by Jim Noonan

Gerald opened the red plaid lunchbox on his lap and stared at its contents -- two thick pieces of cake sheathed in wax paper and plastic wrap and a blue thermos of cold fresh milk.
 
"Happy Valentine's Day. I made it for us. My mom helped." he said, then repeated under his breath (mom helped) checking he said it right.
 
Gisele pushed up her pink glasses and smiled at Gerald, and then the cakes.
 
He carefully removed the plastic wrap from both pieces and handed her one. She turned it over in her hand looking for an opening in the wax paper.
 
"Like this," he said as he slid his thumbs between the flaps and spread the paper. Beneath, thick glistening cake awaited their lips. Gerald pressed the cake to his mouth and the tart citrus flavor burst on his tongue, sugar syrup coating his lips like a kiss.
 
"You want some milk? (some milk)." he said, licking the cake from his fingers.
 
Giselle held the cup as he poured. She put her lips to the cup and took a long drink.
 
They finished the cake and milk in the profound silence of a gathering spring, the earth beginning to simmer with fertile mystery, thick clouds sifting and folding against themselves in a sky as smooth as buttered paper.
 
At last Gerald placed the thermos in the lunchbox and bent the empty wax paper like parchment, folding it in gently but thoroughly. Giselle did the same, mimicking his motions like an echo. Their hands touched as they placed the folded papers in the lunchbox.
 
"Recess is almost over. We better go. (better go)."
 
"Thanks, Gerald. It was delicious."
 
He smiled at her.
 
As they walked across the play ground, their arms nearly brushing, they felt their lives sift together like flour and salt.

 

 

Jim Noonan lives with his wife in Richmond, Virginia. Together they manage the last working sock monkey ranch in North America. In his spare time, he likes to write fiction.