Friday, August 24, 2012

The Candy Jar

The candy jar was stuffed so full that it could no longer clatter, and that is the most solid point of which any candy jar can reach, it is perfection, the ultimate it can attain. It stood on an upper shelf as you descended into the cellar, high and lofty looking down upon everyone who walked down those stairs. It knew very well what it had within its framed glass, and if I may use the term, stomach, would have brought all the joy and pleasure in the world to a little eight year old boy.
       That little boy of eight looked at it daily, stretching his legs and arms, measuring the distance from the top stair to the jar, hoping to grow taller, or tall enough to reach it, hoping it would not take another year or two, and if his neck grew along with his arms and legs all the better.
       Then all of a sudden, one Sunday afternoon, there was an uncommon racket, a clash and bang in the house, and the wooden frame, the board, and the candy jar that it rested on, not strong enough to hold the little boy who was now dangling from it, cracked and broke into two pieces. He did not do it to protest against where it stood, where his mother proposed it should be, it was a game between the jar and him, and I suppose all kids cannot be little noblemen, he leaped a little too far this time, in his stretch, and down he fell with the jar and all, it broke, rolled down a few steps right onto his lap, on the stairway. As the saying goes, “We all cannot be little noblemen.”

Written 8-12-2012 (Lima, Peru) #950