The Cake in the Kitchen


I kept wandering as I sat in the corridor, why my mum would’ve left with others without waking me up. I really do not want to miss the fun today, but that wicked sleep took away all that’s left.

It was a quiet Saturday morning when the afternoon was some hours away for transaction motive- to sell out tiresome greetings. This time of the day was like the dead of the night when you don’t get the chance to play with your friends. And right then, there was no way I could get some lovely chat with my dad, he must be exhausted. He had just returned from his usual weekly cleaning of the entire compound; looking like he was just retrieved from a dirty river. I wonder how a man can be drenched in his own sweat. He needed a shower- which I knew he shouldn’t take for granted.

“What can I do?” I kept asking myself the same question over and over again. O, this is way worse than the maths lesson periods during the long holidays. “Should I go back to bed?” So I thought. Even though I did exactly that, Mr sleep will not help me to close my eyes nor alone give me a remarkable dream. I was feeling so empty without any idea. In fact, nothing ideal was springing forth from my brain into my mind.

Then, my dad called. I hurriedly ran to him- he was in the kitchen. He took out a wrap of cake that was in the refrigerator and cut out a little piece for me. It was like a relief from the tribulations I have brought before my brain. I collected it, thanked him and ran into the living room.

The aroma of the cake was like the scent of the water from the spring- so pure. I kept looking at it for a minute before I could take a bite. It was like bending my spine to favour the atmosphere. My brain sent a signal to my entire system and they all vibrated at the same time. Then, a refreshing cooling force drop down my bone marrow as I swallowed the small morsel in my mouth. Before I could realise what was happening, my hand went blank.

He that was seeking an idea, turned out eager for an adventure- an adventure in my mother’s kitchen. The kitchen door was still open. All that was left was for my dad to get into the bathroom. I kept watching and praying- that’s a lot of work you know. A minute went away in the moist of the air: my buttock kept crying out ‘freedom! Freedom!! Freedom!!!’ Then, the favour ran into my jurisdiction. My dad went into the bathroom.

Soon, I jumped up and dusted the patience off my buttocks and sneaked into the kitchen standing on my toes. As I moved closer to the refrigerator, the bathroom door squeaked. I was shocked and quickly turned back to check if my dad was watching. As I peeped, the shower started running and he started his usual shower songs. I heaved a sigh of relief and moved back into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, different thoughts kept coming into my mind. “What if I get caught, what will happen to me? Will my parents ever put their trust in me?” A voice overruled this thought, making me see the importance behind the enjoyment of the little morsel from the cake I had earlier, stating a better enjoyment if I have more to myself. I let go of my emotion and my head took over. I walked closer, calculating the number of steps left to the refrigerator. As I walked closer, the bathroom door squeaked again. I took a step backwards, paused for a while and took two steps forward. Again, the bathroom door squeaked. I returned back to the kitchen door to check if my dad was still singing. Lo, he was now in his second usual song, and I heard the sound of the sponge singing troubled songs on his body.

The devil’s yell almost tore the drum in my ears. It kept reminding me of the taste of the piece of cake I had earlier. I was moved. My reasoning turned neutral. This time, I was more confident in myself, for I was certain he wouldn’t just jump out of the bathroom with soap on his face. I walked briskly but quietly to the refrigerator not minding the squeaking door of the bathroom. I opened it and brought out the wrapped cake.

Then, a voice dropped down in my mind, I kept wondering who was speaking to me. I summed up the courage and returned the wrapped cake back into the refrigerator in slow motion. I waited for a while to be sure of what I was doing. Then, I walked back to the living room.

Some minutes later, my dad called me into the bedroom and I soon joined him. He sat me down and asked, “why did you return the cake?” My heart almost jumped out of my chest. My eyes and mouth went opened simultaneously. I kept blabbering without saying a word. He held me by the shoulder and said, “I am proud of you.”

Tears dropped down my chin, forcing it up as I looked at my dad’s face. He smiled and asked again, “why did you return the cake?” Then I said to him, “a voice told me not to, it asked me over and over again if I was actually hungry. And I knew I wasn’t.”

He smiled and said, “you should not forget to listen to that voice, I am proud of you!”

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Olusola Butler

I write a lot, on everything and anything. I am that ordinary guy with a whole lot of good to offer. I love art, music and poetry.

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