If Cakes Could Talk

If Cakes Could Talk

Often we are witness to events in life that are incongruous with their surroundings.  As I approached the house it was hard not to see the bright balloons tied to the mailbox at the cub and the colorful signs in the yard.  Entering the home I saw a young woman sitting on a sofa with a napkin clutched in her hand.  Three small children sat huddled next to her silently eating the cookies they held.  Her unblinking stare at the doorway across the room gave hint to what lay beyond.

A young man in blue stood with his back to me whispering to a man who was kneeling on the floor sobbing.  The table dominating the room had several plates and glasses placed on it.  The only sound I heard was the water running onto the floor from one of the glasses which had been overturned.  The remnants of the meal were strewn across the top of the table, some of the plates turned topsey turvey.  Beyond the table a small group of people were clustered around a woman laying on the floor.  Her grey hair was almost beauty shop perfect as she lay as if resting, her eyes vacant, staring at the ceiling.

And sitting on the table, decorated with pink roses and lilacs, a halo of candles still it, sat a cake.  It was untouched, not even the wax of the candles running down their sides, as if time itself had stopped for an instant.  And a single thought entered my mind as I looked at the untouched cake.  If cakes could talk, what would this one say?