“Cotton Candy” by Talia Tirschwell ’24

Cotton Candy

The downpour starts out of nowhere, and soon water from every gutter streams onto the sidewalk as the buildings are hammered by fresh rain. The sky is a solid block of grayish-white, and the traffic light across the street glows through a blurry haze as I jog over to a crosswalk and stop to press the button. I tap Emmie’s number on my phone, and turn up the volume as I place it to my ear, straining to hear over the pounding rain.

“Ginger?”

“I’m outside, where are you?” I grasp the phone with two hands to prevent it from slipping. “Inside, I’ll buzz you in, come quick.”

Turning my gaze back to the street, I’m just in time to see the blurred pedestrian traffic light finally turn green, and I dodge the huge gathering puddles as I run across the intersection.

After yanking open a glass door I pause for a second, wipe my face with a wet arm, and allow my flooded hair to drip onto the ragged brown mat. I then press the silver buzzer for apartment 8C, which is located next to a small label reading GRAPTOS, EMILY. She lets me in almost immediately, and I run to catch the elevator, where I join a man with two young kids who are yanking the plastic wrapping off of huge rainbow lollipops, as well as an old woman. The man and two kids are dripping with water like me, but the woman looks irritatingly dry as she folds up a black umbrella and tucks it in her purse. The door closes, and I indicate for her to press eight as I pick up the buzzing phone in my hand. Emmie and I interrupt each other.

“I’m in the elev-”

“Listen, Ginger, I’m really in a rush, and I’ll try to wait but-”

“Emmie, I’m coming right now.” My voice gets a little louder, and I can feel everyone’s eyes watching me in the elevator. There’s a pause.

“Okay.” She hangs up.

After dropping off the old woman on floor four and the man and his kids on floor seven, I finally reach floor eight. I pause for a second outside the elevator to try and squeeze the water from my hair, briefly wondering if Emmie dyed hers a new color since the last time we saw each other. I then walk to the door marked with a bronze letter C, and knock our old secret knock.

As I wait for her to open it, I notice a scrap of paper on the floor. I pick it up and read the scribbled note: Had to go, sorry Ginger. Next time. Candy grapes in fridge. Em. My stomach feels as though someone dropped a dumbbell in it. I look at the staircase door, which is propped open. Anger rises in my chest. I swallow and push open the door to 8C that she left unlocked.

The apartment looks the same as the last time I was here, when we sat on the leather couch and talked for just barely a few minutes. Her bedroom door is half open, and I glance in to see clothes scattered all over the floor, and makeup smeared on her dresser. The dumbbell grows heavier inside me, and I kick the molding at the base of her door, stubbing my toe.

I walk into the tiny kitchen area and open the fridge, where I pull out a big bag of cotton candy grapes, our favorite snack to share when we were younger. I pop two in my mouth and look out the window. It seems to have stopped raining just as quickly as it started, and cars honk angrily at each other as I watch the jammed up intersection. I spit what remains of the grapes into the sink below me. They’re sour, anyway.

Talia Tirschwell ’24, personal narrative