Butterscotch Bond

Ron Koppelberger

Butterscotch Bond

Chase English stepped closer to the candy display. He delighted in the undeniable expectation of savory sacrament and sugary desire. His hands, small, grasping in secret treaty with the sinful pleasure, he wiggled in the pile of amber hued butterscotch candies. A secret touch of stealth and the act, he looked in both directions, the isle was empty to the left and the right. Chase unraveled the muss, the bother, the call to sweet ecstasy as he unwrapped the butterscotch and popped it into his eager mouth. Tender dreams and great sugary delicious, he smiled and rolled the candy across his tongue.
He was blinded by the excellent perfection of syrupy seas and nascent suns given secret prayers of yellow glow, and in commune with childhood bliss, he didn’t hear the bell at the front of the five and dime. A jangling hollow announcement, Leo Oak entered the store and headed straight for the candy isle. Chase held the partially melted butterscotch in his mouth, startled by the old mans appearance, pretending mute innocence as the aged countenance of fully grown decades and aged lines slowly shuffled up the isle.
He passed the rows of baseball cards and sniffed the air, “Ahhhhhhaaaaa” he mumbled quietly. He regarded the distance between the small boy and himself for a second and tugged the front of his shirt, pausing in speculative interest. Chase stepped away from the candy shelves and stood toward the center of the aisle, paper gliders and licorice whips in glossy red plastic behind him. He looked as old as his grandfather, maybe older. The candy stuck to his tongue, melting sugar and butterscotch sin.
Leo stepped in front of the boy, he wore a look of innocence, young with curly blond hair and curious blue eyed interest. He’d have to be quick, impressionable at that age, he thought. With his back to the boy he snaked his hand into the butterscotch bin. Just one, he thought. Unwrapped and heave hoe into the gullet; the taste of golden drama, clean butterscotch sugars; he stood with his shoulders stooped wagging his tongue in circles about the treat.
Chase watched as the old man moved back up the aisle past the baseball cards and gummy worms to the front of the store. A few seconds later the jangle of the front door bells filled the store. Chase smiled and remembered the quarter in his pocket. Pausing to grab one of the small brown paper bags beside the shelf of candy, he picked out a handful of butterscotch and grinned an eternal exclamation for things bidden sweet.