I walk to Walmart to buy a cake. There’s a display of bouquets
at the entrance; large assortments of pink flowers, wrapped in
pink, white, or pastel green paper, foliage to liven them up, and add bulk; the
flowers aren’t enough, they need props. They put on their best final show these
flowers, almost plastic in their exaggerated vibrancy and perkiness. They're taking their last breath, they’re already dying, they’ve been dying since they were brought to
the store a week ago, exhibited, cartoon pink. Pink, always pink for mother’s
day; all shades of pink; pink roses, pink tulips, pink lilies and pink peonies;
the combination of red and white, blood and milk. “Mom”, the cards say, “I love you
Mom”, “Thank you”; thank you for pushing my massive head out of your vagina.
Thanks! Tomorrow all the left over bouquets will be put in one large carboard bin, and sold for a dollar or less.
At the bakery, I consider the cake options; cakes in all
shapes, sizes, flavors and colors. For those who can’t decide, there is the
“Variety Cake” one quarter chocolate, one German chocolate, one red velvet, and
one carrot. What cake would Jori prefer? This is what it means to be a mother,
to wonder what cake your child prefers on Mother’s day. I’d like the red velvet
myself, but Jori only likes chocolate cake, so I get a chocolate cake. I don’t buy
a big cake, because there will be left overs and I will eat from it all week
long and feel guilty. I get a small one; something we can share and finish
today; tomorrow I’m back on my low carb diet again. A small chocolate cake with
colorful cream roses on top, and colorful sprinkles all around, a festive cake,
a happy cake, a cake that will make Jori smile. I walk to the self-checkout,
everyone at the store has a facemask on, I forgot mine, so I fish out a tissue
from my pocket, and cover my nose and mouth, I want things to go back to
normal, I think to myself. I bag my cake and leave.
It’s a beautiful crisp, fresh morning. The calm blue sky is
admiring its reflection in last night’s rain puddles. The Hawthorns, Dogwoods,
and Magnolia trees are bursting with flowers, pink, and white, and fragrant,
and full of joy. The birds are singing, I take it all in a long deep breath; the trees,
flowers, and birds haven’t changed, I think to myself, the beauty of Spring
remains the same.
