They Wouldn’t Give Me Any Cake

 

I was going to write about having sex with Clark Gable for the 4^th time but instead I chose cake.  Besides, my interludes with Clark Gable may start to read like a Twilight Zone episode.  A lonely lady conjures the spirit of CG.  He tells her how brilliant she is and he whispers in her ear, ‘I understand you lover’, then he tells her to ‘Come sit, sit right here my dear.  YES that’s it, that’s it!  Right…ah yes there.’

I tried to get a piece of cake at the Hebrew Home for the Aged at Riverdale when I visited grandma at lunchtime. They rolled it out on a cart and I ran to it like a jack rabbit in the woods. “Oooo ooo-ooo can I have a piece?”  It looked so good, like they bought it from a classy bakery.  It didn’t look like supermarket sheet cake – which are absolutely fine with me as well.  It had thick white frosting with pink piping around the edges and a fruity red filling – I’m starting to breath heavily.

They wouldn’t give me a piece.  “It fah de residents,” the lady said before handing out pieces to the old people.  My g’ma got a piece.  I thought about just snatching it from her before she said, “You want mine?”  She had dug into it and heaved a piece into her mouth.  She’d already messed around with it and when she talks sometimes particles fly out of her mouth back onto her plate – “Uh, no thanks,” I said.

Her table mates, “Matthew” and “Methuselah” had cake.  Matthew said he’d give me his – the sweetie!  He was more concerned about spaghetti.  “They make it here honey,” he says.  Matthew peppers every other sentence to you with “honey.”  “The cook over there, he’s Italian, honey.  I spoke to him the other day, he said they’d give it to us on Wednesday.” Methuselah had fallen earlier in the day poor thing.  We talked about that.  He said that the lump on his head didn’t hurt and wondered if there was a part of the head where you didn’t feel as much pain.  I said I didn’t know.  Methuselah was thinking about writing a book about the lump on his head to make people feel sorry for him.  My g’ma said they get cake for all of the residents with birthdays during the same month.  “Oh that’s right.  Isn’t it my birthday today?”  She said suddenly.  “It’s May 8^th grandma, your birthday’s February 7^th,” I said.  “Oh yes, that’s right,” she said laughing.  I left there without getting cake.  But I’ll be there at lunchtime at the beginning of next month when maybe they have another nice cake.