My Weekend with Candi

It's a ridiculous thought to think:
An adult shuffling through a candy store, arms filled to the brink,
Passing small children with lollipops cemented to their lips,
Teetering on his feet, which held potential for a cataclysmic trip.  

On Friday, April 12, that was me—a more stupid me, but still me.
Why did I take a trip to Candy Mountain, you ask out of blatant curiosity?
Believe me, I did not flip my covers over that morning
And announce, "Tonight, I'm going to buy a shitload of candy!" without warning.
If life turned out the way you wanted it to, it'd be so boring.

I'll tell you one thing, though; my candy store visitation was odd.
I'm a pretty healthy guy, and if I'm not dieting, you'd think I'd been hit by a lightning rod.
So, gourmet chocolates and melt-away caramels aren't exactly vegetables in my house.
To use the words of an old friend, everything had gone freakin' south.

Depression is an ugly bitch—that's my insufficient excuse.
One minute you're genuinely thrilled, your girlfriend's arms hanging around your waist like a noose,
And thirty seconds later your heart's been removed with an ice cream scooper.
Would you like broken heart pieces on your double-dutch sundae, Ms. Cooper?  

When I was stumbling in that candy store, my sanity took a vacation to Honolulu, I think.
Those candy displays, with their gaudy greens, bluesy blues, and pretty pinks,
Started to blur into greedy, hungry-eyed monsters, the ones hiding in the pot of gold
At the end of a breath-taking rainbow. My insides grew suddenly cold.

I staggered, knees buckling under my weight,
My eyes unable to see straight.
Maybe that was because I started to weep hysterically like a little girl,
But no matter what, though, I would keep my dignity curled.

"You're not gonna eat that all by yourself, are you?" a sweet soprano asked.
My unsteady gaze caught hers, and I gave a shaky laugh.
"I hope not," I said, throwing a quick glance at my sugar stash.
It was a shame most of it would eventually end up in the trash.

When I turned back to her, I had to stop myself from gawking.
She was a walking Aphrodite. Her porcelain legs ran for millions of miles, never stopping.
Soft red curls kissed her made-up face; blue eyes peeked out from behind delicate wisps of charcoal.
And her clothes, they hugged her in all the right places. For some reason, she seemed to sparkle.
"Hey," she spoke through cherry-red lips, "you okay?"
I cleared my throat, my brain stuck like dried clay.
"Uh…yeah. I'm fine." That last bit sounded like a question.
Was I fine? God, I needed to worry about my first impression.

"Uh…Hi, I'm George." I stuck out a hand, dumping a bucket load of sweets on the checkered floor.
"Oh my God!" She knelt down, her stilettos glued to the ground. "You need to be more careful, George!"
She spoke in a dirty teacher tone, the kind you'd hear on porn videos. Things just kept getting better.
I watched her grab each bag with magenta fingernails, sneaking peaks at her thin cashmere sweater.

Once we were done cleaning up, the beautiful redhead adjusted her skirt and flashed a vibrant grin.
"The name's Candi—with an i." She offered a small hand, red flushing on her skin.
How ironic: Candi's in a candy store. "Nice to meet you, Candi with an i."
She chuckled lightly. "The pleasure is all mine."

I purchased my goodies, Candi right behind me; she was buying a cherry lollipop for herself.
When we were out the door, I stopped right in front of an abandoned bookshelf.
"Look, I normally don't do this after I meet someone, but would you like to go out with me?"
"Oh, honey, I'm really sorry, but I'm not that kind of girl." On a scale of ten, I felt like a three.

She unwrapped her lollipop, popped it in my mouth, and gave a playful slap at my cheek.
"Don't look so down, sugar. Your face might get stuck that way." My eyes fell to her feet.
"I can offer you a price, if you'd like. What kind of service are you looking for?"
"How much does a weekend cost?" I just wanted something meaningful, something more.

I thought she died of shock.
"Uh…well, it's a lot."
"Do you take credit cards?"
"Yes." My heart felt better; her yes taped its shards.

We danced all night, tangoing in and out of silky cotton,
Running on heat and sheer passion.
I'd like to say our attraction was mutual, but that would be a lie.
While she was working for her next meal, I was on Cloud Nine.

Morning broke through yellowed curtains, light seeping in like an uninvited guest.
I rolled over, taking Candi into my arms, when I saw a faint pink line etched across her chest.
"Candi." I poked her hard enough so she'd wake. "What is that?"
Candi gave a disgruntled moan. She probably wasn't up for a little chat.

"What? Oh—that…It, uh, happened a long time ago."
"Did someone do that to you?" I needed to know.
There was a long pause. "Yeah. But it was a long time ago. I like bygones to be bygones."
I kept silent, a hot fire burning at my throat. There was no way I could sleep now, no way I could yawn.

When she began to dress later on, I learned the scar on her chest was not the only one she had:
Pinkish lines ran down her shoulder blades like dried Pepto Bismol; another scar ate at her side like mad;
Streaks of blues, yellows, and purples painted most of her upper body. I felt sick to my stomach.
Who could hurt this wonderful, intelligent girl and live with it?

The rest of our weekend I spent mostly daydreaming about us—our wedding, kids, and lakeside cabin.
I was aware none of it would ever happen,
But there was a medieval-like quality to our situation that fixated me.
Candi, the princess held by a dragon (her job), and George, the prince who slays the bastard with glee.

By the end of the day, though, when shadows are casted,
I knew our love would have never lasted.
She would always choose the dragon over me,
Her salary tangled with leaves and ivy.

The sun set on Sunday, and Candi and I parted ways.
I hoped and I prayed she would come back to me someday,
Her tongue tasting like decadent licorice, her lips as sweet as saltwater taffy.
But Candi was Money-balling Candi.

Minutes turned to hours; hours turned to days; and days turned to years.
The pain in my chest subdued, and I found courage to return to the candy store where I met my dear.  
I waded through the small bobbing heads and bright colors,
But only candy was left to my wonder.

Now, as I sit here, rocking back and forth on my porch,
A man set aflame with an age torch,
I convince myself that on Friday, April 12, I came home with candy from Stooker's Candy Store.
Only that, and nothing more.