Even as a single mother to a two year old son, I still managed to find time to revive my childhood. I was an avid board gamer. Although there was one in particular that I refused to ever play again: Candy Land. I have had to play that game at least a hundred times, but not once, not once did I win. No matter how many people played, I always finished dead last. It was my first memory of failure.

***

 “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’m afraid that we’re having engine trouble, so we’ll have to make an emergency landing.” He was trying to cover up the evident fear that was dripping from his voice, but the underlying message was clear. We were going to die. “Please try to keep calm and remain in your seats. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

Inconvenience. He spoke as if it was only an hour or so at stake and not our lives. Of course it was an inconvenience. Every passenger on the plane spent over four hundred dollars to what? Go to their graves? It wouldn’t even be that nice. We wouldn’t even get graves. Our bodies would be burned or demolished on impact. If I had wanted to die, I could’ve done it for much cheaper in the comfort of my own home.

I had done nothing to leave my footprint in history, nothing significant anyways. My only hope was that Noah would. “I’m sorry, baby,” I whispered before the loud crash; before the lights flickered out.

***

When I opened my eyes, I expected to see a stark white waiting room—some sort of purgatory or limbo. I guess I should’ve expected it wouldn’t be like in the movies. What did the directors know about death anyway? Instead, I found myself on the doorstep of a small cottage. It was solid brown with a few uneven bumps scattered on each of the four walls. Although the absence of windows and a small plank for a door was eerie, I couldn’t help but find it enticing. I felt obligated to enter the house, or at least make an attempt to, even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. I went to knock on the door, but it swung open to reveal a woman. Her attempts at preserving her youth were feeble. Her hair was worn out from the outrageous amounts of hair-dye. There were grey streaks in her flouncy blood-orange curl. It didn’t really have a specific shape. It was just there; fluff.

“Oh, hi there!” she drawled in her Southern accent and clicking her tongue. “What can I do you for, sugar?”

Her unexpected welcoming attitude was intimidating. At first glance, she seemed like a cranky old maid. I felt so stupid not knowing why I just randomly showed up at her doorstep. "I really don’t know.”

“You look young. How old are you?” she inquired, lifting an eyebrow.

I fiddled with the hem on my shirt. “Um, I’m twenty.”

She simpered. “It’s the perfect age, don’t you agree?”

I frowned. “Well, I suppose, but—”

“So young,” she exalted, “yet so perfect. You’ve already gone through the awkwardness of puberty, but you haven’t reached the horrors of being middle aged.” I saw her body tremble as she muttered the sentence almost regretfully. “You, my darling, are a pristine wonderland for Gramma Nutt.”

I didn’t like the direction that the conversation was going in. “I’ve had a baby."

Her eyes bulged as she clapped her hand over her mouth. She looked appalled. “You’re only a child yourself! How could you have one of your own?”

I couldn’t help but be transported back to three years ago—when I was pregnant with Noah. I had received so many degrading glares and disapproving looks. It made me stronger in the long run, but it stung then. I felt the need to defend myself. “I’m twenty, not twelve.”

“Why don’t you come in for some peanut brittle? I see you eyeing my house, and I’d rather not reconstruct it after those filthy children—”

She didn’t seem to like children much. “Are you even a grandmother?”

"Oh heavens, no! They’re such a hassle. And think of those God-awful stretch marks, but I guess I could live with them." Her comment infuriated me. "Get in the house." A spatula appeared in her hands. She prepared herself to strike, shifting her eyes between me and the utensil. “Or you’ll be punished,” she snarled.

I sit on a wooden stool in the kitchen, spooning Fruit Loops into my mouth. It is only seven in the morning, but I don’t feel the least bit sleepy. I let myself sleep in an extra five minutes. It’s quiet in the wintertime when the birds depart, leaving me an unpleasant wake up call--silence. I eat alone, but I’m accustomed to it. When I’m feeling rebellious, I flip on a light switch. Today is one of those days. The small lamp emits a dull, yellow glow.

Suddenly, a heavy door slams shut. The thud of his heavy, ominous footsteps loom closer. Then his voice. “Ellie!”

I cringe and put on my best innocent face, but I’m not a very strong actor. “Good morning, Daddy!” I chirp, trying not to let my false grin falter.

“The light’s on,” he observes. “Do you know that electricity costs money, El? Do you know how much money is worth!?” He marches over to a drawer and searches through a slew of metal and pulls out a spatula used for flipping pancakes. In an instant, he’s beating me with it. I hear the loud smack of it against my bare bottom. It’ll leave a scar, I’m sure—whether emotional or physical, I’m not sure. Maybe both. I wince and pray that it’ll be over quickly.

When he’s done, he asks me if I’ve learned my lesson. Timidly, I nod. He asks me if I love him. I say that I do. The worst part about it is that I truthfully do. I should know better. I should stop. But I can’t.

When I opened my eyes and relieved myself of the memory, Grandma Nutt and her peanut brittle house were nowhere to be seen. A sudden gust of wind rushed in and pushed me forward. I let the exhilaration conquer me. As I rode along, I noticed that the texture of the sidewalk resembled, dare I say, healthy human skin; smooth, but not slippery. Suddenly, I was enveloped in an array of vivid colors. I felt like I was in one of Noah’s cartoons. Peering out from behind a plum tree was a hairy goblin. I could tell right away that he was an eccentric creature. His mustache was long and droopy, sort of like my grandfather’s belly “muscle” after a “run”.

“Hello!” he burbled. "The name’s Plumpy. Take a sugarplum.”

I took the plum from him and smiled. I was hesitant to take a bite out of it. His hopeful stares were getting to be a bit uncomfortable for me to enjoy the fruit. I knew that he would never stop looking at me unless I tried it. I took a deep breath and sank my teeth into the ambrosial drupe. The heavenly taste quickly disintegrated and was replaced with a bitter, iron tang. I dropped it, noticing my stained hands. It didn’t look violet anymore, but crimson.

Holding my breath wasn’t exactly a smart thing to do when a knife was in my hand, especially when it was so close to my body. Although a mere kitchen knife, it was only a tremble away from breaking skin, from drawing blood. My wrist was pure, untouched by the debauchery of the modern world. Did I want to pierce it? Did I want to conform?

I didn’t mean for it to be more than a tiny scrape, if anything. It wasn’t supposed to be plunged, like I had nothing left to live for. It wasn’t supposed to be an escape. And the taste…it wasn’t supposed to feel this euphoric.

“I’m a humanitarian,” Plumpy’s voice declared, bringing me back to whatever dreamland I was in. “It’s sort of like being a vegetarian, only with humans instead of vegetables.” He guffawed fiendishly.

“You sick, twisted thing,” I spat, retreating cautiously.

“Would you like another taste?” he offered, inching closer with dark chaos swarming in his eyes.  “Or would you like to be the taste?” He let out a maniacal bellow, and then lunged at me.

As if by some miracle, Plumpy was gone. There were no magical creatures in sight, just a magnificent castle that proudly stood atop a lush hill. Dotting the hillside were three children, who were climbing vigorously to reach the Candy Castle. The one who was significantly ahead paused and turned around to make direct eye contact with me. His oh-so familiar beam seemed to encourage the sun to brighten its already brilliant rays. “Momma!” he sang giddily, waving his hands wildly in the air.

Noah. He was waiting for me, and as much as I wanted him to, I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t be so selfish as to hold him back from succeeding, from reaching his full potential.

Only then did I realize that this wretched game of Candy Land was life. I had been a coward. I still was, but the difference between now and then was that now, I was a fearless coward. My own purgatory was my last step in life—to vanquish my fears. There was no doubt in my mind that Noah would come out a champion.

My fear of Candy Land was not of failure, but rather of the game's unbending cruelty. The game gave an illusion of choices, but the fate of each player was already predetermined.

The conclusion was always the same, like I was on the receiving end of a malicious curse: I lost. I should’ve expected it, but I didn’t. All that I could do now was accept it.

The present tense in the first flashback is intentional. Thank you. And sorry it wasn't better. :P