All of a sudden, I have nothing to say. I can’t describe orange gummi bears; I can’t generate the words to elaborate upon just how wonderful I think they are. Instead, let me set a scene:
I am at the grocery store — McNally’s in Grinnell, IA — and I’m thinking, ‘Should I buy these gummi bears? I don’t think they’re very healt– oh, why the fuck not?’ I pay for my groceries and exit into a silent spring day. If it were Sunday, the town’s PA system would be playing creepy muzak right about now.
I walk a block to the park and sit down, dropping my bags at my feet. The bench where I am sitting is facing the flagpole before which the town’s police chief stood as he told us, “We have not identified the body as of this moment.” I rip open the bag of gummi bears to eat only the orange ones, and all of my memories of that day scatter like dandelion seeds.
