LOOKIE, LOOKIE, THERE GOES COOKIE

I must have it. I have to. I can't stand it any longer. It is 11 p.m. My bedroom door is closed but open just enough not to click now. Quiet as a cat creeping toward a mouse hole, I pass my parents' door. No light peeps under it. Dad's steady stream of snoring takes care of him. Mom has pretty much learned to ignore it. Taking a chance, I reach the stairs, take my time going down to Nirvana.

The louvred pantry door is half open. Enough moonlight coming in the picture window over the sink confirms the location of the box of Oreos. Whoa! It is a new box, still in its plastic wrap. I don't remember finishing the last one. This is going to take some thought. The rustling may wake Mom. From the drawer I take a small paring knife, put it in my robe pocket and go in the powder room and with one swift swipe the crinkly paper is free of the box. The toilet seat is down and is as good a place as any to enjoy one or two cookies, nibble round and round the edges until they disappear. Numbers three and four get in my hands without me realizing it. Number three I eat carefully, working the sandwich apart so I can lick the sweet white sugar without breaking the chocolate. Then I have the two parts left. They disappear into my growing layer of fat.

I put the knife back in the kitchen drawer, the crinkly paper between sheets of the newspaper waiting to go in the recycle bin near the basement door. As I go back to bed, unable to brush my teeth, I use my finger to scrape the chocolate off my teeth and gums, and swallow the dividend.

'Joanie,' my mother calls. 'It's school time. Get up.' Breakfast is on the table and is not a pretty sight. 'Mom, any chance of you simmering a few strips of bacon for me and scrambling two eggs? I don't like Rice Krispies.' 'Absolutely not. You don't need all that fat and cholesterol.' 'But I'm hungry, Mom.' She giggles and says, 'Eat your heart out. I'll show you how. I eat mine every morning.' ' I decline her offer and take a poppy seed roll with raspberry jelly along with the Rice Krispies.

After school Grandma's house calls me loudly and on the spur of the moment I take the Belvedere bus to visit her. As usual she will have a gift of some kind ready for me. It's upstairs which gives me a chance to hurry to the kitchen 'sweet cabinet', stuff a dozen or so Hershey Kisses into my pocket and a few in my greedy mouth. 'Don't rush, Grandma. Hold the railing when you come down.'

She listens to me and hands me what feels like a small book. I rip off the ribbon and gift paper and almost laugh. It is called, 'Eating Sensibly' by Kate Smith's grand daughter. 'Thanks, Grandma. Mom is always on my back, begging me to stop eating so much junk. I'll try, Grandma. Honest I will.' But I know I won't try too hard.

Grandma does love me and goes to the 'sweet cabinet' to give me just two or three Hershey Kisses for my ride home. Startled, she sees the bag is almost empty and blames it on Grandpa. 'I'll get a new one for when you come again.' With a little ta ta motion I tell her, 'I have to go home now. Thanks for the book, Grandma.'

At the door she asks for a hug and a kiss and I am happy to make her happy. As she leans her frail body towards me, she sniffs, tells me to wait a second. I wait 3 or 4, not even a minute.

From the kitchen she bings back a damp Kleenex, says nothing, and wipes some chocolate off my chin.