A Magical Night

Isn’t it marvelously enticing how something as simple, as a bite of food can make us feel? It was Friday night, and I was out at a party with a couple of my friends. It was her birthday treat, and we’d all been looking forward to it for months, going so far as to even plan the outfits we were going to wear. It was a beautiful evening, and her parents had taken the courtesy of hosting it outdoors, in their backyard, under the lights of the stars, entwined fairy lights, the glow of scented candles and the comfort of nature right beside us. One could practically smell the joy dispersed about in the air. It was time to eat, and as she cut a slice of the cake, my eyes widened. From inside gushed out a river of candy and sprinkles, the smell of birthday cake wafting in the air, almost overpowering everything else.

For one split second there, I could only see the cake and her face light up by the candles, and something stirred inside of me. Fast-forward a couple minutes later, post the wishes and song singing, her mom handed me my slice on a white paper plate with a fork to go with it. My very own slice of this beautiful cake. I immediately cut it, perhaps elegantly, if you will, and bolted it down my throat. And oh my, the flavors, the texture, the taste, it was unbelievable. I was on cloud nine, just me and my slice of cake. It tasted of cinnamon, caramel, honeydew, lavender, vanilla, all the good things at once. It overwhelmed me with its relish so much, I just had to go back for another slice.

Her mother was happy to serve me, saying it was alright, and that birthdays were anyways excuses to eat cakes. The next time I went back for yet another slice of cake, she’d gone. Along with the cake. So I went inside and went through their kitchen cupboards and pantry, looking for it ravenously. By the time they found me, I was sitting on the floor, shoveling it into my mouth, like a wild animal. Needless to say, I was never invited back.