#183 Why I Didn’t Make it to Coney Island

by C.Z. Sposto

A year ago, I felt my mind was shrouded by depression. My therapist advised me to go and seek out upbeat folks. Ergo, I joined The Positive Thinkers Club. There I was introduced to buoyant, smiling members who bragged of making lemonade from lemons in their lives. They took down my address.

And then before I knew it, my doorbell started ringing with smiling new acquaintances who’d come to borrow sugar to make their lemonade.

Of course, I was obliging—It helped me to be helpful. And soon my house was overrun by people popping in, to leave with sucrose crystals in tidy zip-lock bags all hours, night and day. I never considered how this looked.

The Positive Thinkers picnic was set for Coney Island. Thanks to suspicious neighbors, I never made it there. After the police raid, I found myself in handcuffs, my Tupperware containers were sent on to the lab.

In time, I was released, thanks to a good lawyer. My story made the papers, much to my chagrin. I took away some wisdom about forced smiles and sugar. I now seek friends who can accept life’s lemons as they are.