Based on a True Story

            I will never forget the events of that dreadful day.  I could not have been more than five when the incident occurred, but the memories remain with me.  It was an early Sunday morning at possibly five or six o’clock.  I had been awake for an hour.  As hard as I tried I could not force myself to fall back asleep.  Lying in my bed, my stomach grumbled.  Not sure if it was my deranged little mind, or my insane hunger, but I couldn’t keep my eyes shut.   I decided that waiting a few more hours for my parents to prepare breakfast was just not an option.  Determined to find food, I ventured down the stairs and into the kitchen to satisfy the tempting sweet tooth most youngsters have at that age.  My mission was to find and indulge in consumption of numerous chips ahoy cookies.  I was almost certain they were Chip Ahoy’s, but I remembered seeing Oreo’s in the kitchen somewhere.  I hated Oreo’s and everything about them.  The taste, the texture, the idiotic commercials of families ripping them apart and licking the insides like freaks.  No, Chip Ahoys were my cookie of choice and I would rather succumb to horrifying taste of broccoli before eating an Oreo.    I figured downing a few chip ahoys with a glass of milk would put me in a self-induced coma and I would eventually return to my room and be able to fall back asleep.   I ran down the stairs with the greatest enthusiasm only to arrive in the kitchen to discover that the cookies had already been stashed away in the cookie jar.  The cookie jar was purposefully placed atop a high shelf so that my siblings and I could not access its contents freely.  These precautions were a result of my history of smuggling junk food late at night.   With a frown on my face, I decided that all hope was gone and that cookies were not within my three foot reach that morning.  I could see the cookie jar clearly and it may have been my imagination but it almost seemed as if it was laughing at me, taunting me from the top of the shelf.  Devastated, I clenched my fists and began to head back up the stairs.  Halfway up, an idea popped into my mind.  I discovered that with some slight rearranging of the kitchen furniture, I could successfully reach the cookies.  As long as I returned the furniture to its original spot after moving it, there would be no evidence of thievery.  The enthusiasm once again returned as I raced back down the stairs into the kitchen.  Knowing the risks, I proceeded with my plot.  Once in the kitchen, I went to the fridge to retrieve the container of milk that I would enjoy with my cookies.  After setting it on the table I then moved the chair needed for my height requirements directly under the shelf where the cookies sat.  I climbed up the chair and reached for the top of the shelf.  Finding that I was still about an inch to short, I extended my pudgy little figure as much as possible but still could not reach.  I declared that it would not end this way.  Such a simple and plausible plan could not be thwarted by such a minor miscalculation.  At that moment, with adrenaline rushing through my body, I decided to jump and grab the cookie jar with both hands.  That was my final mistake of the morning.  In slow motion, the cookie jar slipped through my hands, and fell to the floor.  The laws of gravity were in full gear that morning.  I too had fallen and slammed into the side of the table.  As a result of this, the milk fell as well, spilling immediately upon contact with the tile floor.  I refrained from shouting in fear that it would wake my parents, even with the imminent impact of the jar.  The sound of the impact sent shivers down my spine.  Being made of glass, it shattered instantly, with little bits and pieces spreading all over the kitchen floor.  I slowly got to my knees.  The floor looked like a war zone.  I knew it was only a few seconds before my parents ran into the kitchen, after being awakened by the loud noise.  Ready to cry, I looked down at the floor and noticed the cookies spread out within the broken glass and milk.  At the moment I realized they were not even chip a hoy’s, but Oreo’s.  A quick sensation of rage traveled through my body, but then left when I heard my parents’ bedroom door open.  I took my final breath and concluded that there was no way out of my current situation.  I knew the sound of my father’s footsteps and could tell that my mother was following close behind.  The mission was a complete failure.  I felt worthless.  With tears coming down my face, I noticed my reflection in the kitchen floor and decided that I did not have the courage to own up to my evil actions.  At the last possible moment, I decided to run.  I stood up and ran across the debris covered kitchen floor, angrily stomping on an Oreo or two as I shuffled my way out.  I ran straight to my room, running up the stairs in a three stooges like fashion.  Without being seen I had made a successful escape, but I knew the incident was far from over.  I was now a fugitive in my own home.   What had I done?  I was already a repeat offender so the verdict was already in.  What would be the consequences when I was caught?  I was sneaky and now I was being spineless.  Soon it would be time to pay the price.  Perhaps I could beg for mercy.  Maybe my punishment would not be severe.  These questions swarmed my mind as my head spun uncontrollably.  After all this I had still not eaten a single cookie.  Sitting in my room with my sweat covered palms covering my face, I could hear my father shouting.  Within the muffled screams, I heard my name mentioned numerous times.  A little less than a minute later, I heard the dreaded footsteps again.  The creaking of the steps always alerted me when my parents were on their way up, and this time it sounded louder than ever.  Maybe I was dreaming and I would wake up just as my mother and father spanked the living shit out of me.  It wasn’t and I didn’t.  What happened to me when they arrived in my room is better left unsaid; however the worst memory that still haunts me is the fact that they were Oreo’s all along.