Biscotti Battallion
Shame is a secret pain. Something to hide, but what if we didn't? What if we walked it into the light? Here is my shame of enjoying a dessert, having its moment in the sun.
I listened closely, determined to pick up the slightest shuffle from my flatmate in the adjacent room. I sensed nothing. No clackity clack of his keyboard, or the squeaking of his old chair, the coast seemed clear. Though the heavily carpeted floor didn't require it, I tiptoed across the room to the door. I don't think I have been this gentle with a baby as I was with this door knob. I stepped out in the hallway, exposed. I may get caught in the act.
Still on high alert for any sounds, I almost floated across the hallway, my feet barely making contact, and successfully reached my destination - the kitchen. The whooshing and rinsing of the dishwasher assisted me in my quest and drowned out the squeak from a loose floorboard in the only non-carpeted area of the house. Too scared to turn on the lights, I whipped out my phone to join me in this adventure. The softly illuminated screen guided me to the end of the kitchen where lay the trusty step stool.
With the dishwasher, the phone and the step stool in my battalion, I gained some confidence. That gentleness which had presented itself earlier with the doorknob washed over me again as I unfolded the stool and stepped on it, now a foot closer to my target. I needed to find higher ground and so I hoisted myself up to the kitchen shelf - gaining 3 feet, now face to face with what I came for - chocolate covered almond biscotti. It stared back at me, judging me for having so ardently ignored it earlier that evening, knowing my true intentions now.
Painstakingly unwrapping the plastic, the crinkly sound reverberating like shelling through the house, I took the most satisfying bite of the day. The taste of chocolate, almonds, butter and flour intermingled with shame on my tongue. Relishing the crunch, as well as the guilt, that came with every bite, I made my way back to the room, leaving a trail of crumbs behind me, no longer gentle. The next morning my roommate would know what I did.