The Nasty Business of a Bodyguard Elijah Douresseau (read aloud books .txt) 📖

Alvin tried it once. It helped for dimming the blow of the cake part, and the aftertaste of the graham crust would mask the taste of cheesecake for a few bites – but then there felt like a lot more white to get through; even as, increasingly, the amount of cake in each bite would decrease at a faster rate since you were eating to the front.

It was much more satisfying to finish with an additional amount of crust.

But the teachers were too smart, in any case. Eventually the rule was, the sooner you finished your snack, without appearing to rush, the sooner you could go outside to play. It was always a rule, apparently, but the adults in charge never enforced it until the cheesecake appeared.

Alvin understood, after trying to fake eat it, that he just had to eat the thing, and try his best to enjoy the most satisfying component – the crust – through the mush of the cake portion.

One day, after the cheesecake did not seem like it was letting up as a mandatory snack item, it started to taste okay. Young Alvin would usually try to squeeze the cheesy part through his teeth enough times that he could swallow the mass without choking or vomiting it back up in disgust. Or he would bite into it and try his hardest not to taste. Just bite, chew, take a sip of milk – swish it around a bit so his tongue had minimal contact with the cake, and swallow.

Then the crust got boring.

In any other context, softened graham cracker would be upsetting, if the consumer was not the one dunking it in milk himself. For the first time, a couple months along from his first slice of cheesecake, the boy was able to taste the two parts as a whole. The cheesy sweetness accented by the firm softness of the graham cracker bottom. The crust indeed had a dairy element to wash it down with. And it was all on one plate, merged. It really was a satisfying duo of textures. And Alvin was one of the first to play outside, not too long after the realization had been made.

Alvin found it frustrating he could not identify the cheese used in cheesecake. Especially when he was decently fond of eating it. The best he could deduce from the appearance was that it was some sort of white cheese. Something very unlike swiss, but that was the only the white cheese he had known. He did not think it a stupid question to ask, at least not one that would warrant a stern look from one of his educators and a quick swat of the hand.

Despite his challenges, he thought he could figure it out. If not, he would ask his mom or his grandma.

Just when Alvin was getting used to a dessert he did not know he would be eating for the rest of his life, the teachers introduced a flavored cheesecake to the children: blueberry. Fruit and cheese were served and the child could not fathom such a combination.

The cheesecake he and his classmates had been eating had been the regular one. But that was always a vague way to describe flavors of food to the boy. The original, which is what his playtime buddy mentioned about corn chips once, that was it.

Blueberry cheesecake was quite yummy. It was more of a full slice of the white stuff. And it lacked serious crust. Whatever was at the bottom was no longer graham cracker, but a light-tasting cookie. It was thin and in short supply.

The rich addition of blueberry at the top and in the cake far surpassed whatever redemption the old graham crust could bring. There were probably plenty of other mixes of cheese and cake and topping and crust out in the world, and young Alvin promised himself he was going to try them all.

Cheesecake snack time soon stopped occurring. There was one more round of plain cheesecake, two days after the blueberry alternative made its debut. Then they were done with either for a couple of months. Alvin actually caught himself missing the snack.

Much later on, years down the line, teenage and young adult Alvin would recall the summer of the cheesecake to friends and they would respond in jealousy. Cheesecake? For a snack after naptime? Where did he go to preschool? The Hilton?

His comrades would then go on to explain how their snack times in preschool were pretty much everything else besides a dessert item patrons of restaurants would commonly close their meals with. There was cheese and crackers. Peanut butter and celery. Leftover birthday cake from a weekend celebration occurred rarely. But never cheesecake, more times than someone could count on their fingers.

Time passed. Little Alvin eventually forgot about the cheesecake. He pocketed it, more specifically. He knew he would like to eat it for forever after that summer, but he did not have any further opportunities to indulge until one fall Friday.

A new girl started at the preschool the Monday before. Gracie. She was quiet earlier in the week, being new and unfamiliar with her daytime setting. But she eventually warmed up to the teachers and other students. She had a rowdy side. Nothing needing too much discipline out the gate, but she could get there.

At the end of her first week, the kids woke up from their naps to the reveal of blueberry cheesecake for snack.

Alvin could not wait. A perfect way to start the weekend. Especially since he was going to a cousin’s barbecue birthday party, and he would get to explore another food fascination he had then – charcoal-grilled hotdogs. Only he did not know it was the smoke from the fire and charcoal that gave the dogs their flavor that was an astonishing sensation for his taste buds. The boy thought the only trick was the hotdog choice.

Back at the preschool, Gracie was not a fan cheesecake. It was all too obvious it was her first