Secrets Between Friends

A Short Story by RaeJean Spencer Hasenoehrl

I could have avoided all the trouble if only I had remembered to hide the peanut butter. I had, with criminal savvy, disposed of the empty chocolate chip bag in the lobby trash can. No traces of brown sugar lingered on the counter top. The small but efficient hand-held mixer had been scrupulously cleaned of fingerprints and cookie dough. And I returned my private stash of sugar to its covert location behind a University of Washington duffel bag and an abnormal psychology text book.

But no, in my haste to return the tiny kitchen to its preposterously meticulous state, I had inadvertently placed the inorganic peanut butter in the cupboard next to the overly organic oatmeal.

That was my first mistake.

The second mistake of my day was in believing that the scent of Grandma's famous peanut butter chocolate chip cookies would conveniently waft its way out of our apartment before my roommate returned from class. This mistake in judgment was further complicated when, as I hurried from the kitchen to the bedroom, opening windows and spraying Febreze to cover the enticing aroma, I tripped over my own left foot and fell face-first into my roommate's latest art creation.

Welcome to my world. I am Rebecca Stanton: history major, Queen of Clutz, and junk food lover extraordinaire. And I currently live with a roommate that is campaigning for university food services to ban all non-wholesome foods from our campus.

Simply put, I live in health food hell.

Now don't get me wrong. I love my roommate. But her upbringing in a strictly vegan home cloistered from the real world of refined sugar and poly-saturated delicacies has become a real pain in the taste buds for me. A girl with a sweet tooth can only handle so many bean curd souffles and tofu smoothies. I need real beef, not the similitude crafted from soybean paste and all-natural seasonings. I crave convenience food sustenance, not some fruit wrapped in God's own packaging.

For goodness sake, I need reason to worry about my cholesterol levels in the future.

As I sat on the bedroom floor peeling clumps of plaster from my face and hair, I could hear a key turning in the door. Already I had an explosion of excuses as to why I was wearing a layer of Julie's project on my face. Of course, all of those excuses flew out the window when I saw my poor roomie's face.

She stood in the bedroom doorway, staring at the confusion with shellshocked, finals week eyes.

I scrambled to my feet with the grace and dignity of an inebriated giraffe (did I forget to mention that I stand six feet tall in stocking feet?) and offered my most innocent smile. The plaster on my face cracked as I tried to explain, "Julie, I, uh...was just trying to air out the apartment. Scientifically speaking, stagnant air is detrimental to..."

I expected her to burst into tears, to rant at my carelessness, to blame me for everything from oil slicks to global warming. She did none of those things. In fact, Julie did the most un-Julieish thing possible. She walked across the room, got on her hands and knees, reached beneath her bed, and pulled out a canister of Pringles.

The earth's orbit completely altered at this moment. I stood in awe as I watched my kneeling friend pop the top from the canister and take a deep, life-giving breath of the salty elixir of boyfriend woes, midterm maladies, and PMS.

She plopped a handful of chips into her mouth, wiped her hand on the carpet, and again rummaged underneath her bed. This time Julie pulled out a bag of M&Ms, three boxes of Fiddle Faddle, and a carton of Whoppers.

No words were needed. The sobering truth hung in the air. My roommate is a closet junk food junkie.

My open-mouthed stare failed to hinder Julie from the urgency of her cravings. She polished off the Pringles, begged for a glass of water, and ripped open the M&Ms.

I rushed to the kitchen for the water, turning a blind eye to the plaster fragments falling from my hair.

My best friend was in crisis mode. I had to save her from her calorie-craving self.

I returned with the water. "Julie, do your parents know?"

"No, I'll tell them someday. It will crush them."

She was right. The truth needed to wait. Perhaps someday her parents would understand the dietary needs of a college sophomore. Until then, Julie's love affair with artificial preservatives would remain behind closed doors.