Cakewalk

October held 10 family birthdays all between 4 houses on Troy Street. Each night after dinner we set out on our walk for cake. Aunt Lory’s house was rum Aunt Josies, buttercream frosted white, and Aunt Lu’s lemon, bright yellow, rich and moist could made her St. Joseph’s statue drool. We’d gather around the birthday boy perched on a chair, while us cousins stood, shoulder to shoulder, eagerly waiting for the last note of the song to be sung. I stood eye level to the burning numbered candles, mesmerized by their melting wax dripping down the sides like sap from a tree. Their light, drunk on sugar, danced wildly across our hungry faces. Then with one large blow the room went black. In those few seconds Darkness, like eternity steals all their faces from my sight. The room frozen, suspended precariously between feast and fear, grief and gratitude, love and loss. Lights return to applause as the knife cuts deep into the center. Wishes like prayers are sent rising as curls of smoke through a chimney, up, up to places far away. Paper plates of sugar splendor are passed down and devoured. We didn’t realize then, just silly girls with frost covered lips, how everything of importance in this world fit at the end of that fork. With full bellies our good-byes are said on porch lite steps. And the moon, like a lantern, radiant in the Autumn sky illuminates our way home till our next walk, Aunt Mary’s luscious chocolate layer cake.