The last time I went to the dentist, I had six cavities.
The time before then, I had three.
I’d say I regret the consistent neglect of my teeth, but I don’t. Every bite of sugar is worth it. The addiction runs deep. My family has owned a candy store for decades. The store is named A Kid in the Candy Store, an appropriate name because everyone who comes in is immediately transported to a child-like state. I know the smell of sugar and bins full of treasures stirs something inside of all of us. A joy we chase, but can’t seem to get as we get older.
For me, sour candy is my absolute favorite. The watermelon, green apple, cherry, pineapple, and every other flavor make my mouth salivate with the simple thought of tasting them. My tongue tingles in anticipation, and when I finally do, the burning that comes from too much of it leaves me wanting more. I could eat the sour goodness for every meal.
And then there’s chocolate. Everyone’s favorite. The gooey centers of carmel, the layers of nougat, nuts spread over the top, and sometimes a taste of lemon or mint. I haven’t ever been a fan, but I can understand why. I mean, anything sugar is an immediate win in my book. Besides, A Kid in the Candy Store has been around since the 1800s, so we have the best. The recipes have been in my family for generations, and people from all over the world come to try all the goodies. No joke.
We recently started a collection of oat milk chocolate, which has caused quite a stir. An elite vegan influencer bought out our entire stock and has been raving about it ever since. I’m glad we can cater to this generation. I also always want to be in the public eye, filtered photos or not. If I’m being really honest with myself, though, I want to do more than candy. I want to help people.
Our world can be scary, and connection seems to be the solution. I notice people’s smiles when they walk around the store, but I want that same positivity to continue even after they leave.
Right now, I’m sweeping up the floor and organizing the bins. All of the sugar goodies are in their spots, ready to be sold. I make sure all the sour ones are turned the same way, the chocolate facing out, flourished with the marzipan decorations, ready to be picked. The taffy with every flavor imaginable, from salted popcorn to cherry limeade, is waiting to be unwrapped.
While making sure everything looks perfect, a piece of taffy stands out above all the others. This one isn’t a normal color– it’s pink and purple neon and seems to glow in the dark. I pick it up and unwrap the wax paper. Right before I pop it in my mouth, a creature appears out of thin air.
The alien is around 4’11, has long purple hair, orange skin, three eyes, and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. I’ve watched enough Star Trek to know this is an alien of some sort, but I’m not scared. Grateful I didn’t put the taffy in my mouth, however, I’m still baffled. The creature puts out a tentacle for me to shake, I’m guessing. “Hi, human. I’m Oscar. Your personal vessel of wishes.”
I wince at his so-called hand. He’s evil. I know it.
I roll my eyes, “You need to leave my store right now. Or I’m going to call the cops.” He laughs. A creepy laugh, Disney villain level creepy. The cackle isn’t helping his case. I grab my phone out of my pocket, but his tentacle sections the screen and drops it. “You’re going to lose this battle, Brian. Give in. Or I’m going to have to do something dumb.”
I grab the broom and turn it upside down. “Don’t make me hit you with this. I used to play baseball. I have a mean swing from all my home runs.”
The broom slides out of my hand. Oscar the alien repeatedly bops me in the head with it. “Stop. Being. An. Idiot. Now.”
His three eyes go sincere. I hold my tongue. He may actually be genuine.
“So, where do you come from, Oscar? People don’t typically have orange skin, unless it’s a bad spray tan.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m not here to talk about spray tans, human. Whatever that means. I’m from the planet Zizzlepop 7, we’re part of the Milky Way. We watch humans and pity you all. We notice how sad you all are and want to help. You all deserve more than the world you’ve created for yourselves.”
Oscar’s words touch me deeply. I didn’t know aliens could have such empathy, from Zizzlepop 7 or not. I blink back tears.
I clear my throat. “Well, Oscar, I want to help people. I want my first wish to be something meaningful.”
He rolls his three eyes. “There isn’t anything meaningful about a new car or house, sir. But it’s your wish, I can’t judge.”
“Funny you should say something about not judging. If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you just were…”
He laughs. “Okay, you got me there.”
My head is buzzing with ideas on how to help people. However, the actual execution seems like a huge uphill battle. What would change the world?
I need some kick of confidence. I think Oscar can tell.
“You know, in all my years of doing this, I’ve never met anyone who owned a candy store. Seems like you’ve been successful with it. Is your wish to bring more to it?” “Yes, I want to bring a revolution to the store. I mean, my treats are great, but I want more. As you mentioned earlier, many people are feeling sad. We hold onto things from our past, hope to bring memories back, and even sometimes, long for one more second with loved ones who have passed on.”
Oscar sighs. “I understand. I lost my grandpa a few years ago and haven’t recovered since. My only question for you is: how do we bring sugar and emotions together?”
The two of us put our hands on our chins. I feel like we’re scientists, waiting for the atoms to come together.
An hour goes by.
Then another.
And another.
I keep reaching for an answer. No luck. I notice the time. The store opens in five minutes.
