"We had lived in an old country house on the top of a hill surrounded by blankets of wildflowers." The old woman began. She shifted in that newly furnished rocking chair, trying to find a comfortable position. It just wasn't the same as her rickety one. The ancient quilted blanket her mother had made her long ago covered her bony legs. A child who looked about seven or eight years old sat Indian style in front of the woman, listening intently. Her long, ebony hair stuck out in every direction and fell over her large green eyes.
"In the days when I was a young girl, my brothers and I knew very little of the reality that went on outside our childish games. My mother was especially keen on making sure that our childhood stayed as pure as it could with what was going on in the world. When we couldn't have dinner some nights or when she and father often argued about financial budgets, she usually came up with some witty and exciting reasoning behind our troubles. Or she would focus our minds on something else, like a game. But anyway," the wrinkly woman said, shifting yet again in that rocking chair, "That is not what this story is about. That's what every story from old people like me is always about. Their past struggles. No, this story is about cheesecake. The best cheesecake ever created." At the sound of the word, the little girl's eyes widened to two great green pools and she licked her lips.
"Ah yes, the best cheesecake ever created." The woman reiterated, sitting back now in her rocking chair as she pulled out those filed memories. "Every Sunday after church, my family would go the food market to pick up as many supplies as they could with six dollars. My two brothers always went with my father with half of the six dollars to pick up either dog food for our border collie or feed for the cow or the chickens. My mother and I usually went to buy canned goods or meat for this week’s meals. One particular Sunday, my mother noticed that she had some extra money after buying our food for the week. She told me to wait with the groceries at the front of the market while she went to browse the aisles once again. She came back with two plastic bags filled with ingredients I had never seen before. She told me it was a surprise. I shrugged and so we were on our way. When we got back home, greeted by a yipping Bentley, my brothers and father went out to the barn to feed the animals while my mother and I unloaded the groceries. Then mother began to make something with the mysterious ingredients. I snuck a peek around her arm but she caught me. She gave me a sunny smile and told me to go help my brothers. I pouted and ventured out into the blankets of flowers barefoot like always and met up with them halfway to the barn. Somewhere in the distance I could hear father chopping firewood. I told them what mother was up to and they couldn't guess what it was she was making. So the three of us tip-"
"BINGOOOO!" A shaky, pruny-sounding voice called only a few feet away. The boring room with its plain mint green walls came back into view, closing in fast. The old woman, dismayed that her reverie had been broken, glared over at the multiple circle tables with elderly people around them.
"You mind keeping it down, Clark? I'm trying to tell a story here. It's normally quiet in these nursing homes, in case your Alzheimer's made you forget." The old man chuckled.
"Sorry Charlotte, I'll keep it down."
"What happened next, Granny?" The little girl asked quietly, fidgeting from anticipation.
"Oh yes," Charlotte continued, "The three of us tip toed back to the country house and peered into the kitchen window. Mother glanced over at us and raised an eyebrow so we ducked our heads as quickly as we could. We sat on the worn wooden porch, discussing in whispers of what mother could be making. Walter, the youngest, had jokingly suggested 'brraaainnnnsss' because our mother was secretly a zombie. Jebb, the oldest, didn't suggest anything because he thought it was going to be like every other normal dish we've received. And I, the middle child, knew it was going to be something marvelous. Time had passed quicker than we had realized. The sun reached the tops of the forest's tree line when mother called us in for dinner. We all sat at our appropriate seats around the table with Bentley beginning to scavenge at our feet before we even started eating. Dinner was our normal feast of bread and butter, slices of ham, and corn with peas. My brothers and I scarfed down our food lightning fast. Father only commented on our strange behavior while mother smiled sweetly to herself. When we all had finished, mother cleared off the table and replaced our dinner with a single white china plate with a metal lid on top. My brothers and I leaned in towards the plate with our mouths watering and our eyes buggy, waiting for the unveiling. I looked across the table at Walter, who was half closing his eyes just in case it really was brains. With one fell swoop, mother revealed the most perfect pastry that ever existed. It was circular and had a light yellow crème color to it. On top, there were slices of strawberries all over, like lights on a Christmas tree. But nothing was more breath taking than the smell. All I could come up with at the time to describe it was sweet smelling cheese, with a milky scent thrown in, combined with the aroma of the freshest strawberries my nose had ever experienced. Mother suddenly broke our lust for the strange pastry and told us to sit back in our chairs because our faces were nearly buried in it. We asked her what it was and she called it cheesecake. She explained how easy it was to make and I could hear the happiness ringing in her voice as she spoke." The old woman sighed at her memories replaying through her mind like a grainy film.
"Did it taste good?" The little girl asked.
"It tasted wonderful." Charlotte said, grinning to herself, "But the story doesn't end there." The old woman began rocking slowly in her rocking chair, no creaking sounds emitting from it like it should. She gave a small chuckle.
"Well, my mother made cheesecake every Sunday after dinner from then on. It became sort of a family tradition. Walter, Jebb, and I . . . mischievous in our young ages, made a game out of trying to swipe the cheesecake before dinner and gobbling it all up. We would try everything to get our hands on that beautiful pastry. It ranged from things like distracting our mother to creating some wacky diversion. Our mother was always one step ahead of us though, catching us before we could take it. She never got upset with us; she thought our futile attempts were humorous. But one day we actually did it. Walter ran inside the kitchen one Sunday afternoon with waterfalls running down his cheeks. He told mother how Jebb had pushed him into a bush and he had cut a single finger. Mother took him into the bathroom to clean him up just as Jebb and I flew into the kitchen like ghosts and stole the cheesecake from its usual spot on the counter. We sprinted through the flower blankets, Jebb holding onto the plate for dear life until his foot suddenly caught a tree root and the plate went soaring into the air. I ran with all my might to try and catch it, but when I turned and reached my arms out, the plate no longer had its metal lid and it was inches from my face. It was a direct hit, and I plopped on a flower bed. Bentley came out of nowhere and proceeded to licking the remains of our fallen cheesecake off the china plate. I wasn't upset that I was covered head to toe in cheesecake. I just did what Bentley did and grabbed globs of it off my face and stuffed it into my mouth happily. Jebb was crushing flowers as he rolled around over taken by laughter. Mother stood out on the porch smiling with a gaping Walter standing beside her. That night, we thought maybe it was better to bear the anticipation and just wait for the greatness that was my mother's famous cheesecake."
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