Salt water Taffy

 

He hit his knee on that darn cupboard door and an old cardboard box fell onto the floor. It must have been something his late wife put there to hide something. He sat on a chair and using his cane pulled the box towards him eventually allowing him to set it on his lap. Looking at it he remembered it. It was a saltwater taffy box she got one year on a trip to the boardwalk in cony island. He remembered how she loved that stuff and every color they offered. The box itself now sixty years old was faded and had a couple wet edges where something dripped on it over time. Although faded the scene of Cony Island with the big Ferris wheel could still be seen as he looked at it and remembered. She was a wild child when they first met. Always up for some excitement around every curve. If it wasn’t Coney park it was the ice rink in the winter or sledding down hills that made him nauseous. Summer meant the old swimming hole, or the quarries dotted all over the county map. She loved to dance and didn’t care where. A barn dance or city concert, or just him and her under the stars dancing the night away to a tune she sang as he held her close but never close enough. Opening the old box, the smell of taffy stood out if only for a second or two. It was as if she was right there again with him the smell of that taffy on her mouth kissing him like she did so long ago. He put the box on his nightstand where he could reach for it on those nights he couldn’t sleep. He’d hold it tightly to his heart and see her smiling as she tore off another piece of that saltwater taffy.