Love & Cracker Jacks

Some lighthearted fiction for spring.

Love & Cracker Jacks

One evening, from my lanai, I watched spectacular fireworks crackle thunderously and shower the night sky with bursts of multi-colored twinkling lights. They reminded me of my childhood in Canada and how much I loved waving sparklers on the Victoria Day long weekend in May. When the light show was over, I was still feeling nostalgic, so I made some homemade popcorn, retired to the family room and put on a favorite film: Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I have always loved Audrey Hepburn in movies. She was so poised , graceful, and such a fashion icon.
A few weeks later, I met a very nice man. We began to talk every day; a lovely friendship developed. Since he lived off island, we agreed that he should return for a week so we could get to know each other better. He arrived on a weekend and, apart some business appointments, was free to cruise around the island with me. Our first official date was dinner on the night of his arrival—a wonderful evening exchanging stories about our grown children, travel experiences and career goals.

After dinner, he presented me with a gift. He explained that it was the first of a series of gifts, one for each day of his visit on Maui. I was baffled, and uncomfortable at the prospect of accepting presents so soon in our relationship. I gently removed the soft pink tissue paper and discovered a Cracker Jack box—that nasty caramel corn and peanut concoction I’ve disliked since I was a child! I was slightly amused, but confused. Why on earth would he think I’d want that? “There's a prize inside," he explained.

Not quite sure what was going on, I opened the box and found the prize—a tiny paper tattoo wrapped in plastic. He seemed delighted, but I still didn’t get it. The next day we toured the north shore of the island. Before nightfall, he handed me another box wrapped in pink tissue. Oh no, not another Cracker Jack box. Doesn’t he get that I don’t like this stuff? But I was gracious, thanked him and found another prize—a little paper cut-out wrapped in plastic. On the third day, he had business appointments, so I assumed that I wouldn’t have to face another box of that disgustingly sweet caramel corn. But no such luck. He proudly presented the third box before saying good night after another dinner out. “These boxes come in a three pack," he added. Thank goodness, I said to myself, we’re finally done. But no, he had purchased several three packs so I ended up opening six more boxes. As I drove him to the airport, a bit teary-eyed and perplexed by his gifts, we planned our next time together on Maui.

A week after his return to the mainland, he asked me to FaceTime him. When we connected, I found myself looking at a large cardboard box. I could see his hand running a knife along the top to open it. When he did, I almost screamed. Inside were another dozen Cracker Jack boxes. He laughed and finally focused his iPhone camera on his face. He told me that he had been waiting for this box to arrive. I was totally silent. What could I say? When I didn’t respond, he explained that he had ordered it from eBay, that the boxes were from 1970. “What fun we’ll have opening them next time we meet.” Was I was wrong about this guy? This was getting weird. I said good night and could sense his disappointment that I was not excited about his grand gesture.

For the next few days, I avoided his calls while I tried to figure out his Cracker Jack fetish and why he failed to understand that I hate anything sweet. When he called me at the end of the week, I finally picked up.

“I got it,” he said, sounding pleased.

“Got what?” I replied.

“An original 1950s box of Cracker Jack. This could be the one!”

Stumped and frustrated, I told him I hoped he hadn’t paid more than a dollar for such a silly thing. He explained how impossible it was to find an original 1950s box and admitted that he’s paid a small bundle.

“I’ve been searching for one from the second I met you,” he said. “Don’t you know the deal with this?”

“No,” I told him. “I just thought you were crazy when you bought a dozen 1970 boxes.”

“Sweetie, in 1950, Cracker Jack put a Tiffany’s diamond ring in one, and only one, of their boxes. Didn’t you see the movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Holly Golightly, played by Audrey Hepburn, gets engaged with a ring out of a Cracker Jack box.” 

I was speechless. I had only recently watched the movie but hadn’t made the connection. He promised to bring the vintage 1950s Cracker Jack box with him on his next trip to Maui. “I’ve been waiting over 40 years to open a box with someone I love and find a ring inside. That would be karma.”

Before he booked his ticket over, I decided to put an end to this Cracker Jack nonsense once and for all. The next time we FaceTimed, I asked him to open the box. I watched him rip off the top. The popcorn inside was discolored and as hard as rock. Close to the bottom of the box was a small wormhole. We both laughed, wondering where that box had traveled since 1950. Then his face changed.

“What’s in the box?” When he didn’t answer, I became anxious. “Is there a prize?” I asked, finally getting into the spirit of the thing. Still silent, he held up a gold ring with a fuchsia heart-shaped stone. I almost fell over.

“So, I guess this is it,” he said.

What could I say but “I do!”