Pixel Dance

I hadn’t had a mint Tic-Tac in years. I’m not really a mint person (I’m actually addicted to gum, which is weird). But one day last summer, my husband and I decided to pick up a little plastic box of the nostalgic mints. They sat in the drawer for a few weeks, seemingly unimportant, sharing the drawer with extra keys and rubber bands, and a few expired coupons. There they stayed, dormant, unnoticed.

One day, who knows why, I opened the drawer, saw them, and thought, “what the heck.” Deep into a conversation with my husband, I hardly noticed popping the white, smooth oval into my mouth. Until — it hit me. The sensation of the cool mint pressed into my tongue, and suddenly I was no longer in the dining room. I was in an old VW van in small town Wyoming, with my Papaw driving down the two-lane road. I could see his icy white hair, feel the caramel-colored upholstery of the old van, ride with the jerking of that long stick shift. I was a child again.

I grabbed Darryl’s arm, and he looked at me, confused and a bit stunned. What had just happened? What had happened was a taste of my former life. My grandfather was a Baptist preacher, and because he had to talk to so many people, he constantly carried mint Tic-Tacs. The only time I ever had them was when I was with him. And so the sensation of that mint on my tongue enveloped me with the presence of my wonderful grandfather.

He was a great man in everyone’s opinion. A wonderful speaker, kind man, funny and giving. I adored his visits, when he would take us for long walks to old-fashioned soda fountains and baseball games in the park. He would sing us nonsensical stories and make up words like heck-ty-copter and caughphy (coffee). And when he came up the stairs in the morning, he would moan like a spooky ghost, and we would giggle with glee. He would hold my hand on walks in the woods, and we would sing about five little ducks and wonderful West Virginia. And I loved every minute of it.

The beauty of life is that one aroma, a single taste, the color of the sky at a certain time of day, all of these things can connect you to the people you love. No one is really ever gone. No memory ever too far away. On sad days, lonely days, or days when I just don’t feel like anyone sees who I am, all I have to do is taste the truth I know — that life is made up of moments, memories and meaning. Life is people who matter — who stop to show you love, agree with who you are, and bring meaning to the smallest of things.

I long to see my Papaw again, and I look forward to sharing a mint or two with him in heaven. Until then, I can find him any time I need him in that drawer. I guess there was more stored in there than I realized.

I hope you can remember places, fragrances, music, food — things that are yours. I’d love to hear about them.