Candy Affliction
Thursday, October 2nd, 2008
Someone left the bag open on the kitchen counter. With barely a glance, I noticed it lying there slumped over on itself. The orange and black stripes gave the contents away … and then the syrupy smell, and then the see-through plastic where the bite-sized pumpkins with bright green tops are piled high the way their real life counterparts might be in a pick-up truck.
I haven’t seen them for awhile, maybe a few falls ago. I never knew this candy had a name, but there they were, Mellowcreme Pumpkins, the bag said.
When my hair was several shades lighter and my metabolism was off the charts, I used to pluck them by the handful from candy jars that my grandmother set out her dining room table. She lived in an old two-story house on a hill with several jagged eaves that made it look castle-like or partially haunted, depending on the season. In the fall, the acreage around it was dead-looking with its bare trees, harvested garden rows, and leaves caught in the long grass turned as black as bats by October rain.
Knowing the name of the diabetic delicacy somehow made it sound more delicious and before I knew it, I’d given in to temptation. There were two chewy bites in my mouth, flush around my teeth and damp. Slow, sugary chews sharpened my taste and my memory. I used to find these trick-or-treating in the small, handmade-bags stuffed with candy that were handed out at some houses.
As it often does, my brain turned its focus to blame long before the joy had passed. Who’s fault was this?
The best part about having young children in the house is that they often leave junk food out in highly visible places, namely scattered on the floor in the living room. I’ve found loose Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch, Dum-Dums deeply engrained in the carpet, flecks of Cheetos and potato chips on the county and everything else good for cavities and bad on dental X-rays. Their anticipation of major holidays sometimes begins a month or more in advance, so the celebrating (and binging) begins early.
It starts early with simple nibbles on chocolate bars and then moves on to the hard stuff, like Popcorn balls and Dip Stix. Then, you end up driving your children to unknown neighborhoods from miles around, watching them walk up strangers’ sidewalks and take hand outs only so you can confiscate the goodies you could easily by at the drug store.
Here it is, 29 days before Halloween, and I’ve already advanced past sugar- and corn-syrup-enriched sweets. I’m an addict, looking for my next fix around the office and handing cash to coworkers so they can buy junk from the vending machines and join me in my desperation.
I’ve decided to go home tonight, but not before placing a call. My wife can remove all the candy from the house – empty out the bar, so to speak – or at least seal the loosened bags before I get there so I can live peacefully. I couldn’t bear another night haunted by those little shots of flavor and sweet memory that takes me back to the decomposed leaves of my own childhood.
