Jellybean Overdose

When I was a kid I OD'd on jellybeans. The town Easter egg hunt was hyped up on brightly colored fliers tacked to lamp posts, taped to corner store windows. When the day came, cool and promising, all the kids gathered on the rec center steps. I remember the butterflies and little else.

The other competitors didn't unnerve me- I'd sized up my opponents and the odds were in my favor. The limitless potential of victory is what sent my stomach tumbling, my fingers dancing. I wasn't considering the prize- had I even known what it was? I was imagining the utter joy of being the best, of giving it my everything, being so completely consumed by the thought of winning that I could feel victory before my sneakers even hit the grass.

I don't remember the exact egg count, but I can tell you that victory tastes almost as sweet as candy. Butterflies gone, I dove sticky hands first into my prize- a ceramic bunny full of every color jellybean. With the recklessness of a child, I threw caution to the wind and ate every last bit of candy that afternoon. When the bunny was empty, the joy of winning was replaced by the bitter realization that the thing I wanted most was now making me sick.

The most poignant memory from that day isn't the victory. I can't tell you how many kids were in the Easter egg hunt or if they announced my name for all to cheer. I can't even tell you if I collected my eggs in a basket. What I remember is the sickly sweet smell of sugar and the scratching of my fingernail on ceramic. How my tongue was stained an ugly green color. My dad telling me to 'use my head next time!' How I threw up every single one of those jellybeans until I never wanted to see one again.