American Dreams by Julia Alvarez

American Dreams

                                          Queens, NY, 1963

 

All day I dreamed of candy from the store

on Hillside Avenue: barrels filled with

caramels, tins of pastel mints and tiers

of chocolates beckoning in the window,

and a tinkling bell that tattled I was coming

in the door, a skinny girl, who didn’t look

thirteen, still reeling from the shock of

losing everything, and hungry all the time

for candy, more candy than I’d ever seen,

a whole store dedicated to delights,

proof we had arrived in the land of Milk

Duds, Chiclets, gumdrops, from the country

sugar came from but candy never got to.

I roamed the aisles, savoring the names:

Necco Wafers, Atomic Fireballs, Butterfingers,

while the fat man owner watched me, sitting

on a stool by the cash register, his pale eyes

like ice mints behind his foggy glasses, lingering

at my chest, as if the swelling buds under

my uniform’s white blouse were Candy Buttons,

Jujubes I’d shoplifted; while his tiny, perfumed

mother in black pumps and white lace collar

waited on older patrons, boxing chocolates,

petit-fours, assortments made to order

for wives and sweethearts, May I help you, dahlink?

in a heavy accent, an immigrant herself

from some past purge or pogrom; her “boy”

born here, the obese product of an American

dream gone greedily awry. He chatted as I

lingered over barrels, asking none-of-your-

business questions about my parents, grades,

what my people did on holidays. He knew

my favorites, commenting as he rang me up,

I see you like those Sweet Tarts. Candy necklaces

sure are a hit with your set. A hit? My set?

It was an intimacy I resented; my cravings

were dark secrets I didn’t want to share.

Will that be all today? he asked, as if he hoped

I’d say, Actually, I would like something else,

to marry you and help you run your candy store.

Outside, my new America was waking up

to nightmare: freedom fighters

marching; storefronts, some with candy

stores like this one, burning; girls like me

in bombed-out churches; dreams deferred,

exploding; dreams I didn’t know

still needed fighting for; all I knew

was hunger, as I learned the names

that promised sweeter dreams beyond

these candied substitutes, Juicy Fruits,

Life Savers, Bit O-Honey, Good & Plenty.