The Greatest Gift

A puff of cold and snowy air gently wound its way around the many woolen-clad patrons as though even the molecules of the outside air and the snowflakes suspended in it had an interest in the chocolates enshrined behind the thick glass of the display case. Had the patrons turned to see the source of the cold emission, they would have seen the shop door slam-shut behind a tall man in heavy work clothes that could have belonged to any one of the rougher trades about town. Had they noticed, they would have seen his heavy hands, like anchors, plunge into the depths of his coat pockets to retrieve treasures within. They would have seen his stony expression shift imperceptibly while he silently counted and recounted the precious few crisp bills and gleaming coins. Even as they felt the rush of cold air and heard the tinkling of the small brass door chimes, the patrons were fully devoted to the ritual of selecting and purchasing what had come to be known as the finest chocolates in town. Those nearer to the glass paneled display case cast their eyes downward to see wonders within, bringing finger to lips in priestly contemplation. Those farther back craned their necks skyward, silently reading the chalk-drawn menu with hands clasped as if in prayer. Illuminated from the glow of the display case, the confectioner hovered over the display case like an angel dispensing tiny pieces of heaven. At the point of a patron’s finger, he plucked chocolates from the display with quick motions and placed them into golden heart-shaped boxes. At intervals, a satisfied patron would depart holding his golden prize over his head as if in triumph while squeezing through the crowd.

The tall workman drifted with the flow of the crowd, ever closer to the display case, like a denim iceberg in a fog of chocolate aroma and hot breath. He glanced at the beautifully rendered menu which listed items in gleeful handwriting amidst bucolic sketches of fields at sunset and cooks in kitchens. Absent was any mention of price, which indicated a level of class and presumption that he was not accustomed to. The workman itched his scalp nervously and comforted himself by feeling the money in his pockets.

After several patrons had left with their mighty prize, it was the workman’s turn in the line. As he approached, his face glowed in the golden light emanating from the case, showing every wrinkle and scar. The confectioner gazed down at him from his lofty perch, watching and waiting for the slightest lilt of a finger or sound from mouth to indicate this patron’s choice.

Inside the case were the finest crafted chocolates in town, bathed in golden light. Racks and racks of chocolates in all shapes, sizes and manner of decoration were in view. The variety of design and craftsmanship was worthy of study. For a moment the workman allowed himself to gaze in wonder, to look at the design work, imagine the fillings inside, and remember a childhood memory of eating chocolate while fishing on a boat. His face began to soften, as if to possibly smile. Seconds ticked by, almost an entire minute elapsed where he wasn’t worried or pressured by the realities of life. Then he saw the astronomical prices perched demurely on the racks and felt his heart sink. He couldn’t afford any of the fancier chocolates on the upper shelves. His hands twitched in an abortive effort to once again count his money. Wonder left his spirit and his face returned to its familiar stony state. This was now the all too familiar exercise of finding the cheapest option regardless of want or desire. He scanned the case  quickly and without emotion for anything he could afford. His coat was uncomfortably warm as he squatted to see the sweets on the lowest rack where the light was dim. His breath condensed on the thick, cold glass of the case which he wiped away with his sleeve. Finally, he saw one chocolate he could afford, all alone in the dark on the lowest rack where no light could reach.

“That one,” said the workman, pointing almost at the ground to the plainest, smallest looking chocolate in the shop.

Without speech, the confectioner grabbed a golden box from a table stacked with boxes and with slender tongs he swiftly plucked the lone morsel at the bottom of the case and placed it in the empty golden box. The confectioner then returned to the workman, silently waiting for his next selection. 

“Oh no, just the one,” said the workman, plain but firm.

“As you wish,” replied the confectioner politely as he returned the box and got out a small brown paper bag from underneath the counter. He delicately placed the single chocolate inside and made a sharp fold to seal the contents within. The workman exchanged some bills and a few coins for the small package, which disappeared in the grip of the workman’s large hand. He stashed the chocolates in one of his large coat pockets and with hands in pockets, squeezed through the crowd to head for the door.

Away from the crowd of patrons, he allowed himself to pause in front of the store window and looked out at the cold, snowy downtown scene for a moment before heading out. He thought of the expensive sweets in his pocket and the money he no longer had. Out of curiosity, he fished the small brown bag out of his pocket and opened it for further examination of his purchase. While he was trying to understand how it could be so expensive, an excited little girl in winter clothes ran through the confectionery door, followed by her less excited, noticeably tired mother who was in pursuit.

“Mom,” the little girl cried, pointing excitedly to the colorful menu, “can we get some of these chocolates?”

“You can’t just run into stores like that!”, the mother said breathlessly while grabbing the child’s hand tightly. “This place is really expensive and we just can’t afford it. How about we come back on your birthday? But right now, we’ve really got to get going. Come along now, young lady.”

“It’s not fair!”, the girl said defiantly as she crossed her arms.” How come they get chocolates and I don't?”

The mother furrowed her brow and bit her lip, suddenly aware of the closeness of the patrons. She frowned with a sad expression that the workman knew all too well. As she began to speak the familiar and awkward excuses, the workman interrupted. “I just bought some and have one extra. Would you like it? I’ve already had too many,” he said as he offered the girl his one chocolate.

She grabbed them quickly before her mother could stop her. “Wow, chocolates!”

“Thank you, that’s very nice, sir. Amelia, what do you say?”, her mother said with a nudge.

“Thank you very much,” the little girl said. After thinking a little, she corrected herself. “- and Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“No problem, Happy Valentine’s Day to you too”, the workman said as he walked through the confectionery door and headed home. He made it halfway there before he noticed he was still smiling.