Fate and a Box of Cakes
I ended up with Joanne’s cakes Friday night. She left them at David’s, but weren’t discovered until the last of us were leaving at around 2 am. After passing through a few hands in the car they ended up in my lap. Somebody’s got to eat them. In that sentence it is usually appropriate to substitute my name for ‘somebody.’ I have now, as in previous company, earned the endearing reputation of a reliable disposal.
She bought three slices of cake at this upscale eurocafe after dinner. Apparently she has a weakness for cake. Joanne is Korean teacher at the hagwon. Nobody knows exactly how old she is. I think almost forty. But she has an unmistakably childlike quality to her. A simple fascination and joy. It’s fitting, I suppose, that she would love cakes.
I felt a prick of guilt holding that box of cakes. I felt like I was stealing a little pleasure from Joanne’s life. But being the fatalist that I am, I recognized that it was futile to argue in such a situation. I had been dealt a hand of cards, one chocolate, one strawberry, and one lemon (which was not actually lemon, but sweet potato that tasted like bad mashed potatoes), and I should be grateful. As I peeled the plastic off each one, I silently thanked Joanne and the circumstances which led her to forget them that fateful Friday night and buried my regret in the sweet indulgence.