected I did this all proudly in my ridiculously frilly and flowery pink apron Mom had made for me. Sis had merely rolled her eyes when I'd pulled it out of the drawer in the kitchen.

With our parents away on a trip for the night, my sister and I were responsible for ourselves. I, being one of those rare kids who actually likes to sleep in on Christmas and breathed fire at the older sister who insisted we wake at 5 am to open gifts, had been no more pleased to have been awakened during this ordinary grouping of the wee hours.

"Whu-?" I'd groaned, my hair tousled from my peculiar sleep habit of encasing myself in blankets like meat in a burrito.

"I need zucchini bread." The only explanation was blunt.

 It was 3 in the morning. My sister was one of those people who like to act on her odd spontaneous notions, and a night owl to boot. I usually got dragged along for the ride, but I didn't complain because it was almost always fun.

My sister and I dumped the ingredients into a huge bowl, and the mixer shrieked with hideous ferocity while its beaters whirled hypnotically. We took turns mixing the concoction of ingredients that would taste awful is unbaked, but magical as a warm loaf. Baking was, after all, only common magic.

We cut through the God-sent bread with a simple butter knife; an equal portion adorned each plate.

Nutmeg brown, with flecks of dark cinnamon spice and chocolate throughout. Little flecks of emerald baked just under the warm, steaming glazed surface. Little holes in the bread breathed a delicious, warm, smell while butter melted into liquid gold and soaked into the slice.

"This, was an awesome idea." I murmured around a full mouth as we occupied the sofa. Some late night rerun of Merlin was running on television we sat across from. Its pale light illuminated our faces, and the crumbs on them.

"Yeah, I know." My sister replied smugly.