The Mystery Dum Dum

The sun was scorching, a sparkling and peacock blue sky. Inside the white Chevy Astro van, which was customized with porcelain and steel blue stripes along the side, the air conditioning kicked out warm, muggy air; the windows quit working a year ago. My sister and I complained about the unbearable heat, and my mom told us that we would buy a new car soon. Nine years old, I was rowdy and impatient; five years old, Shannon, my little sister, didn’t take no for an answer.
Shannon and I skipped into the liquor store with my mom, tickling each other to the door, through the store, and to the counter. At the register, (this being the only reason we liked to go with) the clerk pulled out the large Kemps ice cream pail that we had grown to know very well. We stood at our mom’s side, practically jumping with a vast longing for the candy to soon be in our mouths. The clerk pushed the pail to where we could reach it, but we never dared to grab one until he asked. He rang up the beer; we were on the verge of screaming. Why was this man being so cruel by torturing us with this beautiful, untouchable pail of candy?
As the receipt printed, he finally asked, “Would you girls like to have a sucker?”
Before he could finish the sentence, we plunged our arms into the pail, thrashing about for the one flavor that would please us: the majestic mystery flavor.
“Aha!” I screamed, laying my eyes on the sucker before Shannon. Triumphant, I dug through the others until I reached glory. “I found one before you!” I bragged, sticking my tongue out.
Shannon began to rush, upset at losing the race; still searching to find a mystery Dum Dum for herself. When her little fingers snatched one, we thanked the clerk and headed for the car, popping the suckers into our mouths.
Shannon and I hopped into the van and strapped on our seatbelts. We sat content and joyous, the heat evaporating from the worries of our lives. We didn’t care anymore, we had our suckers. The blue upholstery, usually transferring heat from the seat to our bodies, seemed dormant in our joyfulness. Shannon sat in the front with mom; I sat in back with the curtained windows shielding me from the sun. The flavor was a sweet vanilla like the icing on a cupcake.  Shannon licked her sucker; I skipped trying to find out how many licks it would take to finish and began chewing.
Before I knew it, the delicious sucker was gone. I was cheerless until I thought of a great idea. I ripped the soggy half of the paper-sucker-stick off and raised the other to my nose. I began pushing the stick into my nose; the paper stick felt foreign and resistible. I pulled the stick out, observed the gooey substance covering it, and slid it back into my nose, pushing it higher than the time before. I wanted to see how far I could push it in and still be able to pull it out. Successfully, I continued to do this for the five minutes needed in order to drive through the bank drive up and to reach Hardees.
By the time we pulled the van into the narrow Hardees drive-through, I was becoming a pro at this whole stick to nose and out again business. The last time I pushed the stick into my nose, it slid in the farthest. I tried to pull it out, but ended up pushing it farther up my nose. I began silently screaming.
My mom asked what we wanted to eat.
I tried to stay calm as I told her my usual, “I’ll have a chicken nugget kid’s meal with a Mello Yello, mommy.”
I kept digging my finger into my nose, on the edge of tears. I felt so stupid. How does someone get a sucker stick stuck in their nose?
When we sat down to eat supper, I shamefully told my mom about the incident.
“Mommy,” I started, already pouting and whimpering.
“What is it honey?” she sounded concerned.
“Well, when we were at Hardees, I sort of, I sort of,” I stuttered.
“What honey? Are you okay.” She asked.
“I sort of stuck half of a sucker stick up my nose and it won’t come out,” I began bawling. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I repeated until she cradled me in her arms.
“Shhh… It will be okay,” she comforted. She called the hospital, and they said to have me keep my head down until my dad got home from work, then bring me in. We sat on my parent’s bed and played game after game of King’s Corner until my dad arrived two hours later; my head low the entire time, I tried to blow the stick out and not breathe in with my nose all at the same time. This tactic did not work very well.
Upon arrival at the hospital, the doctors had me lay on a bed. They, then, proceeded to push a large tube up my nose. When they reached the right point, they blew up the little balloon at the end of the tube and then released the air: they were trying to blow the stick out. When it failed, the doctors said that it would eventually pass through.
For days, my parents asked me, “Did it pass?”
For days I replied, “I don’t know, it’s too gross.” I couldn’t and didn’t want to look and see, but it must have because I didn’t feel it in my nose anymore.
I learned a valuable lesson that day: to count the licks it takes to eat a sucker instead of devouring the thing in less than one minute. I have not failed at that lesson yet, and to this day, I have not stuck any other object into my nose.