By Carolyn Moncel (Broken/Desert/Voices)
“Two cakes were in an oven. One said, ‘Holy Moly, it’s hot in here!’ The other said, ‘Holy Moly, a talking cake!’”
A silly joke for sure, thought Lydia but one that would be understandably funny to any giggly, six year old like her daughter, Caris. No matter how hard Lydia tried not to—especially after hearing that joke for the 500th time, she always laughed. Maybe she laughed because of the way in which Caris would tell it—always accompanied by a funny face. Or maybe at the end of the day, it was just a funny joke.
Whatever the reason it was the only joke that Caris knew. Sadly, it would be the only one she would ever tell. Caris was dead.
For Lydia there had been little reason to laugh since her daughter’s passing. In fact the last time she had had a good laugh was during the funeral six months ago. Everyone in attendance thought she had gone mad. She hadn’t. She didn’t laugh on purpose. It seemed to be the only way she could express her profound sadness.
Caris’ death had been a freak accident. At home sick with the chicken pox, Lydia had gone to the local drugstore, two blocks away, to pick up her medicine. An unknown complication caused an allergic reaction. Later that evening Caris slipped into a coma and died.
Deep down Lydia knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault but she still needed to blame her misfortune on something or someone. So she chose to blame that drugstore and vowed never to shop there again. One day she changed her mind; her cat needed food before the stores closed. Ironically, the only store still open was the very one she had managed to avoid.
Lydia walked through the automatic double doors; pass the cosmetics aisle and even the pharmacist without looking at him. She kept her mind on the task at hand – selecting the cat food. She managed to pay for it at the counter without incident. Exiting the store 15 minutes later, she assumed she was home free – until she saw her – a little girl, about Caris’ age, holding her mother’s hand while entering the store.
Once they had past her and were safely out of view she allowed herself to feel the grief.
“Damn you!” Lydia screamed at no one in particular as she slumped down into a nearby wooden bench. The wounded-sounding sobs came hard, deep, guttural and long overdue.
Some customers had been passing by when Lydia had her outburst. Normally, someone would have said or done something. Instead and rightfully so, no one did. Only one older woman, in her sixties, intervened quietly when a teenage stock boy appeared to offer his assistance. When Lydia felt better she sat up straight, adjusted her clothing and grabbed a tissue from her purse to wipe her face.
A few minutes later, the little girl exited the store and joined Lydia on the bench while waiting for her mother. Upon further inspection, she really didn’t resemble Caris at all.
“Hi,” said the little girl shyly.
“Hi,” said Lydia.
“Wanna hear a joke?” asked the little girl.
“Sure, why not” said Lydia sniffing.
“Two cakes were in an oven…”
Lydia listened to the joke until the end. For the first time since forever, Lydia laughed until she cried again.
“What’s your name?” asked Lydia.
“Carrie,” she replied.
“Pleased to meet you, Carrie, and thank you,” Lydia said while patting her on the head.
“For what?” The little girl inquired while scratching her ear.
“That’s still the funniest joke I’ve ever heard!” Lydia responded wiping away tears of joy.
“It’s the only one I know,” said the little girl.
“That’s okay,” said Lydia smiling.
“Something tells me that you’ll have a lifetime to learn a billion more.”
“Two cakes were in an oven. One said, ‘Holy Moly, it’s hot in here!’ The other said, ‘Holy Moly, a talking cake!’”
A silly joke for sure, thought Lydia but one that would be understandably funny to any giggly, six year old like her daughter, Caris. No matter how hard Lydia tried not to—especially after hearing that joke for the 500th time, she always laughed. Maybe she laughed because of the way in which Caris would tell it—always accompanied by a funny face. Or maybe at the end of the day, it was just a funny joke.
Whatever the reason it was the only joke that Caris knew. Sadly, it would be the only one she would ever tell. Caris was dead.
For Lydia there had been little reason to laugh since her daughter’s passing. In fact the last time she had had a good laugh was during the funeral six months ago. Everyone in attendance thought she had gone mad. She hadn’t. She didn’t laugh on purpose. It seemed to be the only way she could express her profound sadness.
Caris’ death had been a freak accident. At home sick with the chicken pox, Lydia had gone to the local drugstore, two blocks away, to pick up her medicine. An unknown complication caused an allergic reaction. Later that evening Caris slipped into a coma and died.
Deep down Lydia knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault but she still needed to blame her misfortune on something or someone. So she chose to blame that drugstore and vowed never to shop there again. One day she changed her mind; her cat needed food before the stores closed. Ironically, the only store still open was the very one she had managed to avoid.
Lydia walked through the automatic double doors; pass the cosmetics aisle and even the pharmacist without looking at him. She kept her mind on the task at hand – selecting the cat food. She managed to pay for it at the counter without incident. Exiting the store 15 minutes later, she assumed she was home free – until she saw her – a little girl, about Caris’ age, holding her mother’s hand while entering the store.
Once they had past her and were safely out of view she allowed herself to feel the grief.
“Damn you!” Lydia screamed at no one in particular as she slumped down into a nearby wooden bench. The wounded-sounding sobs came hard, deep, guttural and long overdue.
Some customers had been passing by when Lydia had her outburst. Normally, someone would have said or done something. Instead and rightfully so, no one did. Only one older woman, in her sixties, intervened quietly when a teenage stock boy appeared to offer his assistance. When Lydia felt better she sat up straight, adjusted her clothing and grabbed a tissue from her purse to wipe her face.
A few minutes later, the little girl exited the store and joined Lydia on the bench while waiting for her mother. Upon further inspection, she really didn’t resemble Caris at all.
“Hi,” said the little girl shyly.
“Hi,” said Lydia.
“Wanna hear a joke?” asked the little girl.
“Sure, why not” said Lydia sniffing.
“Two cakes were in an oven…”
Lydia listened to the joke until the end. For the first time since forever, Lydia laughed until she cried again.
“What’s your name?” asked Lydia.
“Carrie,” she replied.
“Pleased to meet you, Carrie, and thank you,” Lydia said while patting her on the head.
“For what?” The little girl inquired while scratching her ear.
“That’s still the funniest joke I’ve ever heard!” Lydia responded wiping away tears of joy.
“It’s the only one I know,” said the little girl.
“That’s okay,” said Lydia smiling.
“Something tells me that you’ll have a lifetime to learn a billion more.”
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