The Fire Within

Maggie Lubanko

The fire in my eyes paled only in comparison to the inferno raging in my stomach. I watched Babs shift the Ziploc bag of Swedish Fish back and forth as she meticulously tallied each individual candy, separating the sticky globs of sugary goodness with a merciless precision. I watched her darkly, brooding over the absurd reality that she was seriously going to make us each count an exact amount of the sweet candies we took during our highly anticipated snack break.

“She’s really taking her sweet time!” I finally hissed to my friend Scott, who was busy wringing out his smelly wool socks. It was his first chance to do so all day, being the only packs-off break we’d had from the long day’s difficult, wet hike. Only after each last stinking gray drop had been squeezed to his satisfaction did he turn skeptically towards Babs’s petite form- he knew better than any of my distaste for her- and sighed after a moment.

“Oh calm down- you’re being ridiculous.” Before I could give my indignant denial he cut in, narrowing his eyes accusingly. “And you don’t even eat Swedish Fish! So what are you so worried about?” Now it was my turn to sigh, though far more theatrically than he had.

“Scott- I don’t like Swedish Fish at home, in the comfort of my bed and warm house- but out here? In the middle of the remote Alaskan Wilderness? Where I haven’t eaten since that one puny packet of plain Cream of Wheat at 5am, or felt the glorious satisfaction of a full stomach in weeks? When I’ve been trudging up a cold, windy mountain all day in the rain with a pack half my weight on my back?” I paused dramatically. “So yes, I would say that I most certainly eat Swedish Fish right now. In fact, I love Swedish Fish right now. There is nothing I want more in this world right now than that bag of Swedish Fish.”

He couldn’t help but smile at the severity with which I delivered this pronouncement, and his amusement succeeded in calming at least the fire in my eyes- that is until Babs announced we could each count out a grand total of seven Swedish Fish. And no, these were not the jumbo version of the candy.

I heard other murmurs of dismay and frustration, but the energy to protest was not possessed within any of our weary souls. And so none contested as the group began to obediently pass around the bag, each of us longingly eying the mushy goodness the large bag of candies held while only fingering out the skimpy seven red sugary bites.

The blaze in my stomach only continued to swell as I watched the bag draw closer, seeing its full potential so untapped in the large mass still left- until it finally reached my bitter, yet still quite eager, hands.

And then something amazing happened. Using proper Outdoor Expedition Behavior I tilted the bag to the side and shook slightly, waiting for the candy to fall into my hands. Instead of one single fish falling out at a time, however, I was surprised to find in my hands an entire school of Swedish Fish !

There had to be at least 15 gummies in the clump I had inadvertently wrangled. I stared down at my hands for a moment, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t until I caught sight of the envious expression on Scott’s face that I fully grasped the glory of this event. If any food touched your hands, it was yours’- no contest. It was to prevent the spread of germs, after all- for the safety of the group, I was not allowed to share this glorious glump of goodness!

And so I triumphantly passed the bag on, now marveling that a cluster of this size had survived Babs’s seemingly thorough screening. But my hunger was overwhelming, there was not much time wasted on appreciation- I lobbed the glob into my eager lips without any more thought.

I haven’t even begun to attempt to chew when I cast a glance over at Scott. He was entertaining Colten and Tom with an excellent imitation of Babs’s rather unique (read, weird and irritating) head bobbing tendencies, a routine he often pulled which always yielded a vindictive laugh out of me. This time however, that laugh had consequences most dire.

In one gulping, awkward guffaw, the glob of Swedish Fish was gone. No time to taste the sacred sweet of pure sugar, so rare on a expedition backpack of this length- not even time to chew. It slid heavily down my throat, pushing awkwardly at my insides until settling uncomfortably in my stomach. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. No words can describe my horror at this loss.

When the bag was passed around a second time (the group rejoiced- you could take four more pieces now!) I only shook my head numbly, grasping for some shred of dignity. An uncomfortable glob had dimmed the fire in my belly; but my gaze met Babs’s, and the one in my eyes still raged on.