Thousands of feelings

Crumpled into paper balls

Gently thrown away

Henry sighed as he sat down in his seventh bakery of the day after ordering a €36 assortment of pastries. The sweet scent of freshly baked, authentic french bread brought a glower to his face. He stared at the array of pastries on the table as they spat back at him. Once again, as he hoisted an éclair to his mouth, all he tasted was deception. Apparently Americans are better at making French pastries than France. Henry knew this wasn’t true, but he wasn’t going to admit to himself that his palate was flawed. He took another bite of the cream-filled bread, just in case, but was met with the same result. Bitter and stale, he decided. 

He glanced at the other customers, looking for empathy. Three friends were sitting at a table to his left, laughing at a joke he didn’t understand. Henry disregarded them swiftly, thinking about the French lessons he was supposed to take with her, then turned his eyes toward the couple to his right. They smiled as they fed each other, which didn’t make any sense since the food wasn’t any good. Henry couldn’t comprehend why all the other customers were so satisfied. He turned his head down toward his plate and saw the half eaten éclair, an image infiltrated his mind.

A flash of blue and green, her favorite dress with his favorite colors. Her smile shone down at him like rays from the sun, blinding. A gentle kiss on his forehead catapulted his stresses away, and underneath a tree on a picnic blanket they rested the heads together. Laughing at nothing, she searched her bag, retrieving an éclair from their favorite bakery. She ate half while he watched patiently, waiting for a taste. His patience paid off, they fell to their sides and in a slideshow of images Henry saw her vividly: her eyes, her lips, the muffin-shaped birthmark above her left eyebrow. They completely forgot about the second half of the éclair.

Henry suddenly felt his eyes well up and promptly bit his cheek in response. It worked; He could feel the tears retreating and felt relieved, but he knew it wasn’t the end. The memories had already been provoked. Instinctively, Henry began stuffing his face with the pastries he loathed, but their bland taste only reminded him of a time when flavor filled his life. It wasn’t about the pastries, it never was. It was about the laughs they shared on the drive to their favorite bakery, and the arguments about whose turn it was to pay. A grim epiphany crossed Henry’s mind: This trip was a mistake. 

With difficulty, Henry finished a pastry, shot up, and left the bakery. With his leftover pastries in hand, he was on his way to the eighth. Though he was upset, he was taught by someone who used to be in his life not to waste food. He gave the rest of the delicious pastries to a homeless man across the street, and then went on his way.