Rain. I remember waking up to rain. My nostrils were pleased with the odor of wet pavement and squashed worms. I waited in the bus shelter, my legs swinging back and forth as I inhaled the natural aroma of soggy grass. My eyes closed for just a moment. A fleeting second, but as soon as they did, the humid air took on a completely different smell. It was like getting smothered by a box of cupcakes. My head slowly turned to the seat on my right. There it was. A cake.
“Get well soon, Karen.”
I whined and jumped to my feet, backing away from the dessert that was haunting me. In a frenzy, I failed to notice when my heel caught a crack in the sidewalk. I felt my body falling and heard the screech of tires. The world went black.
This morning, I woke up in a hospital room, surrounded by balloons and an array of beautiful flowers. I couldn’t smell them over the stench of sugar that permeated my nostrils. There was a white box with pink curly ribbons waiting for me on the bedside table. Scrawled on the lavender-colored cake, in familiar dark purple script, were the words:
“Enjoy your last meal.”