My father came home from Costco right while I was in the middle of putting my Microeconomics notes into my black folder and gave me the items I requested. I sequestered the bags into my room and hastily finished up the organization, but then quickly busied myself with other mindless tasks such as actually reading the notes. Now was not the time, I told myself… But, of course, this was to be a family affair. Within five minutes, my younger brother appeared in my room.
“Can I?” He nodded towards the conspicuous bags.
I always had a soft spot for him. “Of course,” I replied. It was going to happen eventually. At least I wouldn’t be the one to do it.
He picked up one of the bags. On the exterior it read “Country Style - Barbecue”. Already, my heart began to race with the excitement of knowing I’d finally be able to satisfy the cravings of my tongue and cool the heat of my yearning for those deliciously crisp slices of potato - so rich with potassium and so flavored with the sweet and salty epitome of a warm summer day grilling outdoors with my family.
“Why’s this so hard to open?” He muttered. “Oh wait - there’s a place to tear.”
“Don’t bother,” I told him while walking over to pick up the scissors on my desk. I was a master at this. I knew what to do. With as much gusto as a girl who has few passions in life could muster, I ripped the bag from his hands and set the sharp blades against the only barrier between me and my happiness. The only right way to cut the bag, I knew, was to cut at a point low enough to reach in easily but also high enough to tie the bag up later, if one was incapable of finishing. Having made the careful calculations, I was well on my way.
I cut off the top easily. As the light hit the reflective and metallic surface of the bag within, the chips shone with a glorious luster that could not be described to a blind man. You cannot use words to describe the wonder of a fresh bag of chips to someone who hasn’t seen one before. It would be like trying to describe what joy looks like under the same circumstances. Such a thing would be impossible. But, you can feel joy and you can taste joy. The taste of joy, happiness, and all things that are good and right in the world is a crunchy chip.
I was a kind soul; I handed my brother the bag so that he could have the first pickings. He ate a couple and then handed the bag over. He knew the sacrifice I made in that moment and rewarded it with his own act of generosity, tactically saying he had homework to do and couldn’t just stand here eating chips with me.
So I began my own venture into the chips of the bag.
They were magnificent. My first chip was a rather ordinary chip, flat but with the bubbling and crispiness you would expect out of a kettle-fried chip. It was covered in the perfect layer of barbecue flavoring. As I bit in, my tongue met its touch with warm salivation while my gums scraped slightly against its contact. The second chip was better: the potato slice had layered over itself to make a bubble within the chip, leading to four times the crunchiness - chips, of course, grow their crunchiness exponentially - and significantly more enjoyment on my end.
I searched for another chip of a similar standard within the bag, picked it up delicately between two fingers, and walked over to my brother in the living room. He and I had a likemindedness not common with all siblings; we loved each other and we tried to share our happiness with each other when we could. This applied to food, and also netlfix, but mostly food.
“You have to eat this chip.” I said, and so he did.
“Wow,” came his verbal approval alongside of his nod, “that was pretty good.”
But now that he tried one, I wanted one too. I went back to the bag in my own room and stood caressing it, eating more than a couple chips.
And then I came across the one: it was a four layered chip, folded once over and then once over again. So I brought it to my brother. But then I wanted my own so I had to go back to my room. But then I found another really great chip.
I gave up and brought the chip bag to the living room, sitting down on the couch while stuffing my mouth with chips and handing my brother really good ones.
About five minutes into this wonderful bonding experience centered around the happiness only chips could provide, it happened. The chip was comely in appearance, creased once over, but not very promising. I put this chip in my mouth, brought my teeth down around it, and my life was changed. I will never assume a chip is ordinary again because this chip changed my life. It crunched with both ease of process as well as a loud crispness. It was beyond the perfect chip.
But I wasn’t happy. This chip was gone and only I would ever know how wonderful it was.
What I’m trying to say is, sometimes the things that make us the most happy are things that we can't share with other people. Share the moments you can share and try to do what you can do to give your experiences to others. Some moments are fleeting and, yes, that's sad. But we can all do a little bit more to spread the love around.