Disappointing Mentos

            A summer of disappointment. Not really, but that is what is has it has been dubbed. Reunited with my other half, My cousin and I were determined to make the best of our short amount of time together. So focused on everything going according to plan- anything that fell short or that got in our way or wasted our precious time together in general, was labeled after the first shortcoming- the Mentos.

The Mentos were a spur-of-the-moment purchase in a Wal-Mart check-out line. I had first purchased some before boarding the airplane and was so impressed by the strawberry flavor, that I had share the experience. We were feeling slightly deprived after leaving a gluten-intolerant relative’s house and we decided to splurge. Our very own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory moment… Together we tore open the cylinder of wrapped candy and to our dismay there was only one pink candy in the whole lot!

 It almost became a lottery to us. We would each take turns buying the aluminum wrapped cylinders only to find that it followed a disappointing trend. Now, whenever something odd came up, we knew the source of abnormality had to have something to do with the pink candy conspiracy.

Our summer was obviously not really disappointing by any means. In fact, it really should be titled ‘A summer of independence’ as it was the first summer in which my cousin had her driver’s license. Our first summer together that we could be free. Well as free as a freshman and junior in high school can be… Relatively free. Without such freedom, there would’ve been no Mentos, or more importantly, no room for our proclaimed disappointment.

Inevitable Process

Packed green minivan and an empty brick house with a green door. Empty. Aside from teddy bear picnics and flower fairies which occupy rooms. Rooms filled with playtime and timeout memories alike. Heartbreaking farewells. “Hug me tight Muv, I don’t know when I’ll get to see you again. I don’t know about this California and I’m a little afraid.”

On the road, off to my new home.

Years later, I return to the brick house with the green door. Only this wasn’t the same house. The familiar screeching sound of a play set was gone. Along with the red-fruited plants I recall my mother pruning and sending my sister and me off to pick.

But the most impacting change… The once colorful and detailed friends of my childhood were painted over. White. Blank. My sister’s fairies left as well. I suppose they got lonely and decided to go find a new child to care for. I miss them. But I know now that it would’ve been impossible for me to stay with them forever. My inevitable departure merely sped up the process. The process of their loneliness and my growing up.

Bad Days and Donkeys

         Bad days come and go. Most of them we can’t even recall. I remember a day like that from a few years ago; however, it’s not the bad that I recall the most. Rather, the lesson which I learned from it.        

It was one of those days. Every little thing was against me and I was on the verge of tears. Numerous Anxieties wore at my body as my mother walked me up to the receptionist in order to explain my tardiness. Before we could enter the building, I impulsively grabbed my mother’s arm and broke down into tears. My mother. My caring and completely understanding, mother, stood with me silently. Our silent conversation was soon interrupted by a man, one with the most outstandingly ridiculous looking mustache, who walked out of the building with his son. The mustache is not what threw me off however… it was the fact that this man was wearing a donkey costume! You could tell he felt slightly awkward, as if he had just walked into someone else’s house. I would like to think that my obvious crocodile tears were what provoked him to break the silence, “I bet you’re wondering why I am dressed like an ass…” The silence was shattered and all of my troubles of that day melted away with our laughter.

       I can’t recall exactly what my poor freshman self could’ve been going through that day but I do recall my father’s words to me from earlier that morning. Before the mustached donkey man brought me back down to earth, I had forgotten that I had written those words of wisdom down on paper and had stashed them in my pocket:

"There are 2 rules in life...                                        #1 Don't sweat the small stuff.   
                              #2 Everything is a small thing”

Refined

        

   I once heard the interesting fact of the Great Trees of California. The pine-cones of such a tree must first be set on fire.

 After an intentional scorching, seeds are released and the ones that are not harmed are free to begin in joining their relatives in the sky.

   The distant streaks of light I saw the night before ended up being closer to me than I thought.  The light spread across the mountain. The glowing menace threatened my life as I knew it to be. In searching for “necessary” items to rescue, I found my true treasures. These treasures could not be physically incinerated by fire.  They were revealed, like the great seeds, in the midst of the blaze.

The Last One

I was the last one to play the now-charred black and white keys. No tune will ever emerge from it ever again.

I was the last one to open the door to a room filled with several things: couches and a catalog-covered coffee table, a mountain of coats in the corner next to a piano.

I was the last one to walk across the partially spotted carpet. A floor with an explanation or story for each stain.

I was the last. Who am I to deserve this claim?

They were not my coats. They were not my memories. It was not my piano.

It was not my fault. Although, I cannot help the feeling of ‘what if?’.

Flashing lights and questions.

An empty coat rack. As if it were winter and every member of the family was using their winters best to fight off the bitter cold.

This bitterness, however, could not be avoided. The reality was as real as it could be.

No blame was placed, but instead, the family rises above the ashes. Refusing to let reality’s disease to leave them bitter. Not alone, but together. A combination of their memories is all that remains. And I know… I am not the last one.