"Get your fingers out of there!"
Her mother snapped as she spanked Lyndsee's hand away from the cookie dough. The seven-year-old fair-headed child sprung back, rubbing the loose skin on her hand. Her face shriveled up like silly putty into a pout. Her lower lip swelled pink and juicy while her brow furrowed like a melting candle.
Lyndsee has the ability to mold and push her face into the most abstract cartoonish expressions. She suffers from Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) also known as Cutis Hyperelastica. This rare genetic disease results in the defective production of collagen which breaks down the ability to hold the skin together. Because of this, she has become the class clown. She gets the kids rolling with her "bat wings" impression where she clasps her checks and spans them out like wings on the side of her face. This is only one of her many infamous impressions including "choking crane" "bloated frog" and "smiling anteater".
Lyndsee's mouth pools with drool as she watches her mother mixing a chocolate chip chocolate cookie mix. Mmm mmm mmm! Finger licking good! Now if only she could get her fingers in there to try it. Her mother dumps in a tablespoon of vanilla extract. The aroma of cookie dough stings the hot kitchen air from the preheating oven.
Cookies are amazing when they are cooked. The warm crunch on the outside holds in the hot buttery chew. For this short fifteen minute period, the solid state of a chocolate chip defies the laws of physics and becomes a steaming dripping mess of goodness. This is decadence. But on the flip side, bliss is the taste of raw cookie dough. Cool, textural folds of pleasure, swelling with ingredients in their purest form. The billows of sugar-filled fluff wrap around solid clumps of tangy chocolate. Both experiences demand indulgence. Hell and Heaven.
Lyndsee watches as her mother dumps in a bag of chocolate chips. The little black babies plunge in cheering with joy. Lyndsee licks her face with the extra elasticity of her tongue. Her mother sets the mixer on high; A tempting carousal of chocolate temptation.
DLING. DLING. The phone rings in the other room.
Lyndsee is warned, "Leave it alone," just before her mother exits the kitchen.
The yakity-yak of her mother's gossip becomes muffled as the sound of the mixer grows louder in Lyndsee's head. The glass bowl whirls around, displaying every glistening chocolate chip with each rotation. At this point, the lure has Lyndsee's eyeballs pulsating. If she really was a cartoon, this would be the point she blows her smokestack. Her jaw would drop, unraveling a five-foot tongue, as horns blare A-OOGA!!!
From the living room a sound is heard similar to a car driving over a wooden bridge with open gaps and uneven planks. Quickly, a wet Shammy is ripped off the sucking hose of a vacuum. This is jammed up quickly releasing the sound of a frustrated motor unable to turn. The grunt becomes tiresome, slowing to a barely audible exasperation.
Lyndsee's mother drops the phone and runs into the kitchen. The mixer has given up, bundled up in bloody skin as if it were a scarf. On the kitchen floor lays the meaty remains of Lyndsee. Her right arm still raised in the air with her bony index finger extended. On the tip is a dollop of chocolate chip chocolate cookie dough.
Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly