The Way of the Whim

I am dead.

Not like, I’m LOL’ing dead. Like internet language. But actually dead. Which is unfortunate because I am only 26, and I thought for sure I would live to be much, much older.

Today was the last day of my life and started out completely normal: up at 7:10, put away last night’s dishes while I wait for my coffee to brew; drink coffee while checking email, social media and my horoscope; do my morning workout and yoga routine; shower, get ready for work, leave. Pretty average morning, which should surprise exactly no one because I am a pretty average girl. I was a C-average in school no matter how hard I worked. I am the average height and weight for a 26-year-old woman. I make the average income for my industry. I am not pretty, I am not ugly- just average. I do not take risks, I have the same routine every day, and I am content to do so and feel averagely satisfied with my average life. It is predictable and manageable and offers a sense of control and security that makes me feel stable. I do not like surprises, and I do not like disorder, and I never give in to whims that creep to the surface on occasion- whims lead to a change of plans, which leads to disruption, which leads to disorder which leads to chaos. So my whims can just stay right where they are in their little whimsy corner of my psyche until the urge goes away. And they always, eventually, go away.

I am not sure why today was any different. I sat at my work desk when it struck, drafting an email to a potential client, and somehow this whim was louder than anything I have ever experienced. More… naggy… insistent. A force within, driving me to the brink of something just short of madness. It buzzed in my ear and made my insides feel shakey and my hands trembled the more I tried to ignore it. The more I tried to ignore it, the more powerful it became. It screamed at me- no longer a whim but an order. This did not make sense- I can always make my whims retreat. I tried to out-reason it: FOCUS ON YOUR ROUTINE! WHIMS LEAD TO CHAOS! STAY THE COURSE! I tried to distract myself from it: breathing exercises in-two-three-four; out-two-three-four. Grounding exercises. Still there. I have never felt more powerless. Every cell in my body begged- no, demanded- for one thing and one thing only. Chocolate. Cake.

Cake is for parties and special occasions, certainly not for an average Tuesday in the middle of July, so I cannot, for the life of me, understand why I felt such a strong desire to eat some- and chocolate nonetheless, which seems like it is reserved for the most special of celebrations. Rich, dense, abundantly decadent. To give in to this whim would be devastating to my entire day’s structure. My average calorie intake for the week would be skewed, unless I changed my dinner plans, but I always ate one cup of bowtie pasta topped with one half cup of vodka sauce, a grilled chicken breast sliced neatly on top, and ten roasted brussels sprouts, drizzled with balsamic on Tuesdays, so I could not do that. I could go for a longer evening walk, which would then skew my average step count for the week. Nope. The thought of it made me incredibly uncomfortable. My life is- was- a series of averages and without them, I will say it again. Chaos. Whims lead to chaos. I cannot eat the chocolate cake. There is just too much at stake.

One, two, three hours go by, and it is still there. Chocolatecakechocolatecakechocolatecake. I could not take it anymore. I weighed every option and concluded that the only thing that will silence this torment is to just Eat. The Damn. Cake. I did not like it, it made me feel uneasy, but I knew that I had to do it. It beckoned me, and I am not being dramatic here. I am never dramatic. I am always, perfectly, averagely emotional. It was as if a choice had already been made for me and I just had to follow the path ahead of me. That path, it turns out, leads to Piper’s Bakery.

My walk to and from work takes 12 minutes each way. Piper’s is about halfway. I have walked past Piper’s Bakery twice a day, every weekday, for seven years. Seven years, 8 months, three weeks and two days to be exact, and not once did I ever give it a second thought- never once stopped to admire the wedding cakes on display, topped with delicate flowers made out of icing, so lifelike you swear you can almost smell them through the glass; never once did I ooh or ahh over the patisserie shelves lined with tiny pieces of edible art, rich in an array of colors and shapes. I never even noticed the rows of dainty, pastel cookies that looked so light and airy it’s a wonder they didn’t just float away. Had I known what was just about to happen, I would have spent a little more time appreciating the beauty in things like this, and less about my average hours of deep sleep.

So, on my lunch break, instead of doing my normal 3 walks around the city block, I walked the six minutes to Piper’s, opened the frosted glass front door, and walked in. The sweet scent of chocolates and caramels and baked cakes greeted me with something familiar. I did not know how a bakery could smell like a memory, but it did, and even though I could not figure out what it was, I let the aroma embrace me anyway. I walked over to the counter that showcased an impressive array of chocolate cakes and read each label out loud, but quiet enough that nobody but me could hear- “Chocolate Blackout Cake.” No, sounds like a frat party. “Black Forest Cake.” Sounds like a fairy tale. “Death by Chocolate Cake.” Too ominous, like I am tempting fate. I am already breaking all my rules as it is by being here. There are too many choices, how am I supposed to decide, I should just turn around and go.

Just then, as I was about to turn and leave, a woman popped out from the back room and smiled, making her way over to me. Youngish- maybe early 40’s- dark hair pulled back but disheveled, with a presence about her that let you know that she was genuinely happy, a lightness about her that made you want to stay and listen to her stories and buy all her cakes.

“Hi, I’m Piper! What can I get for you today?”

I cocked my head to the side, a little surprised. I do not know why I hadn’t given any thought to the fact that Piper might be an actual person, or that this might be Piper herself, but it caught me off guard, and made me blush at the same time, like I was meeting a celebrity or something.

“Oh… uhh... hello. Piper. I would like to buy a slice of chocolate cake, but there are so many to choose from and I am not sure which one I should get… Can you recommend something for me? Nothing too fancy, but nothing too plain, just something... you know… somewhere in the middle.”

Piper nodded in a way that let me know she knew exactly what I was looking for, like she could hear the voice inside me that had been beckoning for it all day and knew how to silence it. Piper the magician. Piper the sorceress. Piper my hero. “One second, I have the perfect cake for you.” She turned her back for a moment to grab a small, pink and white striped miniature cake box, and when she turned back, ducked down to pull the slice out of the case- so careful with her movements- and lowered it with precision and love into the box, a silent satisfaction and pride emanated from her smile. “Chocolate Nostalgia Cake. For you.” It was the perfect selection and somehow paired flawlessly with the feeling of familiarity that greeted me when I walked in. I said thank you, paid, and grabbed a silver, plastic fork on my way out. If this voice inside me, this whim, was so loud that it got me here, I was going to sit right at that bus stop at the end of the block and give it what it wanted. “One quick bite first,” I said to no one but my whim.

Oh. My. God. Those were the only thoughts I had as the chocolate ganache melted against the roof of my mouth, my saliva softening the already moist cake, the different texture of the buttercream lingering on the side of my cheek, my tongue exploring and savoring the different flavors as I about died right there on the spot from joy. Except I did not die. Not yet. In fact, I took another bite, and another. I kept walking towards the bus stop, luckily empty at this time of day, so that I could have the bench all to myself. Bite, chew, swallow, walk, bite, chew, swallow, wa-

This is it guys. This is where I die. I told you already, I am not one for being dramatic, so I will just tell you how it happens. I tripped over a damn crack in the sidewalk. I tripped and I fell, and since I had a fork in one hand, and a delicious, mouthwatering, heavenly piece of “Chocolate Nostalgia Cake” in the other, I did not have a free hand to catch myself, nothing to break my fall except for my perfectly average head in just the right (or wrong) spot. I do not remember much after that. I could not tell you if crowds rushed over to help, maybe Piper whisked her apron off in a panic and ran outside to be my hero once again. I was gone before paramedics got there. The last thing I remember seeing before it all went dark was my arm stretched out in front of me, hand now empty, a half-eaten slice of cake laying frosting-side-down on the sidewalk after tumbling out of the beautiful pink and white striped box. The last thought I remember having was “whims lead to a change of plans, which leads to disruption, which leads to disorder which leads to chaos.” And then it went black, before it went light. It is from the light I tell you this story.