The
Nutty Ones
Forrest
Gump’s mama was dead wrong. Life ain’t like
a box a chocolates, it is a box of
chocolates. The days can be god-knows-what type of truffles—overwhelming and
sickening—you wonder what sick bastard would place that in your path. Or when
the caramel stretches for miles and miles and you question: is this ever going to end? You are glued
to the never-ending day that started pleasurably but is now growing denser
between your teeth, tighter around your tongue, closer to a gag than a gulp.
And then, amidst the terrifying truffles, there are the turtles. The nutty
ones. As if you weren’t nutty enough. As if you weren’t pokey enough. The
chocolate can never simply be left plain, as God (seeing as you are God)
intended. Yet, from the antsy race through the ick, to this pokey, this
crunchy, this condoned before the start, yes, this silly turtle, allowing for
the noting of the deep, dark chocolate, this is the one that has most surprised
you.