Chocolates

Easter is a time of great surprise. I find myself still surprised by it each year. Christians attend services. We nestle eggs in baskets of translucent neon-green grass. The one who bore the yoke appears after being hidden in death for three days. Children search for candy. People search their whole life for someone that looks into both eyes and won't look away. I think this can be found, too. Then there's the egg that is never found, hidden too well, filled with foil and melted chocolate for who knows how long. That runs through my mind at Easter. The bunny brings candy. He lays eggs? I think this all has its symbolism. There is a meaning to your search. There is a sweetness in the finding.

Faster than a merry-go-round our planet spins. Ten years have passed since Theresa Marie starved. We watched Terry die on our televisions while we moved our glazed carrots around with a fork. Did her smile mean anything? Did it have a price? My friend asked me what the price of a human life is. He wrote it on notebook paper and folded it up and left it in my car. This was his way of hiding the question in my head like a pastel plastic egg. He wanted to justify fighting crime like a super hero. I questioned his mental state, but is this a question you can ever ask frivolously? I almost forgot that happened. I remember Terry's drool made me uncomfortable. I can only imagine the Schindlers' listless helplessness that day when she was unplugged like a lamp. And I say day, but shit, it was days. She lived for days. The perpetual sunshine is a promise that they continue to hunt for behind clouds, the infinitesimal particles of moisture that keep her from them. They didn't have to make a decision. They just had to wait and then continue to do so.

Easier times will come, you just wait. Your bad haircut will grow, I promise, but my balding won't. They still can't seem to figure out a scientific solution. Isn't science just waiting after all? When I look at my wife I wonder if she knows sometimes I'm just looking an the small bridge of her nose between her eyes. You can't look in both eyes at the same time. Even one is enough for me for now, though.  My (pregnant) wife said the weight of the world is on her bladder as she laughs at what I write. Laughter is a hope that maybe tomorrow will be better. I've cried myself to sleep so many nights in bed with my wife, crying tears of hysterical laughter.