I’m not sure how old I was, but I can’t have been older than about 8 or 9. It was near Halloween and my mom, or maybe Sonia, had given me a bag of candy corn. At the time this was one of my favorite candies.
I had been given the absurd limitation of two pieces per day. Considering how tiny these are, and that most people eat them by the fistful, it was nearly impossible to limit myself like that. I was already quite adept at stealing extra Oreos from the cookie jar (I even rearranged the remaining ones to look like there were more than there really were.) and so stealing extra candies was a breeze. The bag was in my room!
This was during the Fort Making Stage of childhood. My room was at that time a complex arrangement of furniture, pillows, blankets and other items which formed a huge tented area which encompassed one end of my bed. A critical portion of the structure was the standing chalkboard which not only provided a load-bearing support for one of the blankets, but also provided a nice chunk of wall.
I mention this because it was in this fort where I perpetrated my crime.
It was past bedtime, and the only light was from the nightlight. The bag was on the edge of my desk. I was on my bed, within the fort, hidden from the view of the door by the chalkboard. I would sneak an extra candy corn with a level of stealth that is rivalled only by the very best international spies. Silence was key. I knew my mom, like all parents, had ears like a hawk and that she was in her room down the hall keenly listening for the tell-tale rustling of cellophane that could only be made by a child taking a candy corn above quota.
I’d had probably five or six that evening already. My palms were sweaty and my breath was quick… it was stressful business, this candy thieving which I’d undertaken.
It is at this point in the story where, were I so inclined, I could look back and nod knowingly and say that I learned a lesson.
I reached slowly into the bag for that seventh candy. I managed to extract it with total silence.
And I dropped it.
I froze for a moment in terror… could my mom hear a falling candy corn from the other end of the house? I listened for a few minutes, but heard nothing, so I started to breathe again. I reached down off my bed and felt around for the candy. It skittered away from my fingertips as I fumbled for it, and skidded under the bed.
I was in a near panic at this point. I knew that parents had that extra-sensory thing going on and at any moment my mom would be barreling down the hall in full riot gear to apprehend me.
I frantically felt around under the bed until I touched it. My fingers closed around it and I jammed it into my mouth as quickly as possible and started chewing. Swallow the evidence!
Something was… different. Candy corn isn’t crunchy. But mainly, it tastes like candy. This one didn’t. I had a really bad feeling. I should mention here that my room was one of those places commonly described with terms usually reserved for weather events and acts of God. This doesn’t bode well for the edibility of random under-the-bed items.
I raced to the bathroom and closed the door. I looked into the mirror and slowly opened my mouth. My teeth were purple. And gritty.
I spat. And spat. Purple shards flew from my mouth. I brushed my teeth for five minutes before it was safe to go back to my room.
Considering what it could have been, I consider myself very lucky that it was just a crayon.
— 05:42:25 PM
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