The Banana Comes in Second

My grandfather and grandmother ran the family’s pharmacies in a small upstate county. Real, old-fashioned ones, with wooden thump-echo floors, mortar and pestles they used to grind compounds, high tin ceilings.

We loved to visit our grandparents, not only because we could walk in the cool mountains, but because we could visit the pharmacy and pick one piece of candy. That’s ONE, for both my sister and I to share.

At three years old, the Life Savers display is eye level and a sumptuous riot of possibilities. I could stand there all day, delicious agony and anticipation, savoring my place at the threshold of decision. My sister will make the choice. We both like Butter Rum, satisfyingly homogenous throughout the roll. But also Fancy Fruit, with the breathless drama of each piece being different, each one a potential joy or disappointment. We have rules, the two of us: we open and very rigorously take turns picking off the top candy, no skipping, no whining, no trading if you get the dreaded, awful, sick lymph-colored pineapple. We know what we each are secretly hoping for, yearning with the singlemindedness of the very young, that spiked moment of joy: the one and only coconut. Or secondly, banana (of course).