Let Them Eat Cake

        I watched the family from the hedge, they had know idea I’d been watching them for days.  I have a murderous passion for sugar.  It’s Superbowl Sunday, the buccaneers and the raiders are battling on television but that really doesn’t concern me.  There is a beautiful young woman who’s having her birthday party during the Superbowl that is holding my attention.  I move across the yard so I can get a better view during half time.  They have no idea I’m watching and it makes me feel powerful.  As Shania Twain sings to the crowd, the mother figure brings out the birthday cake.  It has twenty-two candles and white frosting.  She is as beautiful as her daughter.  It will be tonight. Tonight I will go in to the house and exercise my demons.
    As the second half presses on the raiders finally show up and try to make a game out of it as they had been getting pummeled by the Buccaneers through out the first half.  As the family in the window eats their cake I can tell that the birthday girl is eyeing the presents anxious to open them, but she sits reserved like a young woman should be. As the game winds down so the sun sets.  I’ve moved back to the hedge line to wait for the party to die down.  It’s my favorite time of the day.  When the sky is clear and the sun is behind the mountains.  There is only the black silhouette of the mountains against the fading blue light.  The light dies and the darkness comes.  I turn my attention back to the house.
    The Raiders third quarter come back was fleeting as Gannon throws two interceptions that result in defensive touchdowns.  Final score Buccaneers forty eight, Raiders twenty one.  The end of the game signifies the beginning of the gift opening.  I move back to the side of the house under the cover of darkness.  My breath fogs the glass as the young woman rips the paper from what seems to be a new DVD player.  Muffled peals of laughter drift to my ears as the pretty girl hugs an older man.  The light in the room is warm and the family seems close.  I feel nothing but a low rumble in my stomach.  They seem confined to this small pool of light, separated from the world of darkness that is mine to roam freely.  They are prisoners of their home and bodies.  There is a pile of gift paper on the floor and the cake, half eaten and forgotten, sits on the dining room table. 
    One by one the Superbowl birthday revelers leave out the front door.  Little did they know I was just behind the hedge watching and counting them.   By my count, twelve people have left so that leaves only the immediate family.  The family spent the next two hours cleaning up after the party and getting ready for bed.   The young woman bags the wrapping paper and her mother takes the cake into the kitchen.  The old man drinks a glass of scotch in the dining room.  Another hour passed as they went to their respective parts of the house and settled in for the night.  One by one the lights in the house went out and I was forced to move further back in the yard so as not to be seen.  They never do lock the sliding glass door in the backyard.  That is lucky for me.  Cutting glass silently can be time consuming.  I lay motionless for another two hours to be sure everyone was asleep.  It is midnight, time to go into the house. 
    I move silently up to the back of the house.   The glass door slides open with a mere whisper of noise.  I enter the living room.  The rug is thick and quiet to walk upon.  There is some colored paper on the floor that the young woman missed.  The house feels warm as if the lights were still on, but now only the lights from the street out front help to guide my path.  I move noiselessly into the kitchen.  I can smell the evening’s meat.  Hamburgers served during the game.  Across the kitchen is the drawer that holds what I came here for.  The floor creaks only once as I move in front of the staircase leading to the bedrooms. Once on the other side of the kitchen, I grasp the cool knob of the drawer and open it slowly.  It moves fluidly and silently out.  The faint light of a street lamp shines into the drawer to reveal a vast assortment of knives.  I pick one off the top so as not to make any noise.  The knife is large and heavy.  It has a stainless steel blade and black handle.  It is the perfect tool for what is to come.  I turn back toward the stairway  and move to the counter.  There it is, the birthday cake.  I make to quick cuts with the knife on a corner piece.  The one with the most frosting on it.  It has a capitol letter H on it and a red frosting rose the color of blood.  It is heaping with sugar.  I take my prize and leave the house through the glass door and I’m off into the night.  As I walk down the street slowly eating my piece of cake I can’t but think of Marie Antionett saying of the peasants “Let them eat cake”.