I wanted to please my mom, it was an act of love.  Mother took the car into town to get her hair done for the wedding that was coming up on Saturday.  It was my older brother’s marriage to his high school sweetheart, Elvira Googins, in the estimation of this thirteen year old, the worst looking girl in the whole world.  Her teeth resemble beaver’s fangs.  She has one blue eye and one brown one, a nose that appears, as though, it has been broken several times, an offset chin with several whiskers growing out of its chiseled bone, and that does not include the fact her hair is three different shades of red.

As I was saying, I decided to bake a cake, a peace offering for my acting insufferably toward my brother’s future wife.  Mother has warned me, on more than one occasion, to keep my opinions to myself, especially when it comes to making objectionable remarks to my brother about his choice of a life partner.  Then, what do I know, I am only thirteen, and girls are girls, objects God created to taunt the male of the species.

After searching for forty minutes for the mixing bowls, and ingredients I found all I needed. The recipe calls for one and a half cups of sugar which I poured into a mixing bowl.  The rest of the ingredients added; I mixed them and poured the mixture into a pan, ready for the oven. The cake came out looking like a baker’s delight.  I was proud of the roundness, and the height of my creation, maybe I would become a chef…that’s it, a chef…Chef Amos Field.  I could not use Famous Amos that was already taken…Culinary Accents by Amos sounded reasonable to me.

The frosting calls for eight squares of chocolate… I have six it will have to do.  I mixed it with the other ingredients and stirred the rich chocolate and applied it to the golden yellow cake.  I have to admit, it looked scrumptious sitting on the counter.

I heard Mother open the front door.  “What happened here, an atomic bomb attack?”  She said looking over the kitchen mess I had left.  I had not bothered to clean; that was not a job I enjoyed.

“What?”  I said.

“Amos, what have you been up to while I was in town?”

“Voila,”   I said producing the chocolate masterpiece.

“Oh, Honey, that is so beautiful… I can not stay mad at you…come here and give your mother a hug.”

I do not do hugs or kisses anymore I ceased that silly, nonsensical stuff a year or two ago.  I will take a, bow though, for my great accomplishment.  I bent down at the waist, and she let it go at that, I guess she realizes I have outgrown hugs and kisses.  Thank God!

After supper, I went upstairs and did my homework and watched Jeopardy Teen Tournament, my favorite school was represented, rather poorly I might add, on this night.  The young girl from my fave school ended up in third place with a total of three dollars but was given fivethousand dollars for showing up, an overrated amount in my estimation.

The next three days passed quickly, and Friday night was upon us.  It was the night the bride’s parents were coming to visit, a tradition I found unnecessary and completely redundant, but then tomorrow wasn’t my ‘big’ day.  The parents arrived at seven thirty ringing the doorbell three times while my father walked to the door.

“Good evening Harold, June…come in,”  he said, his best party face in place.  Actually Dad couldn’t stand the Googinses…considered them snobs.

“Good evening, Amos,”  they replied.  My father’s name is Amos too; I was named for him…but I guess that would be an obvious conclusion.

The doorbell rang, and my dad opened the door and ushered the pastor into the living room.  Pastor Windham had been invited to dessert, as well.  He shook hands with everyone and sat down on the sofa next to my mother.

The amenities out of the way, the guests were all seated in the living room.  Mr Googins sat in Dad’s chair, a no no, no one sat in his chair.  I waited for the fireworks, but there were none, Dad simply grinned and bore it.

I watched from the stairway as Mother served coffee in our finest china cups, and on a silver tray that was Grandma’s finest.  Then after disappearing into the kitchen she returned with four dishes containing…my…my chocolate cake?  I hadn’t even had a piece yet, and now she was serving it to…to her company?

“Marcena, this cake is extrodinary… I must have the recipe,”  Mrs. Googins said.  She just rose nine points on my I like you scale.  Mr Googins agreed with his wife that it was a tasty cake. He didn’t rise one level on my scale.  I didn’t like Mr Googins; he was my homeroom teacher as well as my math teacher.  The pastor also commented in a positive way, in fact, he liked it so much he accepted Mother’s invitation for a second piece.

“I am so glad you enjoy the cake June, Amos Jr made it, believe it or not,”  Mother said.  Believe it or not?  No confidence in her youngest son who poured out his heart in the making of that cake and she treats it, as though, the finished product is a laboratory experiment that, by a stroke of luck, culminated in a masterpiece of culinary genius.  I am so not liking my mother right now.

The Googins and Pastor Windham left at eight forty five; mother and dad sat, talked for a few minutes before he turned on the TV. Dad had to watch his nightly shows, NCIS and Diners, Drive Ins and Dives reruns.  I went back upstairs to my room and read a few pages in a James Patterson novel featuring Alex Cross.  When I woke it was six thirty on Saturday, day off from school…wait a minute, this was the end of June, I’m out of school for the entire Summer. Hooray!

Dad bought me a razor and a can of shaving cream two weeks ago…said it was time I learned to shave.  My face looked, as though, I had run into Freddy Kruger.  After two dozen or so nicks and cuts, I got the knack of using a razor.  I don’t know why he thought I should learn to shave, I had less hair on my face than my brother’s bride to be.

I showered, shaved and dressed in my working in the yard clothes.  I would change into my tux around nine o’clock; the wedding was at ten at Bickford Community Church with a reception at the American Legion hall on Main Street.

It was eight thirty when I heard the toilet flush the first time, then again ten minutes later, again ten minutes after that and a loud groan and what sounded like an expletive from my father’s lips.

“Marcena, get in here…quick, I’ve got the flu or something.”  Dad hollered.

“I can’t Amos…I’m on the other toilet…my stomach is upset…I can’t stop going…”  she hollered back to him.

I had to chuckle, gone with the wind came to mind…what a title for a book.  I could see this wedding day was going to be…different.  My brother was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of milk and munching on a piece of my cake.  I do not eat sweets in the morning… I like eggs and bacon that mom makes, but it didn’t look like she was going to be able to cook this morning.

“Where’s mom and dad?  James asked.

“Upstairs.”  I wanted to make a disgusting joke about their malady, but kept my big trap shut for once.

“With so much to do today, they are upstairs?  Go ask them to gome down here…we have to be at the church in…”  he looked at his watch, “less than three hours.”

“You go tell ‘em I think they are both…busy right now,”  I said.

My father was the first one to come downstairs and enter the kitchen.  He looked, as though, he had been, as my grandfather used to say, dragged through a knot hole, his skin the color of a sheet of pasteboard.

“Mornin’ Dad,”  I said,  “want an egg?”

“I can not eat a thing…my stomach is…oops!”  He was running toward the bathroom on a dead run.

“What’s wrong with him?”  My brother asked.

“Flu I would guess.”

“He can’t have the flu today of all days…it’s my wedding day,”  he said.

“Well when your body gets a virus it isn’t particular which day it comes to visit,”  I said.

“Mom,”  he hollered heading for the stairs.  “Are you all right up there?”

A faint cry resembling the meow a large cat came from the upstairs bathroom, “I am…indisposed Dear.  I’ll be down as soon as I can…I can’t get off this darn toilet.”

“I won’t have to take any laxative for a long time,”  Dad said emerging from the bathroom.

He walked over to the counter top and looking into the open trash container, saw the blue box, the box that had contained the chocolate squares.  “Why is my laxative box in the trash?”  It was then we all realized my frosting was not made with chocolate squares. I waited for the ax to fall.

“Amos, did you use this for…”  But before he could finish, he was off to the bathroom again.

“Oops!”

“You idiot, and I had a piece of that cake for breakfast…what have you done to this family…you…you moron?”  My brother yelled.

“I’m sorry,”  I said apologetically, but inside I was laughing so hard I couldn’t stand it.  I ran outside and burst into laughter.  I had singlehandedly sabotaged my brother’s wedding day without even being aware of doing so.

Mother came downstairs a half hour later looking pale as Dad and twice as white.  Dad told her what I had done, lifting the blue box up and showing her the empty container.

“Amos, he didn’t know; it looks and smells like chocolate,”  she said in my defense.

“Can’t he read, he’s thirteen for crying out loud.”  Off again to the bathroom.

Well, my brother got married that day, though, the service was delayed due to complications from eating my chocolate cake.  Thank God, I didn’t get to eat a piece of the tainted pastry.

Mr and Mrs. Googins arrived late for the ceremony, but in time for Mr Googins to walk his daughter down the aisle.  My parents didn’t tell them, it was me who put the laxative frosting on the cake they ate last evening.  I am sure, at some point, my brother will announce to all that his kid brother is an idiot, and tried to spoil his wedding day, but for now, I was safe.

Pastor Windham, dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt and blue tie looked really professional standing up there on the stage…Sundays lately he has been wearing a plaid shirt and tan khakis with brown loafers, the new look in the Church.

“Dearly beloved…oops.”  He was off and running.  The Field Family knew where he was headed, but the guests were astonished, several looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and whispered to one another.

“I am so sorry for the delay dear friends,”  the pastor said returning to the stage.  “I believe I have a touch of the flu.”  I could not help myself; I burst out laughing.  Dead silence, all eyes on me.  I could feel my father’s eyes burning a hole in my back.  The pastor cleared his throat.  “Dearly beloved…”

The wedding started an hour and a half later than planned due to you know what.  I chuckled as I thought to myself; my brother is going to have a honeymoon he will never forget, if he makes it out of the church at all.

Pastor Windham never knew it wasn’t the flu that caused his…inconvenience that day, and my brother and his wife did not share their honeymoon experience with me or anyone else for that matter.  My brother did confide to me months later the cake took effect an hour after he left the church, and they had to make four stops before they got to the hotel and checked in.

It has been ten years since that fateful day, and to this time I can not watch a laxative commercial on televison without remembering my brother’s wedding day, I still chuckle when I am reminded of the one time I baked a cake, and decorated it with chocolate frosting.

My Mom and Dad still live at the same address; Dad is retired, and the two of them travel a lot.  My brother and his wife have three sons and live in Denver, a four day journey from here so I don’t get to see my nephews very often.  Me?  I just got my degree from the university, and  will enter medical school in the Fall.  I am going to become a proctologist.

by-George E Davis