The Candy Counter
By Kenneth Pobo
In a red beret with a black woolen scarf, she walks up to the candy counter thinking about her mom who still says candy spoils your appetite and makes you fat. Her mom is fat but never eats candy. Dindi doesn’t point this out. It’s impolite. And in the family, people are polite as clean sinks. Manners grow like prayer plants.
It’s the one salesperson she can’t stand, Dora. Dindi tries to be pleasant, but Dora won’t have any of it. She looks crabby and put upon as she fills a small bag of nonpareils.
“I always love these best,” Dindi says.
“Uh huh,” Dora says. “$3.25 please.”
Dindi counts her money, gives exact change, doesn’t want to inconvenience Dora. At 35, Dindi still believes her ship will come in. That’s another of mom’s comments. You meet a man and that’s when your ship comes in. Dindi‘s dad moved out fifteen years ago. Guess he found a better port. They aren’t in touch much. She was a college junior then. Dad became a Christmas and birthday card. “Love you sweetheart.” He never forgets.
A man has little to do with her ship. A better job does. Being a secretary for a Veteranarian, even a great one like Linda, doesn’t add much to the nest egg.
“Hang in there, Dindi. Next year I can give you a real raise.”
Dindi hangs in. There. A real raise, said so sincerely, and they both know it probably will never happen.
She turns sour when she pictures being 40 in five years and still writing down spaying appointments. That’s when the nonpareils come in handy. The chocolate is a ship that comes in the mouth. It sails down the throat. Thousands of Barbadoses appear. Palm trees replace pines and birches. On The Love Boat, the theme song called love “exciting and new.” A perfect cruise.
What makes Dora sail, she thinks. Does she have a husband or is she free, though caught behind a counter, but then released into the wild parking lot. Free to watch reruns of The Patty Duke Show or maybe walk in Fayette State Park when trilliums are at their peak.
Maybe trilliums aren’t enough to joy up Dora. Maybe Dora’s ship hit an iceberg that broke off of Antarctica and went right for her, pinning her like a frozen unicorn horn.
Joy, Dindi thinks, is expensive. You can save for it, but too often grocery bills, medical bills, and a new winter coat get in the way. Trilliums are free, though they last briefly, hugging the forest floor, but still shouting out that winter is over. And nonpareils cost little. You can save the bag and store buttons in it.
“Goodbye Dora,” Dindi says, but Dora’s back is already turned away. Like always. Dindi thinks that they might have been good friends had a counter not stood between them. She walks out, past lawn furniture and tiki torches, new customers coming in, ships sliding right past her.
- - -
BIO: Kenneth Pobo has fiction in: Galleon, Word Riot, Verbsap, Tonopah Review, and elsewhere. Trina and The Sky, a chapbook of poems, just came out from Main Street Rag Press.
By Kenneth Pobo
In a red beret with a black woolen scarf, she walks up to the candy counter thinking about her mom who still says candy spoils your appetite and makes you fat. Her mom is fat but never eats candy. Dindi doesn’t point this out. It’s impolite. And in the family, people are polite as clean sinks. Manners grow like prayer plants.
It’s the one salesperson she can’t stand, Dora. Dindi tries to be pleasant, but Dora won’t have any of it. She looks crabby and put upon as she fills a small bag of nonpareils.
“I always love these best,” Dindi says.
“Uh huh,” Dora says. “$3.25 please.”
Dindi counts her money, gives exact change, doesn’t want to inconvenience Dora. At 35, Dindi still believes her ship will come in. That’s another of mom’s comments. You meet a man and that’s when your ship comes in. Dindi‘s dad moved out fifteen years ago. Guess he found a better port. They aren’t in touch much. She was a college junior then. Dad became a Christmas and birthday card. “Love you sweetheart.” He never forgets.
A man has little to do with her ship. A better job does. Being a secretary for a Veteranarian, even a great one like Linda, doesn’t add much to the nest egg.
“Hang in there, Dindi. Next year I can give you a real raise.”
Dindi hangs in. There. A real raise, said so sincerely, and they both know it probably will never happen.
She turns sour when she pictures being 40 in five years and still writing down spaying appointments. That’s when the nonpareils come in handy. The chocolate is a ship that comes in the mouth. It sails down the throat. Thousands of Barbadoses appear. Palm trees replace pines and birches. On The Love Boat, the theme song called love “exciting and new.” A perfect cruise.
What makes Dora sail, she thinks. Does she have a husband or is she free, though caught behind a counter, but then released into the wild parking lot. Free to watch reruns of The Patty Duke Show or maybe walk in Fayette State Park when trilliums are at their peak.
Maybe trilliums aren’t enough to joy up Dora. Maybe Dora’s ship hit an iceberg that broke off of Antarctica and went right for her, pinning her like a frozen unicorn horn.
Joy, Dindi thinks, is expensive. You can save for it, but too often grocery bills, medical bills, and a new winter coat get in the way. Trilliums are free, though they last briefly, hugging the forest floor, but still shouting out that winter is over. And nonpareils cost little. You can save the bag and store buttons in it.
“Goodbye Dora,” Dindi says, but Dora’s back is already turned away. Like always. Dindi thinks that they might have been good friends had a counter not stood between them. She walks out, past lawn furniture and tiki torches, new customers coming in, ships sliding right past her.
- - -
BIO: Kenneth Pobo has fiction in: Galleon, Word Riot, Verbsap, Tonopah Review, and elsewhere. Trina and The Sky, a chapbook of poems, just came out from Main Street Rag Press.
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