One Last Slice

Chocolate. It was her favorite. Sometimes it’s hard to smell it now, even the thought of it rattling me down to my knees all over again, making it hard to breathe as the memories circle around me, throwing me back into the past, and for a moment, everything stops.

I can hear her laugh, see her smiling over me, leaning in for a short kiss or a perfect hug.

I’d never much liked chocolate until I’d met her. Then suddenly, I was sure there was nothing better. It smelled just like her, tasted just like her, felt just like her. Whenever she ate too much, her lips would move faster than her brilliant brain and all of her hopes and dreams would pour out in a steam of bright words and spoonfuls of sugar. For her, chocolate and wine and a movie were the perfect evening. I just loved the way I got to hold her as she drifted off into her odd dreams that I would never hear the end of in the morning.

She was a baker. She would make the best treats. Chocolate scones, chocolate cookies, chocolate strawberries and bananas, chocolate letters she would make into notes just for me, just to let me know she was still thinking of me even when she was gone, but nothing beat her triple chocolate cake.

It was her favorite. Sometimes I would offer to help her make it, help her find her ingredients that were never in the same place twice, but mostly, I would just sit there as the conversation drifted off, and I’d watch her get lost doing what she loved to do best. She poured her heart and soul into things that she knew would make people happy.

I would give everything I had to see that contagious smile one more time.

All she wanted was her own bakery, a chance to reach more people with those mesmerizing treats of hers, just to make everyone's day even a tiny bit sweeter. It’s what she always did for me. So I said, what the hell?

We were the perfect team. I secure the business side of things and she, well, creates. It was our dream, our shared, second star to the right, dream.

That was another thing about her. Dreams. Dreaming was easy with her. Dreaming was all we knew how to do together. Together we could grow and climb and make it to exactly where we wanted to be.

The dream is over now. It was dead and gone and all I know is the emptiness that fills me up with every breath I manage to take. All I can do is stare speechlessly at our blood, sweat and tear covered dream and wait. It has been seven days now. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. Time didn’t seem to work the same anymore. Sometimes it would suddenly be dark outside. I suppose that’s when I’m supposed to sleep. I don’t. Not anymore.

She had stayed late. She had told me to go home without her, and I did. And just like that, it was over.

I had heard the sirens, but I thought nothing of it. This was New York. Sirens were everywhere, even if somewhere deep down inside I knew. I just didn’t believe it.

A fire, they said the next morning when she hadn’t come home. A fire. It had been an accident, some teenagers messing around and then suddenly it was over, the dream, a life, her smile; it was gone.

Now, they finally allow me inside. Her body is gone, but I know where she stood. I can smell nothing but smoke as I force myself to survey the damage as though I will rebuild any of this on my own. I look around, and memories play like movies in my head. She is everywhere and in an instant she is nowhere.

And all that’s left on the counter that’s tipping and ready to collapse is one single slice of her triple chocolate cake with a burnt note beside it with three words that let me know that it was over…

“I love you.”

I turn from that fallen dream and walked out solemnly, slowly. The tears falling down my face were silent and angry and broken.

I know now, that all that’s left from the life we tried to build together was a slice of triple chocolate cake.

I’ll never like chocolate again.