Arianna

Cotton candy's a funny thing. Especially when you get it in an Easter basket from your roommate's parents during your third year of college.

Stuffed and smooshed, it comes in a tub. I take off the lid, pull back the "freshness seal" and dip my fingers into the dizzying array of thinly spun sugar. I pinch some out, crushing the already crushed, and touch a bit to the end of my tongue. Beads of pink saliva run around like little insects, gathering more and more as they travel. Eventually they slow. The candy goes in my mouth and I'm immediately transported back to the summer before 1st grade, sitting in the ballpark, eating this miraculous food because I had pushed my parents enough to buy me one of the brightly colored clouds floating through the stands.

My eyes refocus and I'm sitting in my apartment. I should be reading for class, but instead I'm enjoying the sugar and the memories.