“The Teacher and The Birthday Cake” by Ronica Stromberg

Ronica Stromberg is the author of stories in 18 anthologies, including two Chicken Soup for the Soul titles and two Cup of Comfort titles. She is also the author of four children’s books: The Time-for-Bed Angel (a picture book), The Glass Inheritance (a tween mystery), and A Shadow in the Dark and Living It Up to Live It Down (two teen novels in a series). Her stories appear frequently in magazines and newspapers, with more than 100 in print. For more information, visit www.ronicastromberg.wordpress.com

It was a calamity of birthday cake proportions.

My best friend, Mary Jane, and I had planned to surprise our fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Noll, by delivering a cake to her on her birthday. That day back in 1975, we decided to make a double-layer cake because it seemed fancier to us than a single-layer cake baked in a casserole pan.

We enlisted the help of Mary Jane’s mother although she had never baked with tins before. As she lifted the tins from the oven, the mouth-watering odor of devil’s food wafted through the air. She allowed the cake layers to cool before trying to remove them from the pans. When she did turn the pans upside down, the cake held fast. Mary Jane’s mother tried loosening the layers with a knife and shaking them out. No go. She ended up prying away the layers with a spatula.

After that, Mary Jane and I picked out the few chunks of cake left stubbornly clinging to the tins and stuck them to the rest of the cake with a little white frosting. We smoothed over the rough patches with more frosting and thought the resulting cake looked like a stucco masterpiece. Away we headed in the car to Mrs. Noll’s house.

We had traveled less than a block from Mary Jane’s house when a small chunk of cake wriggled free from the rest. I caught it and firmly pressed it back in place. Then the top layer of the cake began to slide off the bottom layer. Mary Jane and I pushed it back on while trying to leave as few prints in the frosting as possible. Cracks appeared across the top. The death blow came when Mary Jane’s mother turned a corner. As the car shifted directions, so did the top layer of the cake. A large chunk toppled off and fell to the floor before either Mary Jane or I could catch it.

We ended up driving back to Mary Jane’s house and calling Mrs. Noll to tell her of the cake that spontaneously combusted. She laughed at our misadventures and assured us that it was the thought that counted.

After fifth grade, I thought of Mrs. Noll from time to time throughout the years, but I never went back to visit her. I doubted that she would remember who I was even though she remained in my mind as one of my favorite teachers. I left my hometown for college, moved to Kansas City for work, and married.

In my late 30s, I wrote a children’s book and returned to my hometown for a book signing. A few weeks later, I received a letter from Mrs. Noll. She wrote that she had learned of the book signing too late to go but she had tracked me down through my parents. We began exchanging letters.

The next summer I went to my 20-year high school class reunion and saw Mary Jane. I told her of the correspondence with Mrs. Noll. Mary Jane said her mother had recently run into Mrs. Noll at a home party and the two had joked about the cake once again. She still remembered!

“You know what,” I said to Mary Jane, “we should deliver that cake.”

Mary Jane laughed. “That’d be a riot: 28 years later!”

“I could ask whether she would like me to visit her the next time I’m in town, then if she says yes, we could surprise her by both turning up at her door with the cake.”

“Count me in.”

It took about a year to find a weekend when both Mary Jane and I could be back in our hometown and get the date cleared with Mrs. Noll. We received directions to her house from one of Mary Jane’s older brother and picked up the cake–a single-layer cake firmly imbedded in a pastry box–from a grocery store.

When Mrs. Noll opened the door, she already had a smile on her face. Her eyes traveled from me, to Mary Jane, to the cake. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. She covered it with both hands and began to back up. Finally, she exclaimed, “You girls!” and began to laugh. We had gotten her.

She welcomed us in, and we reminisced many hours. Mrs. Noll laughed and cried that day and, later, wrote me a thank-you note and a poem commemorating our 29-year friendship. In those 29 years, she had made the transition from teacher and mentor to friend. The last two words of her letter probably showed it best. She signed it, “Love, Marilyn.”

Copyright ©2005 Ronica Stromberg