At the very bottom, I noticed an ancient looking logo for "Aunty Rocker's Devil's Food Cake". It was an old box mix for chocolate cake.The date stamp on it... hell, there wasn't a date stamp on it. The trademark date for the logo said 1947. I didn't care. Two hours later, I returned home, ready to celebrate my birthday. The only thing that bugged me was, mother didn't seem to notice the difference between one of my modern oven wonders and this trite effigy to a woman's place in the home. She had two helpings. I carved a narrow slice but couldn't swallow more than a few bites of it's sawdust like consistency. I begged baker's snacking as an excuse for being full. I did notice mom's extra helpings of whipped cream and ice cream with each slice. Perhaps she was just being polite.That's when she pulled out the condom. Shit, I exclaimed to myself as I entered my room. I poisoned my own mother with fossilized cake mix! All those chemical stabilizers and texturizers and artificial flavors. "I was just ... thinking that I almost turned down your offer to come here and recuperate. I don't know why --" she broke off and looked away from him, but her hand slipped into his again and pressed."I understand," he said, folding his arms around her again, and letting her hair wisp against his lips as he murmured. "I do. I've been there ... to survive the horrible day-to-day -- yes, I do know, l--" he stopped, just short of saying what he had dreamed, afraid, of saying. He felt her cheek pressed against his chest, and wondered if she could hear his heart pounding as loud as it seemed to pound to him each time he looked at her. "I do know," he said, softly. "You have to wall out the hopes that things could ever be better. Because if you didn't, the longing could tear you apart."She nodded against his chest. "Oh, Scott," was all she said, and her fingers kneaded the flesh of his sides as she let out a long sigh that trembled just a little. He shut his eyes tight, because if he.
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