Chocolate Comfort

DISREGARDING THE PIERCING EYES of my fellow last minute Christmas-sale shoppers, I toss my shopping basket onto the checkout stand, only feeling moderate remorse. The clerk finishes charging the older man in front of me, saying his goodbyes and happy holidays before transitioning his focus to me. He’s frozen for a few seconds with his mouth agape, but he ultimately accepts his fate. He reaches a hand into my basket, pulling out three boxes of classic hot chocolate mix. 

Holding the box to his eyes to read the bold lettering he remarks, “‘Guaranteed to bring people together for the holidays,’” He continues to scan. “What’s your plan for the holidays?” He asks, and I’m sure he’s simply obligated to seem interested in my plans and concerns versus genuinely curious. I too, have worked in retail and know the struggles of complying with the odd requests of patrons. 

“I’m going to study, sleep, and drink a lot of hot chocolate.” Only after that response do I realize how college has abducted my life. 

Chuckling, he continues to retrieve the various boxes from my basket, and scans them, “You must really like hot chocolate.” 

“Of course I do, especially when it’s on sale. It’s the best time to stock up.” 

The remaining few minutes of our interaction consists of small chatter regarding the lack of snow we’d receive this year, and the bitter weather. Following that, I gave him the $62 dollars and appropriate change. Quite pricey for hot chocolate, however I’d like to think it’s a steal considering the four bags I now hold contain a total of fourteen boxes of hot chocolate mix. Not only will this benefit my craving for hot cocoa, but it also makes for great Christmas gifts, so overall, I’m completely satisfied with my purchase. 

I strut through the parking lot, pulling out my keys when I reach my car. I place the bags in the passenger seat, atop of my mountain of jackets and scarves I’ve been meaning to bring home. Heat blows directly to my face, while the rest of my body lingers untouched by warmth, causing me to shiver in a cold sweat the entire ride to campus. The dorms almost seem abandoned, which isn’t unexpected for the holidays, however it felt irregular not to be greeted by the sight of my distressed peers. 

Apparently I spoke too soon because when I turn the corner I’m met with a harsh blow to my abdomen, not only sending me to the ground, but my grasp among the hot chocolate as well. 

“I’m sorry,” A familiar looking girl says when I glance abroad from my cowardly state on the ground. “I should have watched where I was going. Here, let me help you.” 

She crouches to my level and grabs the scattered boxes. Scooting along with her feet in order to reach the ones that stray further away. 

Distracted by a meager paper that tumbles along with my fourteen boxes of hot chocolate, she unfolds it, reads the confined information and hands it to me. 

“Is this your shopping list?” Her words are playful and curious in alternative to judgemental. 

“What can I say, I’m forgetful.” 

“‘Regular hot chocolate, dark chocolate hot chocolate, white chocolate hot chocolate,’” She recites my list, smirking before shooting her head up to meet my eyes. “Here, sorry let me help you to your room.” 

“It’s okay, it’s just hot chocolate.” 

She stands, holding an outstretched hand for me to take. I assume it would be rude to refute her offer, so I allow her to lift me from the hall floor. 

“I don’t mind,” Generosity pours from this girl like an unbound waterfall, and once again, I accept her offer seeing as she already has her fingers looped through the plastic strap. 

“Okay,” I laugh, “This way.” 

She follows me along the lengthy path, around several corners and up a flight of stairs before she asks, “What’s your name? I’m Mandy, from psych.” 

That’s where I know her from. 

“Diana,” I unlock my door, and invite Mandy in, “Don’t mind the decorations, my roommate's very festive.” 

“You and her both.” Mandy retorts, setting the plastic shopping bags on the tiny folding table, covered in wrapping paper, and one bow to make it look like a present. “So how come you’re still here, shouldn’t you be drinking hot chocolate with family, next to a warm fire and stuff?”  

“They live in Jersey, so I would like to but I can’t afford it until spring, and you?” 

“I was just on the way to visit my mom.” 

“Does she like hot chocolate?” I ask, unbagging and holding out a box. “I have more than enough to spare. Consider it a ‘thank you’ for helping me.” 

Hesitantly, but confidently she answers, “She did like hot chocolate.” 

Mandy doesn’t display dismal, instead something similar to desire, and impulse fill the gap where anxieties should lie. Does she mean her mother has lost a craving towards the festive drink, or did it have a deeper, but more direct meaning? Looking into her eyes, giving her full attention, I do not speak in hopes to allow her to continue. 

“My mom passed when I was just starting high school,” She shrugs, not disrespectfully, “So I’ve adjusted by now, but I still like to stop by the cemetery sometimes.” 

Mandy, this tall lengthy brunette with the cheerful smile, is going to spend her Christmas Eve at a cemetery? 

“And the rest of your family joins you?” I ask, she shakes her head. 

Not only is she spending Christmas Eve at a cemetery, but alone at a cemetery. 

“It’s not really how they like to spend their Christmas Eve.” 

Maybe I’m feeling optimistic, cheerful even, but as I take two mugs from my cabinet I have no regrets asking if she wants my company, “No one should be alone on Christmas Eve.” 

“Now that’s just counterintuitive,” She flails her out in my direction, motioning to me, who other than herself, is alone in the dorm. 

“Hey leave me and my fourteen boxes of hot chocolate alone,” I stick my tongue out playfully, tugging the top one of the boxes.

The room is silent and I take the opportunity to finish my unsaid task. I pull a pot from the cupboard, followed by the milk. I waste no time in pouring regular hot chocolate onto the stove with milk to let it simmer. 

“I really don’t mind,” I persist, “I wasn’t going to do much today anyway.” 

A grin takes over her face, and she bounces back and forth on her feet, right along with a nod, “That would be nice.”

Subsequently, as the evening proceeds, and the day began to drift away, Christmas Eve brightened. The fairy lights and street lamps although illuminating, are no match for the light Mandy's company provides. She speaks soft and comforting, like the blanket that hung between the two of us, concealing the very little warmth, our thermoses filled with steamy hot chocolate provided. And sitting a few feet in front of us, lies a granite slab with the name of Mandy’s mother imprinted on it. And the girl I hardly knew the name of yesterday, now sat next to me, chatting as if we’d known each other for a lifetime. Remarkably, I ponder about what would I could be doing now if I hadn’t initially went to the market. Earlier this morning, I would not have considered spending my Christmas Eve in a cemetery. Scooting closer to Mandy, I think back to the bold letters on the hot chocolate box, and allow myself to portray what they mean.