Cupcake Chronicles #7
Wednesday evening after 7:00, July 23, 2008
He knew his head wasn’t in the clouds. Like cotton fillers inside aspirin bottles, clouds were generally visions in white. Yet these puffy mounds were not all white. He saw buttercream shades resembling cotton candy and one in chocolate brown. He collapsed on the latter as if it were a mattress. Clouds probably smell moist, but this dark one smelled sweet. It reminded him of freshly made frosting in a bowl ready for the finger-tasting test.
His stomach had eyes larger than the ones on his face. He saw himself as little Johnny in his mom’s kitchen in Bayside. How he loved those Duncan Hines cupcakes in spite of her claims of not being able to duplicate the ultimate delights from Ebinger’s or Cushman’s back in her girlhood days in Flatbush. She finished frosting the cupcakes and handed him one.
He was ready to bite into the thick rich chocolate frosting, but a persistent tapping on his shoulder interfered. He woke up with his face pressed against the window. The steward smiled and apologized. He handed him a tray with a chocolate cupcake on it. It looked like the one from his dream. The semi-inebriated folks in first class broke out into an off-key version of the Happy Birthday song. A plastic number forty was buried in the frosting.
I kissed him and confessed that I arranged this little surprise with the airline. He wasn’t thrilled about the advertisement of his chronological advancement. He felt embarrassed and lost his appetite for his beloved dessert. He surmised that altitude mixed with alcohol must have tampered his mind, or was age catching up with him?
Cupcake Chronicles #12
Sunday evening at 8:45, December 9, 2012
I was on my way to visit the master bakers of the world. I boarded my private jet and buckled into my comfortable chair. Since the demise of the original Sweet Dreams Bakeshop, the magical recipes increased my wealth to surpass my expectations. Who would ever believe that a struggling working girl with no financial security or baking skills would be the CEO of her own company.
The magical cookbook contained a history of traditions from wizards, priests and shamans over the centuries. However, I was able to conjure up a spell that improved the original recipes used by the bakers who had opened up the Blue River restaurant down the block. One of the chocolate fudge cupcakes told me that Lisa found the books in a thrift shop in the East Village, but was only interested in making money. She had no interest in the eclectic writings in the back of the books. Several scholarly cakes saw potential in me and assisted me in breaking the ancient code on how the Egyptian goddesses kept their supermodel shape. I also learned to use chants in order to keep the cupcakes healthy and fresh.
I secretly performed the diet spell in the shop at six AM, one week before the full moon. Since then, no one has put on a pound from eating my cupcakes. And the customers lined up outside the door and around the block. I expanded my shop next door and hired more employees to meet the demand. I, myself, loved the profit and my reflection in the full-length mirror. I kept my discovery secured in a vault until now. I was ready to share my discovery and promote peace throughout the world.
My thirteen cupcake kids were with me. I got married to that rich chocolate treat on the other side of the cabin that used to be Johnny, my human boyfriend. He loved chocolate so much that he got what he wanted. It unfortunately backfired and he morphed into the dessert he got for his fortieth birthday.
Patricia Carragon is a New York City writer and poet. Her work can be found online and in anthologies. She hosts the Brooklyn-based Brownstone Poets and is the editor of its annual anthology. She is the author of Journey to the Center of My Mind (Rogue Scholars Press, 2005). Her latest book is Urban Haiku and More (Fierce Grace Press, 2010). She is a member of Brevitas, a group dedicated to short poems.