Melting

“Hey mister, what flavor is yours?” the little girl almost whispered as Jack was about to pass her by. She couldn’t have been more than 8 years old standing there alone in front of the café wearing a yellow dress that would have been better suited for summer. Her blond ringlet curls bounced and shimmered in winter’s early morning light as she worked to catch melting ice cream before it could run off her cone. Even though she was 5 feet away Jack hadn’t noticed her before.

“Well I don’t have one” Jack said

She looked up from her cone with a half puzzled, half amused look and replied “Of course you do, everybody has one. His was mint chocolate. It’s very tasty”

“Well I’m not lucky enough to have any ice cream today” he replied half paying attention to the little girl, half looking at his watch. Today was not the day to be late for work.

“Not your ice cream silly, your soul.” She replied in voice that almost seemed to come not from her but his own head

“Oh, ok…wait what did you say” Jack asked suddenly jarred back to the moment.

"What flavor is your soul" she aske with a giggle that seemed to echo in his head

Jack stared at the odd little girl before he turned to notice they were standing on an otherwise empty street.

Jack asked, “Where are your parents?” but was given no reply

He pushed “Are you ok?” Still not a sound from the girl who had returned to slurping her treat.

“Ok, stay right there for a minute” Jack ordered as he stuck his head in the door of the café.

“Anybody know this little girl?” he asked anyone who was listening.

“What little girl?” the barista replied without even looking up from her foaming milk.

“This one right…” he turned to find her gone. Jack’s head quickly shifted up and down the sidewalk. He looked across the street and in nearby cars. He even started down the alley between the café and the bodega. A cold breeze that gushed out of the alley made him to pause long enough to cinch his heavy coat tightly which caused him to notice his watch again. Jack decided that he had no time for creepy little girls or their games. It was presentation day and he wanted to be in early to review the proposal with his team.

In vain is the best way to describe Jack’s efforts to focus that day. All around him was a fervor of activity as his team sharpened their talking points, adjusted their figures, and edited the PowerPoint. This was a day would make or break not just his career but all of theirs as well. Still all he could think about was that little girl. What a weird question to be asked, the flavor of a soul. Jack tried to forget about it, tried to focus on the task at hand, but he kept coming back to that question. What flavor was his soul? The more the day progressed the more that question burned its way through my mind, jumping every break he put in front of it until all other thoughts were turned to ash in its wake. All morning long he pondered it. He mulled it over. He crumpled it up and tossed it into the mind’s wastebasket only to come scrambling back to retrieve it. Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath trying to will the thought out of his head.

“Jack.” a distant voice called

“Jack.” It came again just a little clearer.

“Jack!” it jarred him back to reality

“Jack, its go time” Mike said as he pulled his suit jacket up over his shoulders “Wake up and get your game face on man”

With a slight shake of the head Jack rose from his chair and straightened his tie.

“Can I ask you something, Mike?” he asked

“Shoot” Mike replied as he grabbed up his stack of notes

“What do you think a soul taste like?” Jack asked more timidly than he had intended.

“Look Jack I don’t know what’s up with you today, but its time shake that shit off. Are you ready for this or not?” Mike asked with an unamused glare.

Jack had no answer for him. He had no answer for anything now. His mind was besieged with a singular thought that he couldn’t shake.

“I have to go” Jack said as he slipped past Mike and headed for the elevator. He caught it just in time to slip in as the doors to closed on Mike screaming “Where the hell are you going?”

Home is where Jack went and that is where he stayed. Days passed with Jack locked away behind his door desperately searching for the answer. For the first few days there were missed phone calls and occasional knock on the door to be ignored but that soon subsided. The last message he even bothered to notice was a text from Mike. “You know you were fired, right!?”.

“Not the question I need to answer Mike.” Jack muttered to himself as he tossed the phone into a kitchen drawer and slammed it shut. Jack could feel himself descending into some sort of madness but like a pilot stuck in a tailspin he felt helpless to stop it. Part of him didn’t want to stop it. It, this question, haunted his days and when he could sleep it echoed in his dreams. Even though he could feel his mind being consumed there was a yearning that drove him onward. He needed answer. He needed an end to his torment.

Jack turned to the great philosophers and thinkers of the ages. He read Aristotle and Confucius, Buddha and Descartes, St. Augustine and Kant. He even briefly meditated over a bowl of chicken soup. So many theories on origination, composition, and purpose but nothing on flavor. He read Reddit boards and social media posts from every crackpot guru he could find. Still nothing. Day turned to night and back into day again as he studied and read. He prayed to a God he barely believed in but when that fell on deaf ears he begged the others for an answer. Nothing. He carved the question on the walls and scribbled it on the ceiling until he was surrounded, until it engulfed him. Nothing seemed to quench the flames in his head that raged more intensely with every passing hour. None of the great theorizing or pontificating of the ages satisfied his need for an answer. Why couldn’t he figure this out? What was wrong with him? Who even asked a question like this? Then one night, as Jack lay exhausted in the kitchen floor, it came to him.

“Ask her” Jack’s mind whispered in a voice he almost didn’t recognize.

“That was it!” he yelled pulling himself up off the floor. “I need to find that little girl”

The elevator in his building was slow so Jack tore down 5 stories of stairs. He may have knocked a neighbor over in the process, but he never even looked back to check. Instead Jack burst through the doors and into the night. The streetlamps and pedestrians blurred past as he covered the 6 blocks to the café. Jack’s legs burned and his lungs threatened to burst from the effort but he could feel desperation turning to panic so he pushed on.

“Please be there” he begged between gasps for air. Jack rounded the corner and there she was. Same spot, same dress. Her empty hands were tucked behind her as she leaned against the exterior wall of the café looking at her shoes “I’ve been waiting for you” she said without looking up.

“You remember me?” Jack manage to ask between breaths

“Is that really what you came all this way to ask me?” she inquired as her gaze rose to meet his. Her Cheshire cat grin and pale blue eyes pierced the darkness around her. Those eyes pierced Jack as well. That was the moment that he broke. Falling to his knees in front of this little girl Jack wept uncontrollably into his cupped hands “I just want to know what it tastes like” he sobbed “Please, just tell me!”

“Don’t cry mister, you’re almost ready.” she said as she took his hand. Her gentle touch seemed to lift him off his knees as her bouncing golden curls beckoned him to follow her down the dark alley.

“Actually, souls all taste different” she said, “just depends on the person.” As she spoke, Jack could feel himself calming down as her soothing voice seemed to reach in and caress his very mind. He barely even noticed that the hand holding his was beginning to stretch and twist, wrapping around his arm, as the fingers slowly worked their way up and past his shoulder.

“I’ve had spicy ones and I’ve had sweet ones. I’ve even had yucky old nasty ones. Taste like ash and nobody likes that” she said as he felt her grip tighten around his neck and chest. They were deep in the alley now, or so he assumed. It was darker than it should have been and all Jack could see was the little girl in front of him. All he could hear was her voice. Somewhere in the back of Jack’s head the last sane neuron fired off an alarm, begging his legs to engage, but it was drowned out by her voice. A siren’s song that promised the answer that Jack so frantically craved. She turned back to face him, pale blue eyes now ghost white, as she said “but I’m betting yours is going to be oh so tasty”

The next day as Anita stepped out of the café, latte in hand, she smiled at a little girl enjoying an ice cream cone.

“What flavor you got there?” Anita asked as she paused to adjust her purse

“Butter Pecan” the little girl answered.

“Well that sounds delicious” Anita said

“Oh, it is yummy” the little girl replied as she looked up at Anita with an innocent smile “Ma’am, can I ask you a question?”