MyFace

Fudge and Forgiveness

 

On Sunday, Marlena and I arrived at Naramata Retreat Centre, where we were to lead a weeklong storytelling class. We brought our bags into Maple Court Residence Hall. After unpacking, I went to the common kitchen to stick a leftover sandwich in the refrigerator.

 

I happened to open the freezer, where I saw a white paper bag in the door shelf. It struck my interest because it was the kind of bag that candy comes in. It was sort of crumpled.

 

Aside from two ice cube trays, it was the only object in the freezer. I picked the bag up and hefted it. It held one object, weighing maybe half a pound.

 

Of course I was curious. Of course I opened the bag. Inside I found a piece of chocolate fudge in plastic wrap, with a label indicating it came from a candy store in Alberta.

 

We were in British Columbia, which meant that the fudge had made an arduous journey from another province.

 

The plastic wrapping was slightly clouded, perhaps with some condensation underneath, the kind of condensation that would form only after a period of time had passed.

 

Of course I did not open the package. I returned the fudge to the bag and to the freezer door.

 

*

 

On Monday, I didn’t think much about the fudge. I was busy with the storytelling class all morning. I did wonder why it had been in the freezer. Who keeps fudge in the freezer? Perhaps it stays fresher in there. But degree of freshness is not the main attraction when it comes to fudge. Plus, in the freezer, it gets frozen. Which means you have to thaw it out before you eat it. Who wants to wait to eat fudge? It was all very puzzling.

 

*

On Tuesday, during a free moment, I realized the white bag had camouflaged the fudge because it blended in with the white interior of the freezer. Which was probably no doubt why the person who put it there had forgotten it. Whenever that was possibly long ago.

 

*

 

On Wednesday, a funny thing happened. It turned out that I had been thinking about the fudge. I realized that, if it belonged to someone, that person would have taken it by then. A person who purchased fudge presumably liked fudge and would eat the fudge. Imagine my surprise when I happened to open the freezer door and saw that it was still languishing there. Whoever left it there possibly was not a serious fudge lover—like I am. This person did not have strong fudge needs. It came to me that I might probably need the fudge.

 

*

 

On Thursday, when the freezer door opened, the fudge was in the same place. There was no evidence that somebody cared enough about the fudge to be sure it was ok. I saw that the edges of the fudge were rounded, as if it had been handled carelessly before being discarded in the freezer.

 

I realized that not only did I deserve the fudge, but more importantly, the fudge deserved me—a person who cared about fudge, a man who could give that fudge what it needed.

 

The fudge spoke to me.

 

“Hello, big boy. Do you come here often? Listen, is it chilly in here or is it just me? Are you going to stick your hand in my bag? Oh, that’s nice and warm! Do you like to eat fudge? I’ll just bet you do. What do you say we go someplace where it’s a little more comfortable?”

 

I took the fudge to my room and set it on the dresser to let it warm up. Marlena spotted it an hour or so later.

 

“What’s this? Fudge! Where did this come from?”

 

“Umm, from the freezer. It had been left there some time ago.”

 

“Honey, this is nothing but chocolate flavored saturated fats and sugar,” said Marlena, viciously.

 

“Or one could simply call it fudge,” I responded, calmly.

 

“Hon? You’re not going to eat this, are you?”

 

“Perhaps not.”

 

“I’m going to throw it out.”

 

I said nothing for a few seconds while I wondered why God had led me to marry a fudge-hater. I sighed with dignity. “OK.”

 

“And I am going to unwrap it before I throw it out. So don’t bother looking for it.”

 

I was appalled by what seemed like a possible lack of trust.

 

*

 

On Friday afternoon I was making tea in the kitchen when Corinne walked in. She is a young, lovely, energetic woman who had been at the centre all week teaching world dance. She walked right to the freezer, opened the door and spoke.

 

“Hey, what happened to my fudge?”

 

My first thought was that I should tell the honest truth and say, “I didn’t eat it.” But I knew that would be similar to an untruth. I knew that I had to take a higher road.

 

“Maybe somebody cleaned out the fridge?”

 

“Oh, no! I was saving it for today.” Corinne frowned.

 

I decided I had to do the right thing.

 

“Tell you what, Corinne. Marlena and I are just about to walk to the bakery in town. Come on along and I will buy you a brownie?”

 

“Oh, you are so kind!”

 

I acknowledged her compliment with a nod and a smile.

 

At the bakery I bought her a piece of lemon cheesecake. She cleaned the crumbs up with her finger. We walked back.

 

“Well, that was very generous of you.”

 

“Well, thank you, Corinne.”

 

The way she enjoyed the cheesecake crumbs was troubling to me. Corinne had been working hard all week teaching world dance. At the end of the week she had come to get her fudge. Oh, well. She got cheesecake instead. There is a way in which it was doubtless God’s will.

 

At dinner I saw Corinne walking by. She was sweating after rehearsing for the evening’s performance. I was reminded of how hard she had worked all week

 

I jumped up and walked over to her.

 

“Corinne, you know that fudge? I stole it. Or, I mean, I took it.”

 

“What? My fudge?”

 

“Yes, but Marlena wouldn’t let me eat it and she threw it out.”

 

“You took my fudge?”

 

“Yes, I’m sorry. I apologize. That is why I bought you the cheesecake. I was too embarrassed…”

 

She laughed. “It’s just fudge, David.”

 

She hugged me. “You’re forgiven.”

 

As she walked back to rehearsal, she turned and said, “You know, I’ve done the same thing myself.”

 

I knew that we were kindred spirits. Fudge lovers.

 

On Saturday, on the plane home, Marlena told me she had returned the fudge to the freezer. I was surprised by her duplicity. Maybe it will still be there next summer.

 

*

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 16th, 2008 at 6:27 pm and is filed under Funny, Stories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.