Entry #3: The Journey of a Mint

 

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    Small things can take you on large journeys.

    For me, it's a toasty fall evening. My days have been a blur up to now, my brain divided up to focus on everything at once, so I wind up accomplishing nothing at all. The week ends uneventfully, and I'm ready to start it all again after the last meal of the day at the local Olive Garden. The fettuccini alfredo is a good comfort meal; it's warm in my stomach and easy on the stress-riddled brain. As I slurp up the last noodle, wiping the remaining alfredo sauce off my face, its creamy texture and savory, cheesy flavor remains on my tongue. As much as I enjoy it, it's a taste better left in the moment than one remaining on the ride home. So comes my favorite part of dining out at this restaurant, to flush it all away and make my mouth feel anew.

    It begins with a simple opening of the small rectangle of tin foil, the tiny paper crumpling between my fingers as I carefully unfold it and reveal more of the printed restaurant logo patterned across. The half-green half-brown square I remove from it is my refuge, the very thing that will save me from the sticky feeling of savory food that's overstayed its welcome in my throat. It's small for what large effect it brings and feels soft and buttery as I pop it into my mouth and let it melt on my tongue. All at once, the memories rush back to me, and the tasty treat throws me back to a better time that was forgotten.

    In the back of my mind, I'm eight again. A small child with a bedazzled Fourth-of-July t-shirt and tattered jean shorts, running around the tall itchy grass with dirt-covered tennis shoes on my aunt's farm. My brother is only five, but he runs with me, chasing their golden retriever around until the sun sets and the mosquitos come out. The adults call us over to the fresh bonfire, handing both of us some chewy smores that warm our mouths while the cold air tries to claim us. The chocolate is melted and we make a small mess, but our mother only smiles and wipes our mouths, telling us to put some jackets on before we go off to play again.

    The finale of my meal tastes just like it did to go out into the cold again, into the chilly summer night as I take a sip from my water to spread the crisp flavor around my mouth, fully masking the dinner I'd eaten prior. I consider having another, just to experience that feeling again, but slip the second complimentary treat into my pocket for later. After that, I allow a few moments to relax in the warm glow of the hanging light above my table before the waiter returns, bearing my bill in hand. It's a small price to pay to start the next week off fresh. When I finally leave, I find myself a few dollars shorter, but a heart much fuller.