When I was little, I’d point at the sky and ask Mama if I could have that cotton candy fluff. Sometimes white, sometimes pink, and occasionally orange, they’d constantly be whizzing last furiously. Is there an ice candy man in the sky? I’d ask. Mama would shake her head and hand me a cone from the vendor in our neighborhood street. It was fluffy, pink, and sweet with a strange tinge of bitterness. Did the vendor put enough sugar? I’d ask. It’s the way it is, Mama would say. I’d then long for the cotton candy from the sky.


Would they taste sweeter? What would it feel like to hold these puffs of fluffy colored marvels in my hands and dig my teeth into them? Would my tongue turn pink like it did whenever I tasted the pink candy mama bought for me? I’d spend days staring out of the window up at this world of white, orange, and pink, wondering how and when I could go near them. I’d watch them form into different patterns, shapes, and sizes while my house was filled with days of endless arguments between Mama and Papa, their high-pitched voices, slamming of doors, clanking of pots and pans, and Mama sniffling in the kitchen. I wonder why they couldn’t be happy like other families. I’d stare at her red eyes at dinner time, wondering if a cotton candy from the sky would make her happy.


When Mama and I were on a plane, I asked the air hostess wearing pink lipstick, if I could have the cotton candy from the sky. She pursed her lips and looked at me as though I had told her there were roaches in her wavy black hair. Mama explained about my strange fascination, and they both laughed. The air hostess handed me some popcorn instead. I stared out of the window, wistfully wondering what it was like to be a part of that world filled with resplendent hues. When the plane stopped, Mama was snoring, and the air hostess said it would take a while before the plane would start moving. I asked her if I could go for a walk in the clouds. She just looked at me and said I should be back in twenty minutes.


I stepped outside into the world of blue. The sky squelched under my feet. I tread carefully as the whiffs of cotton candy swarmed around me. I then saw the ice candy man. Black current eyes and a toothy grin, dressed in hues of pink and purple, with bright orange hair. I asked him for a pink cotton candy, and he handed me one. It was soft and sweeter than the candy mama bought for me. The sugar rush made me feel as though I could float. Then he handed me cups of shaved ice. Orange, pink, red, and yellow.


Later we’d watch the resplendent flying fish blowing bubbles in the air and talk about my troubles at home. I asked if he would visit my house below, and he promised to get me more shaved ice and cotton candy. I promised to pay him then and returned to my seat where my mother was still catching her forty winks.


The day my father left home, the door slammed, and my mother sobbed. I looked longingly outside the window at the puffs of white and pink. I spotted something falling from the sky. Icicles of pink, red, orange, and yellow. I put my hand on it and caught a cup of shaved ice. I licked and felt that taste of sweetness. I looked up again, waiting for the ice candy man to come. It was the cotton candy from the sky I wanted.