“Do you want some chocolate?”

Jack’s eyes were bright and unfocused. His long, reedy body angled toward me as we stood in the dim entryway.

We were in the top floor apartment, affectionately christened the “Party Palace” by the camp. Bluegrass and jazz exploded out of fiddles and cellos, banjoes and guitars. Accompanied by an adhoc rhythm section on pots and pans, they competed with drunken campers wailing out the lyrics of ‘American Pie’ and ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’.

A musical tower of Babel.

I nodded yes, eager to get out of there.

He cocked his head to the left and turned. I followed him out the door and onto the long, narrow balcony that led to the other apartments.

Even at one in the morning, the air was thick and fertile. My ears rang and it took me a moment to register the soft roar of the rolling waves. Sand coated my skin and everything smelled of seaweed and the tides.

Jack fumbled with his key in his right hand, a violin and bow clutched in his left. The broken horsehairs sprayed out like feathers. A thick ashy layer of rosin sat on the scratched wood of the violin.

His apartment was like all the others. Maroon carpet, faux wood furniture, synthetic comforter in convenient multi color. A bathroom and kitchenette in the back. The bed was unmade, a wrinkled green shirt peeking out from between the sheets. On the bedside table, a gold ring rested atop a pack of Marlboros. He slid them into the open drawer, shutting them in.

“Can I use your bathroom?” I didn’t wait for his answer. I slipped in and locked the door behind me. I stared at myself in the mirror. My hair was frizzy and my skin oily, symptoms of the heavy sea air. I tried to smooth my hair back, combing it through with my fingers. A clump came loose in my hand. Panic rose in my chest even as I reminded myself that this was part of it, that this was ‘normal’. That I knew this would happen as it had the first time. Fighting the pressure behind my eyes, I shoved the clump of hair deep into the wastebasket and washed my hands. I took three shaky breaths and unlocked the door.

A triangle of light cut across the linoleum floor of the kitchenette. He held out an open bar of chocolate, the silver wrapper cool and sweaty. I moved to break off a piece but he pulled away.

“Hold on a sec. Close your eyes.”

Despite his graying hair, he looked so young to me. Long lashes and square jaw. Straight nose and full lips.

I closed my eyes.

I felt him press a small, cool square onto my tongue. His fingernails grazed my front teeth.

“Don’t chew it. Just let it melt.”

My mouth filled with saliva. Gritty and earthy and devoid of all sweetness. Full and bitter and sharp. I bit down and the square broke, dissolving into a chalky, pungent paste. The taste of dirt hit the back of my throat. I grimaced and opened my eyes.

“That’s very strange chocolate.”

He showed me the black and white outer wrapper. “It’s 90% dark chocolate.”

“I don’t think that’s for eating,” I told him. “I’m pretty sure that’s baking chocolate.”

“No, no,” Jack said, excited to prove me wrong. “This stuff’s great ‘cause look.” He took a small bite. “The taste of chocolate is so intense that one little square is all you need, really. That way the whole bar’ll last forever. It’s healthy.”

He beamed.

I shook my head. “I’d rather eat a Snickers, thanks.”

“Yeah, me, too, actually.”

“So, what the hell are you doing with that stuff, then?”

His eyes widened. “I bought the wrong chocolate at the store.”

We paused and stared at each other. He laughed and I laughed. It snaked around us, our laughter, joining us together. We held our bellies, doubling over. I spilled the tears I had held back earlier and wished we’d never stop. But of course we did, sighing and wiping our faces.

“It’s not even funny,” I said.

We burst out laughing, again.  As he bent at the waist, Jack’s hand dropped onto my trembling shoulder.  I let out a guffaw and my head fell back. I braced myself against his chest with my hand.

We staggered, drunk with laughter.

His hand moved to my forearm. We gasped for breath and blinked, standing close. Jack’s hand slipped down to cover mine. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. His face grew serious.

“Hey, um,” he said.

I was silent.

He pulled me toward him. My wrist bent against his belt. I winced.

“Ouch. Wait.”

He looked down at me, anxious. I saw him and wanted so much to forget. I leaned my hips in towards his and stood on tiptoe, grasping his shoulders. His lips came down to meet mine. We fit. He tasted like plums and tobacco.

Later, much later, I would watch the solitary flare of his cigarette in the darkness. I would feel the blanket of grief, the inevitable pall.

For now, though, I could still taste the chocolate.