Chocolate Cake

“I’m the most hollow I’ve ever felt”, I think to myself.

Those words seem to be a looming thought that has haunted me for what seems like forever.

“Have I ever been happy?” I can hear echo through my head as if I’m speaking it out loud.

In my misery, I feel lost. The most lost I’ve ever been…

So far.

32 and alone.

I feel empty and yet increasingly overwhelmed. The burden of living weighs down my body and I feel unable to perform normal daily routines. Every day I’m uncertain. But…. amongst my daily uncertainty, there’s one thing that is always for certain. Chocolate cake.

Chocolate fucking cake. The one thing I’m good at. God, I hate myself. BUT, at least I make some damn good cake.

You see, the trick is to put love into it. I love this cake. It has the perfect amount of sweetness, with a slight bitter kick from the dark chocolate. I lather chocolate buttercream atop and swirl my knife around as I dream of winning one thing with this cake. Love.

I fantasize and halfway dread who will eat my cake. Another undeserving heathen? Some old pervert? Or….. will HE walk through the door tonight?

As I finish smoothing the frosting around my masterpiece, I lean against the stainless countertops in back of this old kitchen and I feel calm. If cake could buy happiness, I would be a happy woman. My thoughts laugh as my lips stay locked in their misery.

I swoop up the cake on my palm and carry it out the double doors, like the cliche’ diner waitress that I’m destined to be. Forcefully I grin so no one can see the emptiness I truly feel. As I slide it into the display case, I halfway hope it catches someone’s eye.

—- “Tyra, you have a new table.”

“Pull yourself together.” I scold myself.

Moving quickly, while truly feeling out of body, I make my way over.

“Hello, how are you? What can I get for you today?” I ask

“I think I’d like to try your chocolate cake.”

Lost for a second in the eyes of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I zone back out to my thoughts. I fantasize about how he is going to fucking love my chocolate cake. He will probably just drop to his knees and propose after his first bite.

“Is this what it feels like to be crazy?” I ask myself.

I’m unsure if he’s even attractive or if I’m in desperate need of male attention at this point.

Why do I hypothetically fall in love with every man I meet? Could he be the one? Is there a ONE? Will the ONE even like chocolate cake?!

“Ma’am? ….the chocolate cake?” He asks again.

“Yes! Of course” I reply, all too eagerly.

I scurry to prepare the most delectable dessert my future husband has ever had.

I walk back to the table in a daze of my own pathetic fantasy and slide the plate over to him with the highest confidence.

“Enjoy.”

As I walk away, I finally muster a sincere smirk. I can hardly wait to hear how he liked his cake. I take a lap around the restaurant and make my way back to his booth. I’m feeling confident and I decide to sit across from him and casually ask what he thought…

“Well, how was your cake?” I ask calm and contained.

“It was OK.” He says quickly.

“Can I get the check?” He asks while waving his arm in a cliche’ request.

All my temporary bliss escaped my body.

“HE is NOT the one” I mumbled.

“Excuse me?” He asked, confused.

“SHIT, I said that out loud” I think to myself.

“Yes, Sir. I will be right back”. I reply.

As I walk away, I return to my loneliness.

Somewhat comfortable in my misery. I feel relieved. Well, that brought me back to earth.

“I could never love a man who described my cake as OK.” I argue to myself.

“Yeah, definitely not.”

I drop the check on his table.

“Another undeserving heathen….” I think to myself.