The morning after Christopher Thomas's sister, Ella, died, he walked into the kitchen, searching eagerly for any food that would rid him of the memory of the horrible dream he had just had.
As he dug through the cabinets, he discovered an unopened box of strawberry Poptarts. I didn't know we had those… he tore open the box, completely ignoring the Post-It note on the side:
Property of Ella Thomas. If that is not your name, do not eat these. That means you, Chris.
He shoved one in his mouth, then another, then another. The sugary stickiness of them should have covered up his sadness, but it wasn't working. He kept eating.
After he had eaten the entire box, he saw the note on the side. Of course. These were Ella's. I am so stupid.
He suddenly felt the need to throw up.
After he had run over to the sink and watched the red and white pour out of his mouth, he felt so much better. He had completely forgotten about the dream he'd had the night before, and he had tried to do something nice for his sister, which was more than he had done while she had been alive.
Until the next day, when he found himself needing more Poptarts.
Stop it, he told himself. The Poptarts belong to Ella. They're not for you. You don't deserve them.
He didn't even realize he had eaten another box of them until he saw the mushed-up version in the sink a few minutes later.
By the time he was sent to Uganda, he was so addicted to eating Poptarts and then throwing them up that he had to bring an entire suitcase filled with boxes of Poptarts along with him to his mission.
"What's in the suitcase?" his companion, Elder McKinley, had asked him when he noticed how bulky the bag was.
Silently, Elder Thomas unzipped it and let the Poptarts spill onto the floor.
"Wow," Elder McKinley said. "We should call you, like, Elder Poptarts or something."
Elder Thomas smiled half-heartedly, hating how much that nickname reminded him of his sister. "Yeah. Yeah. That sounds great. I…really love Poptarts, I guess."