« Wong Kar-Wei: In Mood for Love, An accidental discovery | Main | Eulogy, 11-12-05, Oms Cafe, snug, wrapped in seaweed »
Sat | November 12, 2005
Gift of the Dragon
On her mother's thirty-ninth birthday Ellen bought two cupcakes. One was chocolate with a cloud of white icing, garnished with fudge pieces and a maraschino cherry. The other was vanilla with pink icing and a layer of coconut flakes.
The cupcakes were put in a tidy white box and then in a plastic bag. Ellen carried the bag by the handles for two blocks, but she worried about the cakes becoming damaged. She took the box in her hands and wrapped the bag around it.
As she arrived at their apartment she did not know whether she could go through with it. Her mother might not receive the gift well. She criticized any unnecessary expenditures. They had always lived with the feeling that there was not enough money.
“We have enough,” Ellen had said one day.
“You never know what can happen,” said her mother. “One of us could get in an accident and we would have to pay the medical bill.”
And yet Ellen knew her mother wanted the cupcake, and that she wanted it from Dragon’s Tea Bakery. She would not have been able to explain how she knew, but she felt that her mother desired nothing more.
Ellen had discovered Dragon's Tea Bakery on one of her meanders to Captain Fresh, the local grocery store. The bakery's glass façade, with segments of frosted glass on the top and the bottom, made it look as if it were partially obscured by a fog. If someone happened to open the door, the smell of cookies wafted onto the street.
She kept it to herself for awhile, but one Sunday when she and her mother were walking to the grocery store and they had been getting along well for some time, Ellen had said, "let’s go this way."
Her mother fretted the whole three blocks. "Where are we going?" she asked again and again. "We’re going to get lost." Ellen did not reply. They arrived at the bakery window.
"Look at these, Mom," she said.
They looked at the cakes. A chocolate coated square cake with ribbons of white icing and a cluster of glazed kiwi and strawberry. A cheesecake topped with raspberries and dusted with confectioner’s sugar. A white layer cake with marzipan irises. The periwinkle and goldenrod colors faded gracefully across the petals even more beautifully than real flowers. Finally, the cupcakes, with creamy heaps of icing and every variation of topping.
"They are a waste of money," her mother said.
"Looking is free," murmured Ellen, as they walked away.
In future weeks they changed their route to pass Dragon’s Tea. "This street is nicer-- safer," said her mother. Ellen stared at the sidewalk, mostly, as they walked. They slowed down as they passed the bakery. Sometimes they stopped. In those moments looking at the cakes, Ellen felt that she took in a breath of life, happiness, and freedom.
Remembering this feeling Ellen walked through the teal door to their apartment. She smiled as she saw her mother. "Hi Mom," she said.
"Hello," said her mother. "What is that?"
"Happy Birthday," she said, handing her the package.
Her mother unwrapped the bag, and paused to take in the Dragon's Tea Bakery logo. She took out the box. It was sealed with a gold sticker. "Oh," said Ellen reflexively, who had not seen the shopkeeper seal the box.
Her mother picked at the sticker with her nail and carefully peeled it back. She opened the box and looked inside. Her lips parted and she nearly smiled. "Hmm," she said. She reached in and took out one cupcake, and then the other.
"I don’t like coconut," she said.
"Oh," said Ellen with embarrassment, "I got one for myself, and one for you."
"Oh. Okay." She put the cakes back in the box. "Thank you," she said, without looking up.
For dinner they had white rice mixed with chopped chicken and green peppers. Immediately afterwards, Ellen hopped over to the box, saying, "let’s eat the cupcakes!"
"Wash the dishes first," her mother said. Ellen washed the dishes. She knew then that she had relaxed too soon, and started to rebuild the wall around herself.
"I don’t want to eat them right away," her mother said. There was no use protesting.
The next day passed at its usual crawling pace, typing numbers into the books at the accountant’s office. An hour after dinner that night, their eyes met. "What?" her mother asked.
"Do you want to eat the cupcakes?" she asked.
"No," her mother said. "Have a little patience."
Ellen went to the refrigerator and took out the box. She opened the box and looked inside.
"You can eat yours if you want," said her mother. Ellen closed the box and put it back.
Another day passed and then another. In their living room her mother sat on the green plaid couch. Ellen thought she could see her mother aging. Her eyes were black and her skin was smooth, but her hair was dull and streaked with white.
On the fourth night Ellen took the box out again. She took out the coconut cupcake. "They’ll get stale," Ellen said.
She picked the cupcake up and bit into it. Her mother watched. They did not look at each other as Ellen ate the cake. Finally she asked, "is it good?"
"Yes," said Ellen.
"Is it stale?"
"A little."
A week after her birthday Ellen’s mother had still not eaten the cake. Ellen resolved that she would say something if she did not eat the cake that night. That night she stared at the lamp next to the green plaid couch. She counted the roses on the linen lampshade. Her mother did not eat the cake. Ellen did not say anything.
The next night Ellen’s mother ate the chocolate cupcake. The maraschino cherry had bled into and stained the white icing. It was stale.
"Is it stale?" Ellen asked.
"No," said her mother. "Too much sugar," she added.
The days grew cold and the evenings darkened early. As Ellen walked home from the subway stop sometimes she went out of her way to see Dragon’s Tea in the twilight. Inside there were beaded square placemats like a golden diamond on every table.
One day she went in. The door chimed as she entered. The light had gone out in the glass case and there was a mist on the edge.
Ellen gave the woman three dollars and sixty five cents. She held the beautiful fistful of sugar in her hand. Stretching her jaws she took in as much as she could. She swallowed and took another bite in the same motion. She gulped at the cake like a drowning person at air.
It grazed her throat as it went down. She could not get the forbidden sweetness down fast enough. Then she felt as if she had swallowed it whole and it sat, whole, in her stomach.
She returned home, carrying this secret. She said nothing.
Posted by Lily at November 12, 2005 06:42 PM
Comments
Very evocative and dark. I like the thread using the cupcake as emotional and cultural barrier between the two. It should have been celebratory yet tragic and petulant. I'll never see dessert in the same way again.
Posted by: Heru at November 13, 2005 01:12 PM
Yay - you finished it! I'm not even sure you needed to add the part about rice for dinner, the "Asian" identity in the story made its way through an even subtler hint - the bakery with glazed kiwi and strawberry cakes!
Posted by: Nina at November 17, 2005 02:08 PM
I live at 71244 Commonwealth in Seattle. Been up here before?
Posted by: Mike Flacklestein at August 3, 2006 11:54 PM
Email this Entry
Post a comment
Thanks for signing in, . Now you can comment. (sign out)
(If you haven't left a comment here before, you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then, it won't appear on the entry. Thanks for waiting.)