Hershey Heartbreak

On Tuesday she bought you chocolates. On Friday she was gone. You never thanked her for the birthday gift. Nor did you attend her funeral.

Too many deadlines for work. Too many errands to run.

With every piece of chocolate, she visited your mind. Her love for trivia. Her fear of ants. The way she pronounced the "p" in raspberry. You could not bear the memories. Nor could you resist their taste. And so, you ate.

And ate.

And ate.

And coughed.

And ate.

And sighed.

And ate.

And wept.

And ate.

Until you met that final piece of chocolate. You reached but could not touch. You cried but could not acknowledge. Your hands and feet were well equipped in the ways of sparing your mind. They walked you to a grocery store. They purchased three more boxes. Five more boxes. Six. Eight. Eleven.

Your best friend told you, you had a problem. Your cousin urged you to get some help.

"It's not your fault," they said. "Things like this just happen."

You pushed them away. You fumed. You stormed. You began to nurse a secret.

Twenty-three. Twenty-seven. Thirty-one.

You came home after a long workday, ready for rest and reassurance. You opened up the pantry. No chocolates lay there. You checked the freezer and the fridge. No chocolate to be found.

The living room. The dining room. The bedroom.

No. No. No.

The bathroom.

No.

The shed.

No.

Your knees struck the floor. Your heart beat through your stomach. You placed a hand there, ashamed of how pain grew you. Pain ballooned and consumed you.

Why had you given your friend your spare key? Why had you told them about your closets full of Lindor and Godiva? Your drawers crammed with Ferrero Rocher?

When you could not taste chocolate, all you could taste was hate. A bubbling acidity. A salty venom.

You turned off all the lights and waited for transport. You did not care where your mind took you. Anywhere would do. So long as the here and the now - the present - felt somewhere

far

away.

A knock at the door. A glance at the clock. A day had passed. You must have fallen asleep.

A knock at the door. A livid ignorance.

A knock at the door. A steady refusal to answer.

A knock.

A silence.

A knock.

"GO AWAY!"

A jiggling door handle. A muffled, "Please. I know you're in there."

A reluctant roll off the couch.

You opened the door. Your eyes welled with tears.

"Haven't you done enough?!" you screamed.

She dug through her backpack. Procured a blue shape. "To honor your loss is the only escape."

You shook your head. You felt too weak.

"This will set you free," said she.

And when

you opened

that box

of

chocolates,

its contents

opened

you.

Pictures,

chicken scratch,

friendship bracelets.

A trinket,

a marble,

a fountain pen.

And

that final piece of chocolate.