Miracle Brownies

The other day I made brownies. Now, what you must understand is that my brownies always come out wrong. 99% of the time, my brownies could be used as a weapon of mass destruction. They’re a device the government would be wise to use against suspected criminals. When I make brownies, people evacuate. Sometimes they’re soupy. Other times, they’re hard as rocks. Usually when I say, “I’m going to make brownies!” my mom intervenes and says, “Oh… well, how about you get the ingredients and watch while I make them? How about that?”

But today I said to myself, come on, Elodie. Get yourself together. You’re eighteen now, damn it, and is it really so much to ask of an eighteen-year-old in this day and age to make a pan of halfway decent brownies? So I waited until my mother was gone and I went at it. I threw in eggs and brownie mix and water, and I’m telling you, I put my freaking heart and soul into those brownies. I kid you not—blood, sweat, and tears. And I put them in the oven and collapsed on the couch and waited the interminable wait.

And finally—FINALLY—the timer went off and they were done, and I took a bite and oh my God. Words can’t describe the sensation. Those brownies were the physical manifestation of bliss. I swear beams of heavenly light shone down on me in the midst of a Hallelujah chorus. They tasted like hope and freedom and everything that’s right in the world, and I ate one and then another, and then about five more. I curled up on the couch with a glass of milk and my big old pan of brownies, and I ate them until I was on the verge of throwing up, and then I kept going. And then came the sorrow.

There were only about five bites left. Five. Bites. Maybe six if I took small ones. I was in denial because no, no way, there’s no freaking way this is it—I can make them again. But I knew in my heart that I couldn’t, and it was over. These brownies were a miracle the likes of which the world had never seen. They were meant to be enjoyed, not drawn out until they were gross and crumbly and en route to the garbage can in an undignified heap. I owed them that much. I owed them their dignity, and I could sure as hell give them that. And I sure as hell did—I wolfed down those brownies with a vigor heretofore unseen by human eyes. I ate every last crumb. Then I laid down on the floor and groaned a lot because my stomach hurt, but it hurt in the best possible way. And when my mom came home, I said in response to her raised eyebrows, “I had to eat them—I owed them!”

Miracles happen, sometimes in brownie form, and I can’t ask for more than that.


2 thoughts on “Miracle Brownies

  1. I wasn’t quite sure where else to leave a comment but I figured that the most recent post would be a reasonable place. My goodness, this stuff is brilliant! Here I am on Sparknotes making sure I didn’t miss any details for a book test and I end up stumbling upon a chronicle of witty, teenage misadventures! I hope you’ll pardon my sudden and ecstatic enthusiasm for your writing but when one is trying to finish up a two-in-the-morning-essay, a priceless couple of “I know what you mean” laughs is an unparalleled sanity-saver. (Deep breath)
    Now that my sleep deprived train of thought has veered off in some haphazard direction, I am completely unsure as to what I should do with the rest of this comment. I suppose my original intent was just to say hello although that seems rather anticlimactic…
    …Well anyway, from what I’ve read of your NBK stories and little bits of your posts, I’d say you’ve got yourself another reader. I have no idea how many other people have read this stuff but in my opinion, plenty more people should. I’m sure we could all relate to these crazy stories you’re telling in some way or another and I don’t think it’s possible to get a taste of your offbeat-but-totally-true sense of humor and not laugh.
    If you actually took the time to read this then I hope it was worthwhile (or at the least, a four minute distraction). Alright, back to work for me. Rrrg, now I really want some miracle brownies…

    • Thank you so much! If I can provide a means of procrastination for one person, I consider myself a success. Usually my 2 a.m. Internet persona devolves into a “maniac wielding a keyboard and typing gibberish with her forehead” kind of deal, so I find your sleep deprived (yet well-written) comment to be very impressive.

      I actually read this comment when I was supposed to be writing an essay, so it’s just a vicious, vicious circle of procrastination, isn’t it?

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