The Candy Shop

‘The Candy Shop”

             The shop was never mine, and they had made clear to me from the beginning. With its’ polished tile floor and gleaming stainless-steel shelves glistening in the morning’s light. Bright color boxes adorned with delicious candies perfectly lined as miniature soldiers standing guard. All eagerly waiting for a child’s chubby hand to scoop up as many candies as possible. A delightful place to be, yet for me, it was never a happy place.  Even the sweet aroma of chocolate that melts in a person's mouth and hands was a reminder that life has a way of turning sour.

             “Juliet?” My sister called, summoning my attention back from a cobweb of a ghostly memory.

“Yeah?” I mumble

             “Well, aren’t you going to pay attention?”

“Yeah, sure. What?”

             “Well, what I was talking about concerning the shop.”

“Duh, I know,” I said, with a quick roll of my eyes.

             “Well,..”

“Listen, don’t start with me. I know what you are going to say.”

             “Well, since you already know what I was going to say, I guess you can take over,” Sarai said with a smirk, her elbow resting on the smooth as silk countertop.

“Um, okay, fine, you do it,”

             “Well,” clearing her throat, “We are here to make a decision,”

                            “A decision about what?” A man bellowed from the door as he ambles in, stroking his square trim beard.

                          “Excuse me, sir, but the shop is closed for business,” Sarai said with a glare and her arms crossed, like a princess warrior ready for battle.

                            “I do beg your forgiveness, Ms?” The man’s voice dripping with honey said.

             “Ms. Sarai Peterson,” my sister answered

                            “And you, Ms?” The man looking in my direction

                                          “No one ever asks my name,” I quietly said. After all, I was never the one important enough to have been asked anything, especially my name. So why start now, I mused to myself as I amble over to Sarai.

             “She’s my sister. Now, what can I do for you, Mr?”

“Mr. Bergey is my name, and business is my game.”

             “Mr?” She said

                            “Bergey and business is…”

             “Well, I know business is your game.”

                            “Yes, that is why I am here to make your acquaintance, Ms. Peterson,” he said, “If you don’t mind?”

                                          “Well, I do mind, sir,” Sarai said, “Now, we would appreciate it if you are on your way.”

             “Ms?” He said, glancing over to me, “Is that what you want?

                                          “Well, yes, that is what she wants,” Sarai said.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

                            ‘Very well then,” Mr. Bergey said, handing us his business cards as Sarai scathes them up like a vulture pouncing on its prey.

                            “Thank you, and we’ll keep you in mind,”

Sarai is following close behind him as he trots away, locking the door with the sign “Closed.” Place in the window.

             “There, no more interruptions.” My sister quickly takes center stage with one swift swoop, sitting down, waiting for me to join her. She was posing and perfect, the queen, her tightly wrapped bun accented with her glasses hanging on the edge of her nose. And I am the jester, playing out the scene as we have done before with our dear departed mother—whose very fabric now woven into our lives. And like our mother, Sarai’s figure and voice resembling her in so many ways. Briefly, I close my eyes, listening as she continues to talk, catching bits and pieces like fluttering butterflies swirling around my mind. 

             “Well, where do you think you are going?” She said

                            “Um, getting a piece of candy?”

             “Did you hear anything that I have said?”

                            “Duh, something about mom and the store,”

“You’re hopeless,” Sarai said as her eyes flutter shut, popping a piece of chocolate-covered cherry in her mouth.   “My favorite.”

             Sitting here like this, enjoying a few favorite pieces of candy, reminds me of a happier time when we were little. Listening to our mother sing as she made her special candy, “Now girls, this is a secret recipe from your great-great-grandma Heckler.” She added, “Pay close attention.”  As I let out a tiny intake of breath, glancing over to my sister, I sighed, “ I’m sorry.”

             “Well, Juliet, never mind.”

                            “Well, aren’t you going to tell me?”

             “Tell you what?” My sister demanded glaring across the table in my direction.

“About the will?” I said, “You know mom’s will.”

             “Well, I thought that you weren’t listening,” she adds, “Like usual.”

“Duh, I was listening. At least for a little bit.”

             “Well, according to mom’s will, I inherent this shop.”

             Sarai’s words are cold and calculating, skill as a surgeon’s knife cutting through a wound exposing the profound truth. A truth that the shop never did belong to me echoes deep inside of my heart.  I wanted to scream Unfair, but something prevented the words from escaping my lips. All I can do is a nod in an agreement,

                            “Then, why am I here?”

             “Well, actually, I don’t want the shop, and I am planning on selling it.”

                            “Is that why Mr…?

             “Bergey was here?

                            “Yeah, him,” I said, “Are you planning to sell our mom’s shop to him?”

             “Well, it all depends on whether or not he agrees to the sales price,” Sarai stated as she chooses another piece of candy, popping it in her mouth. “But don’t worry dear sister, you will get your fair share.”

             “So, what’s my fair share, then?”

                            “Well, actually, everything else will be divided between us. Except for the shop, of course.”

                                          “Well, of course,”

             There she sits, the queen, just like mother used to sit, holding court, with Sarai by her side and me, the jester playing the part of the fool. Or at least that was what I used to believe, and somewhere deep inside, I still think it is true. Yet her words of selling the shop struck a chord within my heart as my words spat out, “No, you can’t sell the shop.”

             “Well, dear sister, you have nothing to say about it.  This shop is mine to keep or to sell.”

                            “Well, dear younger sister, we’ll see.”

             “So, where are you going?” Sarai’ said

                            “Somewhere,” I mumbled as the soft glow of the shop's lights spill into the crisp evening air of Autumn. Breath, I whisper as I trotted across the street to my car as my sisters’ steps mimic my own.  

             “Juliet,” she summons, “Will you please wait,”

                            “Yeah?”

             “Well, I should have told you, but, well, I just couldn't.”

                            “Yeah, well, I guess this doesn’t change anything, right?”

             “No, it doesn’t,” Sarai said as she turns and walks away.

             And as the final curtain closes, the queen exits stage left as the jester stands alone, and the words: “The shop was never mine, and it has been made clear to me from the beginning,” echoes in the jester’s ears.

The End.