A Bittersweet Poem In IV Acts
Consume and cherish
Act I
Drifting away from friends. Austin in the sunrise at Medicine Rock and his name scrawled — in his handwriting — in my math textbooks.
The basement was scary. I ate too many oranges. Crabtree and Evelyn and bath oils and body lotion. A boom box and Boyz II Men CD.
Back home I’d met girls named Trinity and Devin and I wondered how such devilish girls got those names. They were always going on about the devil’s number and that evil ____
A symbol. Not to mention the upside down star. I didn’t believe in hell and these girls still had me scared. This was the summer we were 9 or 10. We snuck into the bathroom and pierced safety pins through our earlobes.
I knew if I wrote long enough I’d remember:
That’s hypnagogia.
Act II
When I was in 7th grade, I found out my class was going on a fancy end of year trip. I think I remember cringing when I heard. The fee associated with going was impossible.
Ever since I’d been little I self-identified as “poor.” I was on scholarship at a new school in a new state.
But, somehow I got to go on the trip. I don’t remember if my parents grumbled or scrimped or what but I got to go and I was excited.
The memory recedes but what I do remember is a reminder of why we should be kinder to one another.
Bunny slope. I never made it off the bunny slope and I had a blast anyway.
They made us stand in line and pass oranges to oranges with our chins and necks. It was silly and somehow romantic.
Adam was the only kid to go cross country skiing. Should’ve gone with him but he was the “weird kid.”
They made us write “warm fuzzies” to our classmates. And they made it fair somehow with a fishbowl and number system, so each kid received two warm fuzzies no matter what.
Mine surprised me but I don’t remember what they said.
It’s the warm fuzzy feeling that comes back to this day when the memory surfaces — even though the details are vague.
Act III
So, Readers, my warm fuzzy to you is:
The holiday parties were a special treat. Mulled cider, cranked heaters with guests bringing in fresh cool air every few minutes.
Caroling and confectioneries. Warm sweaters, woolen coats, animated couples. Sugar cookies and icing. Flushed cheeks on grownups with a little extra wine.
Twinkling Christmas lights and family ornaments on trees.
A plate full of mixed nuts, shells on, and a few nutcrackers on the table.
Icinged cookies, homemade, piled icing thick by children and extra vibrant.
It was a mingling of good will and cheer. Late night, we headed home, I watched as Christmas light displays glided past and held heavy eyelids barely open.
Mom unlocked the door. We flipped on the light and saw our stockings and tree.
To bed I went, full of peace and joy.
Act IV
Nights, the confectioneries waft into sleepy memory. Heart shaped chocolates on a stick. Saltwater taffy. Lemon meringue pie. Chocolate sheet cake. With the richest chocolate icing. No bake cookies, shell shaped candy in little molds that looked like the shells from Crabtree and Evelyn. Toffee. Cinnamon candy. A candy thermometer and bags of sugar. Ginger snaps and more taffy. Banana nilla wafer pudding and homemade ice cream.
The memories are delicious and sweet.
Bittersweet and delicious.
Memories to consume and cherish.