chocolate milk

In this strange time, it feels like the Coronavirus sucks up all of the oxygen in the room.  But still, there are moments of kindness and happiness to cling to – here’s one of mine.

He bought me a big glass jug of chocolate milk from the store. His grin is stretched broad across his face as he watches me pull it from the refrigerator. I look up at him with raised eyebrows.

“I saw the way you looked at it in the store last week, so I wanted to surprise you with it.”

It’s heavy in my hands – the glass is thick and cold.  I turn it, amused at the universal chocolate consistency within the jug. That was what brought me to it last week.

How can it stay so chocolaty and not somehow separate?

Also, with people stockpiling so many other necessities, seeing this in a grocery store seemed a kind of luxurious joke. And yet here it is, resting in my hands.

I do love chocolate milk – he knows it’s one of my childlike vices. It reminds me of middle school lunches – all of us seated in neat rows along the long wooden tables.

It reminds me of sitting briefly with the cool girls and blowing my chance when someone made me laugh and chocolate milk shot out of my mouth with surprising gusto. “Did that come out of your mouth?” They sneered at small chocolate bubbles on the table.

Days later, when I was back with my friends, I remember Jeff opening the mouth of his chocolate milk carton – wide enough for him to dip  big chocolate chip cookies into it.  Later, he’d drink the milk, uncaring as it spilled down his chin.

I smile at that last memory as I pour my fancy milk into a small cup.  It’s smoother than I expect – so creamy and chocolaty that even middle school me would have approved.  I grin at him and press my lips to his before passing him the cup so he can try it too.

“That was a good treat,” I say.

4 thoughts on “chocolate milk

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