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Chapter Text

“I can’t believe it!” Charlie pressed the pads of his fingers against the fingerprint sticky window. His breath fogging the glass in the early November chill. 

Charlie was a small-ish boy who was about to celebrate his 11th birthday in the coming month. He had short, frazzly black hair cut and cropped close to his head, decorated with a hand knit cap to keep the chill off of his ears. His skin was olive brown and smudged with a good layer of dust and dirt from the city’s oil-coated streets. 

There were holes in his sneakers and patches on his rolled-up blue jeans. His shirt and hoodie were brand new from the city’s goodwill! 

But there was something special about Charlie. His family knew about it long before he could walk or talk. His mind would wander. He would loose himself in his imagination. 

Charlie was a dreamer. A very spectacular, very dangerous thing to be. 

“It’s incredible!” He declared to nobody in particular, still staring into the window. 

Well… mostly at what was behind it. 

A chocolate bar. But not just any chocolate bar. This one was decorated in a shining purple wrapper, wrapped in gold foil, with red swirls and dotted lines patterning the edges. This wasn’t just chocolate. This was art. This was the best chocolate in the entire universe. 

Or so he’d been told… Charlie had never actually tasted it. But oh… he'd dreamed about it. He’d dreamed about it for years, ever since the magic words had spilled from his grandfather's lips. Late at night near the water heater while the rest of the world slept. He’d sit, and he’d listen, and it felt like the whole world was a delicious secret that only he knew. 

Charlie was broken from his imagination spell by a knock at the window. The shipowner’s gray eyes glared at him through the glass. He spoke, but his voice was muffled by the window. Charlie knew what he was saying though… it was the reaction he usually got when he’d look through shop windows. 

Go away, kid. No loitering. 

Of course, Charlie took off in a run back home to his apartment just as the breeze began to pick up. The bell on top of the red laundromat door dinged as he pushed it open. The air buzzed with the stale smell of laundry pods and humming washing machines. Charlie’s mom, Ms. Bucket, sat at the counter, rolling up quarters. She adjusted her glasses on her nose and smiled at her son as he walked through the laundromat isles. 

“Charlie, how was school?” She asked, still smiling.

Ms Bucket was a slender woman. Just like her son, she was small and thin and had thick black hair, cut just above her glasses perched up on her nose. 

“It was fine. Where’s grandpa Joe? I have to tell him something!”

Ms Bucket sighed and mumbled something to herself in silent Mandarin while closing the cash register. 

“He is where he always is, Charlie. Upstairs in the bedroom.”

Charlie leapt past the counter and up the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. He rustled through his hoodie pocket for his keys and jingled them into the lock. The door creaked open to reveal the Bucket’s home, above the city’s “Coin Laundry” 

The Bucket apartment was small, but big enough for a good family of three. 

Charlie’s family wasn’t a family of three, though. In addition to his mother, Charlie lived with his mother’s parents, George and Jun Xue, and his father’s parents, Joe and Josephine Bucket. George Xue had started the Coin Laundry after he and his wife had immigrated to the city from their previous home in Beijing. Charlie’s mom, Alice, was born in the city… and then met Charlie’s dad one day when he was a customer. Bell ringing over the door, trying to get the stain out of his father’s work uniform. Charlie liked his grandparents. Even if Grandpa George and Grandma Jun didn’t speak very much English, Grandpa Joe talked enough for everyone there. As far as Charlie was concerned… Grandpa Joe’s head was full of the greatest stories in all of the world. 

You see, Grandpa Joe had worked for a chocolate maker. Not just any chocolate maker either. 

The candy man

Or, as Grandpa Joe knew him- 

“Willy Wonka.” He said with a smile. “What a wonderful soul.”

“Another story about him! Please, Grandpa Joe?” Charlie shifted himself so his knees were settled on the pillow on the floor. Next to Grandpa Joe’s side of the bed. Tucked in next to his wife, Joesephine. Who grinned at Charlie from her place on her pillow. Oxygen tube hissing. 

But Charlie was used to the sound. 

Across the room was George and Jun, both already finishing their dinner. Charlie’s own bowl of rice and broth was still steaming in his hands. Grandpa Joe’s eyes twinkled as he sipped his own broth. 

“Now… where was I?”

Grandma Josephine raised her trembling hand. Charlie and Joe both turned to look at her as she inhaled to speak. 

“Tell… him… about… the spies.” She croaked. Inhaling in between each word. 

“Ah yes…” Grandpa Joe nodded, white curls on his head bouncing. “Now that his chocolate has returned, I suppose you may want to know more about how it left in the first place.” 

“I already know about the spies, Grandpa Joe.”

“Yes… but do you know that I saw with my own two eyes one of Wonka’s most marvelous creations?”

Charlie’s eyes sparkled. 

“You knew Mister Wonka?” 

Grandpa Joe nodded his head. 

“Really? What was he like?” 

Grandpa Joe laughed,

“Patience, Charlie. I’ll tell you now.” 

Charlie leaned back on his feet, setting his bowl down at the bedside table. Leaning his face up on his hands. Grandpa Joe grunted and sat back, straining his arms to try and sit up a little more. He exhaled, let in a long breath, and then his eyes filled with the sparkle of his past… and his voice changed just like it always did. 

“Willy Wonka was a marvelous man… he could make any dream you had come true. Candy crystals you could really wear, chocolate eggs that really hatched to reveal little delicately crafted fondant birds, ice cream that never melted and would never hurt your teeth. And all of it he oversaw. Every stage of baking and cooking and basting. Each caramel and coconut wafer, each butterscotch and taffy and flavor of sugar, and each chocolate bar wrapped in purple and gold that crossed the threshold of the counter was inspected and approved by Wonka himself. 

Oh… and pictures didn’t do him justice. He was a humbly beautiful man. With dark hair just like yours, and a smile that could infect anyone else in the room. 

And his eyes… they twinkled with the glow of a thousand awestruck faces. They reveled and danced and swam around the room, and then left his gaze a twirling transfixion of emerald green. How I wished I could see the world through those eyes… how I wished I could have made it so that the light never did leave them… 

As his chocolate empire grew, as you very well know, the outside world treated him so carelessly. They took his gift for granted. As other candymakers’ empires grew, so did their greed… and their jealousy. 

Wonka would unintentionally hire spies, who would steal and sell his recipes to other candymakers. They’d intercept his wares and sell bad batches in its places. 

News reports began surfacing that Wonka was trying to poison the children of the world. That he was causing teeth to rot and stomachs to turn. That the marvelous things he made began to taste reminiscent of the acid and grass that the world looked down upon then. That he was drugging us, selling us broken promises… 

And then that Wonka himself was… insane. 

I saw it in his eyes, how hurt he was. How he’d wander his shops and tirelessly work. To perfect and prove to the world that he was still good. 

But the world didn’t want to hear it. 

I was the head of his assembly team then. And one day he called me into his office, handed me a cup of hot chocolate he had made himself, and asked if I’d be willing to advise him on his biggest project yet.”

“What kind of project?” Charlie asked, eyes wide. 

Grandpa Joe chuckled. 

“The kind that only I could cultivate, Joseph… something new. Something wonderful!” 

His eyes sparkled… how I missed it… I was willing to do whatever he said. 

“I want to create the first candy that really moves. That breathes and twirls and dances! Candy that thinks and feels and dreams, Joseph! I want to create candy life…”

Charlie’s eyes bulged. Grandpa Joe grinned. 

“Candy life??”

“Indeed.”

“But… did it work?”

Grandpa Joe’s eyes changed. He frowned and sighed, and then blinked away something in his eye. 

As if the memory was choking him as it left his throat. 

“It did indeed.” 

“Wonka spent months and months locked away in his private kitchen. Only emerging to sleep and change his clothes… the isolation drove him mad. He’d emerge, silent as a stone, and look at the world with sad gray eyes… 

It wasn’t until that spring. He called his most trusted workers into his office, me among them, and showed us his project. 

Nestled inside a crystal jar, with little holes poked into the top, was a butterfly

Not just any butterfly… this one’s wings were spun from colored sugar clouds and glittered with little sparkling crystals of candy. Its body was hand painted, crafted meticulously with sculpted fondant and taffy paste. 

Its legs were so delicate, as thin and fragile as a strand of hair, but as agile and articulated as a real living insect. Painted with thin stripes of white and silver. Its antennae twitched, its eyes glistened with such life and light that one would have thought it to be a real living butterfly. 

… only it was. It was real. It was living. It was fluttering and stretching it’s wings from its little place in the jar, atop a chocolate branch leaning against the crystal walls. 

The crowd of us gathered in his office all gawked and fawned in amazement. Mister Wonka smiled, there was such wonder in his eyes seeing all of our faces as he held out his creation for us to see. 

“This butterfly” he said, twinkling. “Emerged from its candy chrysalis mere moments ago.” 

And with that the room fell into a hush. He held out his hand, and resting on his glove, was a sugar-spun chrysalis shell. Intricately woven and carefully crafted by little candy mandibles. Its detail was astounding. And then behind him, our attention was drawn to a small enclosure of little wriggling taffy caterpillars, munching on thin painted leaves of butterscotch crunch. 

Oh my god. We all whispered. Oh my god.

“Joseph.” He said quietly. “Would you like to try it?” He asked, grinning from ear to ear, holding the little chrysalis out toward me. 

I was apprehensive… but when I saw the look in his eyes I trusted Mister Wonka with my whole being. 

I gently took the chrysalis from his hand, and he watched with delight as I raised it to my lips. The room hushed to a whisper, and I touched the delicate creation to my tongue. 

The flavor was beyond description. It was something entirely new. Sweet and delicate and rich and smooth all at once. Each little string of sugar woven to create the wondrous pod had its very own life breathed into it. It danced on the tip of my tongue and swirled through my senses, it tasted of memories I’d long forgotten, love and light and wonder that one could only dream of. 

The world around me filled with color and joy, colors I’ve never seen, wonderful senses flooding into my eyes and ears. I felt the world turning beneath me… I felt the whispers and wonder of the candymakers and workers. And the candy man himself… the world spinning inside of his head. Alight and ablaze  with his dreams…

It tasted of dreams come true, Charlie..

He smiled at me as my senses began to dull again. And placed his hands on my shoulders. There was a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before. Not in my nearly ten years of working for him. 

“Now…” he said softly, giddy with joy. “Do you see?”

I did… I did see. 

I came to the astounding realization that for a moment, a fleeting second…

 I could taste a little bit of the world through his twinkling green eyes…

Mister Wonka had done it. He’d created living breathing creatures… all made of candy. 

This was it. This is how he would make his return. Not anyone knew the secret to create life like this except for him. When we asked, he wouldn’t tell. He’d only smile and wink and press a finger to his lips. 

The room erupted into celebration. Applauding him as he held out the creature toward us again. His smile was contagious, and for the first time in a long long time, laughter bubbled out of his chest and filled the air with the sweetness of a thousand fluttering sugar wings. 

As soon as the snow had melted off of the warming ground, Mister Wonka stood up in front of the world and its eyes, and proudly showed his brand new invention. 

Carefully he unscrewed the top of the crystal jar, and the butterfly fluttered its wings and, for the first time in its life, took off dancing into the air. Above a crowd of spectators, over and through astonished cameramen, above the heads of children and mothers clinging to their hands, old and young alike all gazing in utter astonishment, and then back up and around and under the sun,  landing on his extended finger, twitching its antenna, flicking and fluttering its wings. 

The crowd sat in deafening silence as mister Wonka stood and waited for the applause to fill the room, to seize the air and drum in his ears…

The butterfly twitched again. 

…And the applause never came.

Instead of the world's eyes being filled with wonder, the only thing they could think to feel was terrible fear… horror at what he’d finally done. 

Headlines rolled in, discussions tabled in front of cameras on talk show after talk show, interviews and microphones and news trucks followed him through the streets, pushing him back into his office as the papers surged. 

Mister Wonka, they said, was a blasphemist. 

He had become the new Icharus 

He’d begun a new ethical debate. One of limitless potential.

Where would he stop? When would it end? 

How far would he go now? Now that he had done the unthinkable. Now that he had done the unimaginable. 

Now that he had dared to rise from candy man to candy god. 

Willy Wonka wasn't wonderful anymore. Suddenly, he was controversial. He was dangerous.

All of us in his factory began to realize… the world hadn’t been ready... The rush of mindless channel searching with TV remotes, late night talk shows, pixelated arcade boxes hot with fingerprints and dirt and grime, yellow news with loud headlines, corrupt politicians, nuclear bombs and UV rays, the dreams in the world had been replaced with hot and heartless pixelated nightmares. 

There was no room left for dreaming in this world… not anymore… 

The realization hit Wonka too… in this world as it was there was nothing else left for him. Slowly, as the light in his eyes began to dim again, his shops dotted across the world began to close their doors. Assembly lines shuddered to a halt, shelves grew vacant and collected dust, windows lost their glow, lightbulbs on displays flickered and died, and the butterfly fluttering in the jar on his desk moved less and less each passing day as summer slowed to an end. 

As the season changed into autumn… the world grew the coldest it had ever been in a long time. And on the day of September the 3rd, 1984… I arrived up to the factory gates met with a chained padlock, and a sign painted with curved purple and gold letters. 

Closed

When I got home I was met with a letter addressed to me, Joseph H Bucket. In it was my final paycheck and instructions on how to cash it, as well as my name badge, and a delicately wrapped butterscotch pop, clad in gold leaf paper. 

A simple message. A simple request.”

“Don’t forget.”

Grandpa Joe rustled through his drawer, his hand emerged gently holding a white stick with shining gold candy at the end. The light at his bedside cast it in a faint glow. His eyes glistened as he held it gently between his fingers. Light swimming and dancing in the shining gold leaf.

“If only they could taste his vision as I did… perhaps things would have been different… Perhaps the world would have been able to see him as I did… as we all did. 

I only wish that daring to dream wasn’t such a dangerous thing to do now…”

Charlie’s eyes swam with tears. He inhaled softly, as if his breath could tarnish the candy held delicately in his grandpa’s fingertips. 

“Poor Mister Wonka…” he finally breathed. And Grandpa Joe sighed, and tucked the candy back safely into his drawer. 

“I thought all was lost… as I grew older I entered the robotics business as a repairman. I held onto the belief that all of it, everything I saw and smelled and tasted was still real. 

And then ten years ago as my body began to slow, his factory’s towers began to fill the air with smoke. Again! Overnight his chocolates began to appear on store shelves, his factory gates were locked up tightly still. Nobody dared to go inside… 

And one day on the television I saw an advertisement. A voice over the screen. He was there to announce his return. He saw the world change again in his absence. 

Perhaps, I thought, the world was ready. Perhaps the world realized it needed a man like him. 

His platform expanded to video, ads in magazines, it was as if his whole system had changed and modernized, it wasn’t just his old customers that were enjoying his chocolate and treats, it was new ones as well! 

I searched for a way to reach him, I even went up to the gates to see if I could somehow find a way to see him again. In the flesh. Reassure myself that he perhaps remembered me… that maybe he would let me inside to work with him again.

I hadn’t forgotten… I still remembered how it all tasted. I ached for a split second more of seeing through his eyes. 

But the gates stayed closed… the world was still locked away. Yet still… the towers smoked. His candy stayed on the shelves. 

He was back… but he was still gone. 

It wasn’t the same as it was before…”

“But if his chocolate returned, why did it disappear again?” Charlie’s heart burned with confusion. 

“Nobody really knows, my boy.” Grandpa Joe shook his head.

 “All we do know is that his gates had opened one rainy night in August of 2009. Someone emerged, some say it was a worker, a child, mister Wonka himself perhaps. 

Someone emerged and then never returned. 

And when the uproar of cameras began to appear at the gates, arisen and assembled by the squeaking of the never-opened factory hinges. 

They found Wonka alone in the rain. Soaked and on his knees over some puddle of dissolved sugar. 

The cameras flashed and the rain coated reporters shouted and yelled and clamored over his fragile shaking form. He stumbled back inside his gates, tripping over his boots, falling into the concrete and pulling the gates shut behind him. The world saw him cover his eyes and scream for them to leave him be. To go away. To get out of his factory. 

To stop taking his world away from him. 

And since then, the smoke has stopped. Shelves collected dust, And the world has lost him again. 

Or… so I had believed.”

“Charlie! Bring in the dishes!” Ms Bucket called from the kitchen in the other room. Charlie tensed away from the bed, realizing that his slow sink into his hands had turned itself into a rest on his arms, and that his eyes had begun to grow heavy and slow... Grandma Josephine was sound asleep, along with Grandpa George across the room. He was snoring loudly from his bed while Jun read her book next to him. Reading glasses perched on her nose. Grandpa Joe winked and handed Charlie his and his wife’s bowls. 

“Thanks, sport.” He offered quietly. 

Charlie smiled and stood, and went across the room to grab the rest of the dishes. 

“PoPo- the bowl.” Charlie said quietly as he approached Jun. who looked at him and smiled. 

“Thank you, Charlie.” She said gently, giving him her own bowl and then reaching for George’s. Empty and in his lap as his head nodded back. Snoring that sounded like pattering footsteps on a wooden mantle. Echoing and bouncing off walls. 

“Charlie.” Jun tapped Charlie’s wrist before he could move away. Charlie perked up his head and hummed. Jun pursed her lips and pointed at Grandpa George, who was setting himself down in the quilt to lay back. Then shook her head and looked at Charlie again. 

“The chocolate is… bad.” She said slowly. And Charlie looked at her for a moment more, then at the dishes in his hands, and then sighed and nodded. 

“Okay.” He exhaled. Jun smiled and patted his hand. 

“Good boy.” 

“Goodnight, PoPo.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Charlie crossed the room to head through the hallway and into the kitchen. He heard his mother sigh loudly. And hesitated, slowing his walk to a crawl as the kitchen light cast shadows on his feet. Ms Bucket was leaning against the counter, her cellphone pressed into her ear, other hand clenched into a fist. 

“I do understand… yes… I know.” She said into the phone. 

The light in the kitchen flickered, and she sighed. 

“Business has been slow these past few months. Yes. I know. Sir, the checks I get for Charlie don’t cover our rent. Not like they did when my husband was still working… 

Please… you must understand. I know. I know you can’t make exceptions for everyone but please. One more month.”

Her breath hitched. She pressed a hand to her forehead. 

“I understand. One more month, that’s all I ask. One more month… please…”

There was a long and deafening pause. Charlie’s stomach lurched as he heard his mother’s breath hitch again. 

He watched her clutch the phone, then her chest, sigh and exhale slowly. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She said quietly. “Yes. Next month. I will. Thank you. You too.” 

She set down the phone and clutched her hands together, head down, eyes squeezed shut. 

Charlie couldn’t tell if she was chuckling or shaking… so Charlie stepped into the kitchen and let the flickering light above the stove cast him in a warm fluorescent glow. 

“I brought the dishes, mom.” Charlie walked the dishes up to the sink. His mom jumped, like she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone in the apartment. 

“Oh. Thank you, Charlie.” She sighed. And then managed a smile when Charlie looked up at her. 

He frowned, trying to hide his trembling lip.

“Was that the tennant?” Charlie asked quietly. And Ms Bucket frowned and made an o with her mouth. 

“Oh, Charlie! You don’t have to worry at all about that. I’ll figure it all out, okay?” 

She put a hand on his shoulder. Charlie looked sadly up at her… 

Her eyes were pleading with him… he was just a boy after all. 

A little boy who, despite his mother’s best attempts, still knew very well what was going on. The Buckets always struggled with money, especially since Charlie’s dad had… left… 

Charlie knew his lip was trembling now. Still fighting to try and manage an “okay mom…” 

Ms Bucket pulled him close to her for a hug. Rustling his hair with her fingers. Charlie hugged his mom as tightly as he could. 

“We’re going to be okay. It’ll all work out, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded into his mom’s chest. 

“Just you wait and see. Us Buckets, we’re the richest family in the whole world.” 

Chapter Text

On a chilly November morning in Chicago, an issue of the daily paper was released with a bold font, red, and yellow middle page. 

Those who slid the cashier a quarter or two, sipped on their coffees and unfolded the paper that morning were expecting it to be depressing and political and predictable… however, those who picked up their morning paper and bothered to read the bold font, red, and yellow middle page saw a striking, alarming, and quite spectacular message… 

Dear people of the world, 

It has likely been ten years since you have last heard from me, or tasted my delectable recipes, or perhaps even let me cross your minds. But as the late philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau so eloquently said, “Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.” In the case of my trade, very sweet indeed. 

For I am writing to all of you to announce a very special very rare occasion. You see, as I switched on the machines of my factory and let them chug and hum back to life, I have carefully selected five singular Wonka chocolate bars and wrapped them to conceal a secret inside. A surprise, if you will. 

This surprise, which might leave you yourself surprised, is not chocolate. Nor is it edible. However I always have thought that the experience of my treats themselves were the best part. 

You see, five of my delicious Wonka chocolate bars, shipped to the world November the 15th of 2019 contain not just chocolate, but an experience. Five of my Wonka chocolate bars contain beneath its wrapper what I have named a Golden Ticket.

Five lucky children across the world who take the wrapping off of their Wonka bars to enjoy my special recipe will be greeted with an admit-one entry into my one and only chocolate factory for a three day long experience! And at the end of this Wonka Factory Experience, one lucky child will be rewarded with a handsome grand prize! One that guarantees a lifetime supply of Wonka products and every sweet dream that a child could ever hope for. 

I am opening my factory doors for the first time since the year 1984. So much in this world has changed, so much inside my own candy-filled world has changed. Those of you who will be lucky enough see it, I look forward to your visit with me. And I leave you with something philosopher George Santayana once said, 

“Those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

I will see you all very soon. 

Regards, W Wonka. 

Overnight, it seemed, paper copies of the message had been taped to candy store windows, websites had been made, digital copies had been sent to News companies, the world was abuzz with the news, it only took a few mere hours past midnight for the entire population of the Wonka Chocolate buying world to become giddy with a new kind of sugar high. 

Bars began flying off of shelves, faster than the speed of light from displays, hands of shopkeepers and suppliers clamored out to grab boxes upon boxes of wonka brand chocolate, flavors unenjoyed for decades.

In Peanut butter fudge cream flake

In Butterscotch nougat ripple crunch

In almond sugar cocoa buttercream

In whipple fudgemallow delight 

In milk chocolate 

In white chocolate 

In dark chocolate 

In bars upon bars upon bars of decadent fudge and rippling cream. Printed with stamps of Wonka sweeping font. 

Recipe boards on Pinterest began to circle about. 

“Ten Wonka Bar Fudge!” 

“Fourteen Wonka Bar Chocolate Cake!” 

“How to use your Wonka Chocolate in your kids' school lunches!”

The Media began calling it “Wonka Fever” as midwestern mothers began finding new ways to cook chocolate into their chicken salads and green bean casseroles. 

“The whole world has become chocoholics in just a few weeks time.” The anchorman on City News said as he shuffled papers about his desk. “It seems that there has been no luck in the Golden Ticket Search thus far.” 

“Which begs the question, Tom. Is this all a Wonka ploy to up his sales after being off of the market for so long?” The anchorwoman knit herself a rehearsed look of concern. “Perhaps he’s run out of ends in his factory after not making any income since 1984… let’s go to Charlotte for some Wonka Enterprise Analytics over the past ten years-“

“Thank you, Sarah- Here we have a bar graph analyzing Wonka sales since the year 1984 until present day. As you can see the gross income of the Enterprise has been near to nothing, dropping rapidly in the winter of 1984 when his factory closed its doors-“ 

“Charlie! Have you finished your homework?” Ms Bucket called from the register desk. Charlie tensed, turning his head away from the television on the wall. Washers and dryers on their quarter bought cycles now humming in his ears.

“I’m almost done!” 

“So as you can see, Wonka chocolate sales have skyrocketed. I suppose you can say this Golden Ticket search has thus begun a Sugar Rush in profits for Mister Wonka!”

A woman at the washer next to Charlie, Mrs. Clanton, tsked her lips. 

“Insanity.” She mumbled. And then raised her head toward Mrs Bucket. “I tell you, Alice. The first child to get one of those golden tickets, if they even exist, is going to be absolutely fat.”  

Ms. Bucket sighed and pursed her lips.

“Thank you, Charlotte!” The Anchorman nodded politely back in the main newsroom. He opened his mouth to begin his next sentence, and then his expression changed momentarily, hands flew to his earpiece, he looked at the anchorwoman next to him and flashed a smile again. 

“Our station is receiving word that the first golden ticket has been found!” 

Charlie’s attention to his homework was instantly discarded. Pencil in his hand rattling to the table as he craned his neck again to look at the television. 

“Cutting into one of our specialist reporters out in Düsseldorf, Germany. Johann Becker. Johann?”

“Hello, Tom. Sarah. I’m out here live in Düsseldorf where a local butcher’s shop has just been flooded with reporters and news trucks. Let’s see if we can get inside now!” 

Down the stony road lined in half-timber Fachwerkbau with sweeping red roofs and balconies, the little ordain of the Gruber Metzgerei sat nestled between two tall timber beams. The floors in front of the butcher counter were white and polished with shoe soles, and behind the counter sausage strands hung from thick hooks. Cameras flashed and shuttered all around the decorated walls. Pictures of the Gruber's son adorned each surface and wall. 

“ Lieber Junge” 

Augustus Gruber was a large boy with a circle of blonde hair cut around his head. His face was pink and round and when he smiled his cheeks formed red-flushed cookie shaped circles like a cherub. Clothed in a thick red sweater, little white shorts, and black Bavarian shoes he looked like a rather large Kasperele…

As he smiled in front of the fingerprint smudged meat display case with crooked white teeth, both of his hands cradling a thick golden ribbon of foil. 

The cameras caught it in their flashes, shimmering and glowing. So shiny, in fact, that Agustus’s hands had coated it in greasy fingerprints. The ticket was in nearly perfect condition, aside from a large bite mark in one of the corners. 

When Agustus opened his mouth his mom reached her thumb to scrub chocolate from his cheeks. He stretched away from her and laughed nervously. 

“The American News is here, Augustus!” Augustus turned his head to stare into the eyes of the reporter that had just jingled the bell above the shop doors, pushing past the growing crowd. Mrs. Gruber grinned. 

“Hallo!” She smiled sweetly. She put both her hands on her son’s shoulders. And then leaned toward his ear. “Now you can practice your English, Augustus.”

“What is your name, young man?” 

“Augustus Gruber!” He fluttered his blue eyes. “I am nine years old.” 

“He’s a growing boy!” Mrs Gruber chimed in. 

“Yes yes. So what happened, Agustus? Can you tell it to our audience in America?”

“Ja! Of course, thank you!” Augustus grinned into the newly aimed camera. “This morning I was waiting for my breakfast; I was attacked with such hunger I decided that 11 Wonka bars would do for a snack while I waited.” 

The reporter nodded. And Agustus held up a half eaten wonka bar tucked in his elbow for reference.  

“See? The Peanut Butter is very good! But as I was biting into the treat I noticed a strange taste that wasn’t chocolate at all! … so I reached in…” Augustus lifted his hands up to his mouth to demonstrate “and I saw that I had bitten in the- the-“ 

“Golden Ticket?”

“Ja! Golden Ticket!” Augustus smiled and held the ticket up for the camera. 

The newspeople shuddered with charmed laughter. 

“How do you feel, Mrs Gruber?” 

“Oh just so happy! I knew that my little Augustus would be the one to find the Golden Ticket. For he eats so much chocolate it would be impossible for him not to find one!”

Mrs. Gruber shook her son’s shoulders again.

“And what is your favorite flavor, Augustus?”

“I like all of them!” Augustus grinned again and took a large bite from his chocolate bar, smiling while he chewed, peanut butter cream oozing from the gap in his teeth. “I love chocolate!”

Mrs Gruber laughed and put her hand to her chest. 

“Isn’t he adorable? He’s my lieber junge !”

“Are you looking forward to your factory experience, Augustus?”

“I am looking forward to the prize at the end!” 

“If anyone is going to take advantage of a lifetime supply of Wonka products, it would be Augustus Gruber.” The newsman laughed and put his hand on Augustus’s shoulder. 

“Well you heard it from him, folks. How do you celebrate now, Augustus that you are one of the luckiest boys in the world?”

Augustus fluttered his eyes at the camera again and grinned with his chocolate smudged face. News cameras flashed on the fingerprinted ticket, with sweeping gold lettering and rippled hand cut edges… His thumb rested next to the teeth marks, tearing through the Wonka A. 

Augustus finished chewing to take another bite of his candy. 

“I eat more chocolate!” 

Charlie shivered in the snow that soaked through his sneakers on his way to school. He snuck a longing glance into the bodega at the end of the road, Wonka chocolate bars shining with their iridescent foil in the display lights. Next to them, the Wonka logo with text in the same sweeping font. 

“ Wonka Chocolate Bars sold here!! Claim your Golden Ticket now!” 

Charlie’s stomach rumbled, he swallowed his saliva and took off across the street just as the white man on the crosswalk showed. 

As Charlie stepped through the doors of City Academy North, uniform itching his neck, he wondered if Willy Wonka had gone to a school like this, just like him. 

He was a boy once, after all… 

A few children snickered at him as he walked through the halls, mostly laughing at his hat and the rolls in his pants. Ms Bucket always bought them a few sizes too big and then hemmed them, when his legs got longer she simply got out a seam ripper and hemmed them again. Or perhaps it was his flip phone with the little buttons that you had to press three times to type. Or the food in his lunchbox that some children complained smelled funny. 

Charlie knew that they didn’t understand. If they had a family half as good as his family then maybe they would understand. Besides, Charlie liked his lunches his mother always packed for him. The other children had lunchables and subway sandwiches, their mothers and fathers hadn’t made those for them. 

If anything, Charlie found himself pitying them. 

Charlie stopped at his locker and fiddled with the combination to stuff his snow soiled hat and backpack inside. He felt footsteps behind him, and he braced himself to be shoved into his locker. 

“ Hey Charlie! I need my drycleaning!” 

“Hey Coin Laundry!” 

“Hey!” 

“Hey hey!”

They snickered and giggled and ran down the hall. 

Charlie sighed and picked up the gloves that he dropped, setting them next to his hat on the top shelf. The gloves used to be his father’s, but his hands didn’t need to be warm anymore. Not where he was now. 

“Good morning class.” Mr. Gertz grinned at the class as they filed into their desks, set up in neat rows facing the half chalkboard. The children mumbled. And Mr. Gertz huffed and rolled his brown eyes.

“I said good morning class! ”

“Good morning Mr Gertz,” they all echoed.

“There we go! We’re all awake now!” He clapped his hands together and then turned on his computer. “Today we’re watching a movie.” 

The class cheered. 

“It’s a documentary.” 

The class went quiet. 

Charlie raised his hand from the middle row of desks. 

“Yes Charlie?” Mr Gertz asked, pointing while uncapping a dry erase marker, computer buffering. 

“Do we have to take notes?” Charlie asked. Mr Gertz nodded at the board, gesturing toward Charlie with his marker as he wrote.

“Oh yes! I need to pass out papers.” 

The entire class groaned, Charlie got out his pencil. 

When the computer screen finally loaded up onto the smart board, raised above the chalk and sliding whiteboard, it glew with that same sweeping font that Charlie had gazed at this morning. 

“The Life of Willy Wonka”

Charlie gawked at the screen, eyes glowing as the rippling picture of a man in black silhouette danced across the screen with a cat-like grin. 

Mr Gertz began to hand out notebook paper.

“You all probably have been very aware of the Golden Ticket search going about these past few weeks. What with everyone buying chocolate like there’s no tomorrow. And this is history class.”

“When was this document published? It looks old.” A girl in the front row with dark hair and round glasses raised her hand as Mr Gertz placed a piece of paper on her desk.

“About ten years ago, Marilyn. People weren’t as interested in Willy Wonka as they are now. Obviously. His business shut down for a long time. Probably before most of you could even eat chocolate!” 

“But why did it shut down? His chocolate is good! It’s better than hersheys.” Another girl raised her hand from across the room.

“No it’s not.” A boy behind Charlie said “It’s not sweet enough.”

“The other chocolate is too sweet . He gets it just right.” The girl turned up her nose at him and glared. 

“Alright let’s not fight about chocolate, folks-“

“Did you bring any chocolate, Mr Gertz?”

“No, Adam, I did not.” Mr Gertz sighed as he set a paper on Charlie’s desk. “Hey! You’ll have to buy a bar yourself and try for a golden ticket.” 

The class mumbled the rest of their complaints as Mr Gertz handed out the rest of the papers, retreating back to his desk to sit back down at his computer. 

“I want you to take ten thoughtful observations! And write them down. Complete sentences!” Mr Gertz smiled, swiveled in his chair, and pressed play on the DVD. 

“It’s the name on everybody’s tongues! Mister Willy Wonka!” 

“Mister Wonka’s chocolate empire has succeeded over 1 billion dollars in net worth!”

“-with chocolates sold around the world at a lightning fast pace!”

“Mister Wonka is in production of America's first ever major chocolate factory! Said to be finished in the summer of 1984.” 

Mister Wonka smiled in saturated color, adorned with a top hat and large round sunglasses 

“Mister Wonka, what is your reaction to your worldwide success?”

Another flash of news headlines and audio clippings.

“Mister Wonka said to close his doors indefinitely for the first time in over 30 years.”

“Mister Wonka to quit candymaking?”

“Wonka goes bankrupt?” 

“Wonka can’t escape controversy.”

His voice came through the recording, leaning slightly toward the microphone 

“Well I suppose that I’m just happy I can make the world a little sweeter!”

 An older woman, sat in a brown leather interview chair, adjusted the glasses on her nose. Her dark hair had long since turned gray, cut close to her head in tight roller curls. 

“How would you describe your brother?”

“Now?” She asked. Pursing her lips. And then making a humming noise as she thought. 

“I would say… unmatched…” 

A picture came onscreen, his face in popping color. Smiling at something offscreen with crinkled green eyes. His movements slowed as the music track suspended, and then going black as it ceased. 

“Willy Wonka began his chocolate company in 1950. But according to many accounts, his business actually first took root within the confines of the Matthias Brothers General Store in Thompson Illinois in 1946.

The documentary cut to pictures of a run down wooden general store built up from log support beams, in yellow painted on the blued glass was “Mattias Bros General Store.” 

“It was slim pickings. Beginning a chocolate business right out of the depression. I mean… it was risky.” A man with white text underneath his smiling form said quickly. 

James Mattias Jr. 

“I remember when he came in to work here, my dad and uncle were happy to give him a chance. I mean he was this scrawny little kid- fresh out of Europe.” 

A picture was shown on screen, of a young boy with buzzed hair. His eyes wide and innocent in the camera’s flash. He wore an Army uniform and hat with wide lapels and a buckle sash. A long rifle was grasped in his hands, unsteady and alien in the grip of his fingers. 

Charlie leaned to take notes on his paper, filling the lines with bullet points 

US Military draft records show that a draft notice was sent to the household of Mr Wilbur T Wonka on March 30th 1945. Recording that a newly 18 year old William Ezra Wonka was required to enlist himself in the United Stated Army. A few months later he completed basic training in Chicago and was sent into the trenches in Poland, joining the US 144th regiment in June 1945. One of his fellow soldiers agreed to an interview. Mr David Randal of San Francisco California.”

“I mean he was a skinny little kid from his dad’s farm. I remember him. Real quiet like. Sorta reserved. Shy maybe. I mean he was just a boy, barely even had his beard in. I was only a few years older than him so I, ya know, tried to take him under my wing. Show him the ropes of the Army.” His eyes were gray and tired, with a raspy smokers voice and a long silver beard. “He fought well, followed orders, but had lousy aim. Real lousy. His hands would always shake.” He shook his hands and mimed a gun for emphasis. “But he had a good head on his shoulders. He was scared- we were all scared! I mean… he was just a boy… just a little boy.” 

A young Wonka was shown again, circled out standing among his regiment. Sent to the back because of his height with wide and wonderful eyes even in grayscale. 

After the events of the war, Wonka found success in his chocolate business quickly. The Matthias Brothers gave him a loan to rent out the building that would be the first Wonka candy store. Wonka Candy and Soda Shop opened its doors in the fall of 1950 in Chicago Illinois.  

An older woman appeared onscreen, a white cat on her lap. 

“I met my high school sweetheart, Daniel Bucksburg at the soda shop in 1950…” she grinned. The text under her form showed her name was Patty-Lou Bucksburg. 

“We shared our first milkshake there. I thought the boy at the counter looked about our age. And then I found out he owned the place! I said, "Well gee!” She laughed 

“He had a sorta otherworldly look about him. Not in a strange way, he was quite handsome. But he moved and made things like he’d been doing it for hundreds of years. There was this hook that he’d pull his taffy on… it was mesmerizing. I couldn’t look away. All the little kids would come up to the window after school and sorta.. heh!” She raised her hands to her face like she was peeking through a window. “Look and watch him make his little candies.” She laughed. 

“What sort of things did he sell?” 

“Ohh..” she sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t think I could name them all. He had names for em- but he sold everything you could think of really.” 

The screen flashed with black and white pictures, display cases of chocolates and taffy and buckets of sugar spun spectacles. A cool fudge counter with a big copper pot over a marble stove. Candymakers airing hot taffy on hooks, cutting and mixing dyes into soft bubbling molten sugar.

“He had chocolates, all kinds of fillings and truffles. And ice cream of course. And he had butterscotch drops and peppermints at Christmas, stocking stuffers and- and saltwater taffies, raspberry crunch and peanut brittle and caramel. And I think he made his syrups himself too. For the sodas. I think he made everything himself in there.” 

“What was your favorite?” 

Patty-Lou smiled and laughed again, like the memories of sweets were making her eyes dance with refound youth. 

“I loved his chocolate ice cream, that was my favorite. His malts were always so light and frothy.” She laughed again, cheeks glowing. “I was a chocolate person. Daniel always bought me the peanut butter ones. Bless his heart… 

Bless his heart…” She sighed and shook her head. “Ohh those were the good days for mister Wonka I think. He was always smiling. Always happy…”

The screen cut to a rather grainy looking video on what looked like to be the Chicago News. A man with a microphone approached a man from behind, his black hair reaching to his ears. He turned to face the camera and smiled with a cat-like grin. Eyes shining in the camera lights. 

“We return to our interview with Mister William Wonka, about to open up a brand new chocolate shop in Chicago! Mister Wonka, what made you decide to open another shop?”

“Well, Harry..” Wonka said softly, and then cleared his throat and tried again. His voice was whispery and already worn, yet sweet and sincere and warm. “The soda fountain has done very well here in the Lower West side. Expanding my business was always something I wanted to do.”

“So you want to expand? How much then, sir?”

His eyes twinkled. 

“Until every child around the world has been able to touch their lips to one of my creations, Harry.”

The reporter laughed. Wonka kept smiling.

“That’s a big goal!”

“Indeed.”

“Let's hope that everyone agrees!”

“They most certainly will… would you like to try it Harry?”

Wonka opened more and more shops all over the rest of Chicago. And then Philadelphia, and then New York City, Seattle, Indianapolis, St Louis, Detroit, Cincinnati, San Francisco, Houston, Nashville, soon every major city had a Wonka Chocolate Shop decorating one of its street corners. The media began to call him “The Candyman”

Grand opening signs began to flip through the screen, ribbon cuttings, advertisements, Mister Wonka adorning a tall red top hat, grinning wide. His hair grew longer, to a fanned out and wild sweep beneath his hat. He posed with his cane on magazines, eyes wide and sparkling. 

Wonka bars began to fill the isles of supermarkets, drugstores, and confectionaries alike. And then in 1970, began to find themselves in boxes on cargo ships across the sea and all across North and South America. Wonka took the world by a storm, growing his wealth into the millions. 

Wonka Chocolates shares on the stock market tripled in value with prices as high as 870 dollars per company share.

“I invested back in 1960.” A middle aged man in a suit nodded to the camera. Underneath his bust it showed his name was Samuel Hapshat “The prices were high, but they were climbing. This man was making it big. I sold all my shares when he hit that ceiling in the 80s… Suddenly nobody wanted his stuff anymore. Maybe we all got cavities.” He chuckled at his own joke while the screen turned back on Willy Wonka’s ribbon cutting. 

In the early 80s at the height of his empire, recipes eerily similar to Mister Wonka’s own creations were beginning to arise from his competitors. With Hershey's release of their everlasting gobstopper, Gheridelli’s tempered chocolate that would never melt, even Häagen-Dazs released its own never-melting ice cream, all at cheaper prices than the market had expected. Mister Wonka’s marketing failed to reach the ever expanding digital field. Wonka’s sales began to stagnate, and rumors began to catch up with his character. 

“The people wanted to know who he was beyond the storybook exterior.” A woman with short hair sat in front of the camera. Sarah Xaden, Anthropologist and Journalist. “He always wore these fancy clothes, everything about him was on brand. I mean he was a capitalist! People began to realize how bad it was that one man could hold all of the power in a sugar world. And then… Who was he as a person? All the world knew about him began and ended with his business…”

Willy Wonka, Insanity? Professional Psychologist Reflects on the Candyman’s Psyche. 

Willy Wonka’s Biggest Kept Secret - Dementia?

Willy Wonka secretly Homosexual? How You Can Protect Your Kids Against AIDS Candy Pusher. 

Flamboyant and Sugary, is Willy Wonka Actually a Homosexual?

“Mister Wonka? Mister Wonka!” His face sunk as a crowd of paparazzi approached him. He adjusted his hat to hide his eyes. 

“Mister Wonka, people are saying that your candy is outdated! Any comment on this?”

“Mister Wonka, what are your thoughts about the allegations of your insanity?”

“Mister Wonka, what do you think about homosexuals? Do you happen to see them regularly?”

Wonka shuffled himself into a purple car, grimacing to push past the microphone booms and shuttering camera flashes. One caught him in the eyes, he squeezed them shut. 

“I’m- er- I’m not sure what you mean…” 

He stuttered. And then opened his eyes into another camera flash, trying to close his door. 

“Are you currently in a relationship, Mister Wonka?”

“Of course n- er- no. No comment.” He mumbled, eyes rushing back and forth under the hot shutters. He pulled on his door. 

“No comment.” He said again as his door slammed closed. The cameras filmed as his car drove away, his form in the window hunched itself over into his gloved hands, covering his aching eyes. 

“He started wearing sunglasses because of the paparazzi.” An older woman onscreen recounted, adjusting her coat over her neck. The name under her torso showed that she was Donnivelle Cruber, Architectural Engineer “I was one of the members of the planning committee for the factory. But by then it was… weird. Very weird. We were divided into precincts. Nobody really knew how any of the factory elements came together. There was always discrepancy…” blueprints and news headlines flashed onscreen. In a flutter of pencil sketches and colored lenses. Donnivelle let out a long breath. 

“We never saw it all in one picture, basically… yeah… but we were getting paid. So we went with it.” 

Despite the decline in sales, Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory was said to open in the winter of 1983. 

But behind the scenes and behind the rushed construction, Willy Wonka had a more controversial plan of action that he thought was sure to put him back on the market. 

As luck would have it… that wasn’t the case. 

Willy Wonka stood at a podium, lifting his head into the spring air, tipping himself forward as the glow on his cheeks began to form through the video camera set in the place of the worlds eyes. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen. People of the world. For years I’ve tempted your imagination with the wonderful treats and treasures of my own. I’ve given you dreams inside little boxes. I’ve given you worlds of flavor packed into a wrapper. I’ve given you stories served over candy counters!” He lifted his hand, shaking his head and grinning. 

His voice was as light as a butterfly’s beating wings. Softly landing in the audience’s ears. Whispering, beckoning. 

Charlie felt a shiver go up his spine. 

“I’ve dedicated my career to making your dreams come true. And now with the spring, with the dawn of a new season on this spinning earth… I’ve done something incredible. Something unthinkable!” 

He swelled as he spoke. 

“In this world. We only see what’s in front of us. We only see with our own two eyes.” 

With his glove he trailed a line of vision from in between the lenses of his glasses, slowly gesturing out into the crowd. Into the camera.

Past the pixeled screen and into Mr Gertz’s classroom. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen. We need to build ourselves a world that isn’t colorblind. That affords love and reverence for all things. All things you see.” His hand moved forward. Reaching out for something that only he could see. 

“For we could make everything beautiful if we were to believe in it first…”

Charlie leaned forward in his seat as Mr Wonka’s eyes found his. 

“I ask you, yes you. 

Do you believe in me? ” 

He smiled at the silence that overtook the world. Spinning underneath his feet. With a sweep of his coat he lowered his hand and he brought out a twitching butterfly from a hidden place out of the camera’s view. With a stream of air from his lips and a flick of his wrist. The creature twitched its wings and soared off of his fingers. Fluttering above popping eyes. Gasps escaped the crowd. 

Gasps escaped the classroom. 

“Is that? ”

Candy… 

“Envision the possibilities of our world, if something as beloved as candy could become something as beautiful as this.

Ladies and Gentlemen I give you-“ 

The butterfly fluttered back to his finger, he laughed out a breath at it, letting it crawl across his hand, sunlight shining through its twitching rainbow blue wings as he held it outward again. 

“The birth of a new world.”

Wonka was looking at Charlie again. 

“Would you like a taste?” 

The screen shuttered to black as the words echoed off of his lips. 

News headlines shuttered again. 

“It’s blasphemy!” A preacher slammed his stand on a broadcast. “That’s what it is!! I mean how could a man who sells candy create such a thing under the guise of god! It’s impossible!”

James Matthias Jr mumbled something incoherently to the interviewer, shaking his head. Mouth in a tight grim line. 

“Now that he’s done this. What’s next?? People made out of… out of Ice cream to be shipped off to war in the Middle East??” 

Patty-Lou Bucksburg sighed and frowned at her lap cat with misty eyes. Closing them slowly. 

“Down with the candyman!” 

A crowd’s cries echoed off of city streets, banging on factory gates. 

“Down with the candyman!”

Smashing department store windows. 

“Down with Willy Wonka!” 

Still wrapped chocolate bars discarded into dumpster bins, only to be poured into landfills and tossed into the sea. 

Samual Hapshat tipped his head back and sighed… 

“God save us all… 

He woke up something evil in the world…” 

“Down with the candyman!!!” 

The voices rose to a halting crescendo. And then a woman blinked her way onscreen, chuckling as she showed a picture to an interviewer. 

“There we are at Christmas. Never sent out cards but for a while we always made a family photo.” 

The picture showed eleven figures in front of a fireplace in black and white. Eyes flashing in the camera glow. 

In the mother’s hands bounced a small boy, eyes wide, the only face without a smile. 

“Could you say your name for us please?” 

The woman smiled. 

“Mildred Elizabeth Wonka.” She said kindly. Brown eyes shining. “Everybody calls me Millie.” She added quickly. And then laughed and sighed. 

Another picture showed up onscreen. A girl with short curls framing her round face. Holding onto the same young boy. His eyes wide, mouth open in a jaw slack gawk. 

“That one’s a good one.” She chuckled. “It was us babies at home at the time… I think. Everyone else was off at school…” 

“How long did you go to school?” 

“Oh…” she sighed. “It must have been… hmm… grade eight. Maybe nine… of course I went and studied once I moved away.”

“You were the first in your family to go to college?”

“First and only.” Millie grinned. And then pushed up her glasses. “I’m sure there would have been more… There were nine of us.”

“How many brothers and sisters did you have?”

Millie laughed. 

“Eight boys. And then me.” 

“So no sisters?”

“Not that I know of.” She laughed again. “Ohh. Growing up in a house of boys. You can imagine… but me and Willy got along alright. We’d play together, make up stories and go on hikes.” 

A picture was shown onscreen of a log cabin surrounded by tall evergreen trees. 

“He was like the sister I never had, I guess. I was a talker. He never really was. Not as a boy at least.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Ohh…” Millie shrugged. “I don’t think he ever spoke a word until he was… I think six years old. Must have been. I was ten, I remember.” 

The family picture showed again, zooming in on a taller man in the back with a heavy set frown on his face. A dark mustache covered his upper lip, and a hat shaded in his deep set eyes. 

At his side there was a slender woman with her hair tied back in a bun. She squinted her dark eyes with a smile. Her skin looked darker than everyone else’s in the picture.

“Mother and Father worried about him… Father mostly scolded him.” Millie sighed. “He was tough on all of us. He was extra tough on William… he was the one son who never really acted like one.”

“How did you two get along if he never talked?”

Millie stared at the interviewer as if it was obvious. 

“You don’t have to talk to get along…” 

The picture of the two of them showed again. Millie’s bright smile. Willy’s big eyes. 

William Ezra Wonka was born in his childhood home on March the 8th of 1927. Son of Wilbur T Wonka, and Aayan Wonka. 

The youngest out of 9 children. William spent his childhood in the backwoods of Althea Indiana. Amidst the Great Depression, his family sold corn from their fields to the surrounding towns. 

“The younger kids would husk the corn every afternoon in the autumn. We’d take off school during then.” Millie nodded along with her memories. “The husks would always squeak on our hands. And if every fiber wasn’t picked out of the kernels father would scold us. But I’m sure we made a game out of it.” She chuckled. “Everything always had to be fun didn’t it? Willy and I were experts at it.”

“You said your parents were worried about him?” 

She frowned. 

“Yes… I never saw anything wrong with him but I’m sure that they did…I was only a girl then. I didn’t understand… but I knew sometimes he’d wander off when he was supposed to be helping. So I’d always have to go off and find him, somewhere off in the woods. 

And then of course there was the issue of his speech… he started speaking eventually but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t “normal” for a boy to only say two words at a time at his age. At most.  I think when he turned ten, that’s probably when they got some money together and decided to try and help him. Every few months for about a year or so they’d take him away for a day in the truck and drive all the way into town to the hospital… oh he hated going.” 

She sighed, and looked down at her hands, rubbing them together. “He always knew when it was time. And he’d cry and cry and scream. And they’d have to chase him all around the house and the fields. Sometimes he’d hide in the corn husks, and under our bed. But they always caught up to him eventually…” she frowned. “…he hated going to his appointments…” 

“What sort of appointments were they?”

Millie blinked her eyes for a while, and then squinted. 

“They never did say… but now I think… I think maybe it was the electric therapy.. the electric shocks on the brain.” She pointed to her head. 

“Electro-convulsive therapy?”

“That’s it. Yes. I think that was it.” 

A re-enactment image was shown on screen, a man with a gag stuffed in his mouth, eyes squeezed shut on a bed with wires stickered to his skull. Doctors held down his head. 

“It must have been unpleasant…”

Charlie set down his pencil. Trying to decipher the picture before it left the screen. 

The screen went black. 

“He was always a nice boy.” Millie smiled. “Always soft spoken. But always nice… he’d get his words mixed up but when he had something to say you’d better listen to him. Because it was important… 

He was a big dreamer. And doodler. He stole papers from the schoolhouse to draw on up until we all stopped going…”

“Did he always want to make candy?”

Millie laughed. 

“I don’t think we tasted candy very often at all… maybe once a year on Christmas. But otherwise… ha- he used his money he earned doing extra chores and selling corn husk dolls to buy some for himself. A penny for a lollipop. And then he’d make it last for weeks, taking a lick and then stuffing it back in the wrapper and putting it under his pillow at night so nobody would steal it.”

She laughed again. “A particular thing… but such a funny boy.” 

Another picture was shown of a young William, bright eyed and smiling softly with his mother. Head tilted toward her. 

“Mother liked him. He was her little helper in the kitchen. It was usually the two of us there…” 

Aayan Wonka was born in Islamabad Pakistan. 

The same smiling woman appeared again. 

Other than the day of her marriage to Wilbur T Wonka in 1910, not much is known about her… 

She faded from the screen, her smile the last to dissapear.

Wilbur T Wonka died in August 1955. Joining his seven other sons who had lost their lives in Europe. 

“William was the last to go… Mother didn’t want him to. But we needed the money. She’d already lost seven of her boys to the Nazis.” 

Millie sighed and pushed up her glasses again. 

“But he made it out… he was discharged early because of an injury… I think he broke his leg bad. Very bad. Needed a cane for a while after but he was back home and on his feet. Or… foot. Hm.” She chuckled again. 

“What did you think of his chocolate?”

“I never really er… I never really cared for chocolate.” 

Millie laughed again, this time tipping her head back. 

“I cared for Willy though… I did for a long time.”

“What happened to that?”

Millie’s eyes changed. She stared at the interviewer, and then calmly looked around her room, at the bookcases behind her, the framed high school and college diplomas sitting in their little dusty boxes. Worn with the sun but there nonetheless. 

“He never grew up I suppose…”

A video of Wonka decorated the screen again, eyes wrinkled in a grin in front of his first store. 

“He grew so much in the world.”

Another. Of Wonka cutting the ribbon of his factory. 

“He grew his business. His trust.. his wealth…”

Wonka with his hand reaching out, as that delicate butterfly gently landed on his fingers. 

He smiled. 

“He forgot to grow on himself…”

The screen shuddered to black. Displaying white text. 

Mildred Wonka -  9/4/1923 - 12/18/1999

Charlie hushed as the narrator spoke on the summary. Now uninterested. Paper now full. The bell was ringing for the class to leave and turn in their papers. But Charlie sat still amidst the chaos of squeaking shoes. Thinking. Squinting at his notes and reading them again and again and again. 

Mr Gertz put his hand on Charlie’s desk. 

“It’s lunchtime, Bucket.”

“… I know.” Charlie hummed. And then picked up his paper to hand to Mr Gertz, who placed it on the bottom of his pile. 

“What’s up?”

“… I don’t know… I guess I just don’t understand.” 

Charlie put his pencil away as Mr Gertz crossed the room to shuffle the student papers away.

“Understand what?”

“How come Mister Wonka closed his factory? If it’s people saying mean things about him, why didn’t he just try again? Or maybe even say sorry?” 

Mr Gertz sighed and sat in his chair. He stared at his desk, then at Charlie, then at his desk again. 

“I don’t know…” he finally said. “That’s a good question… I’m not sure, Charlie…” 

He put his hand to his head. 

“I think that… maybe, sometimes, grown ups deal with big emotions too. Emotions that they don’t know how to deal with… so they run away and hide.” 

Charlie stared at Mr Gertz for a while, waiting for him to elaborate. But instead he sighed and shrugged again. 

“People are funny sometimes… especially Mr Wonka.”

“Mr Wonka is a good man.” Charlie lifted his head and swung his backpack over his shoulders. “Everyone forgot to see that. They left him behind.”

Mr Gertz smiled. 

“Maybe you’re right…”

“I am right.” Charlie huffed. And then lowered his head, realizing his tone. “Have a good day, Mr Gertz.” He said quickly, turning and quickly walking out of the classroom. 

Mr Gertz watched him leave, and then got out his phone to check Twitter. A post was headlining the main page. 

BREAKING NEWS!!!

The second golden ticket has been found In Moscow Russia by Miss Veruca Sault! Three Wonka golden tickets left!

Chapter Text

“When the golden ticket search was announced my Veruca expressed a very keen interest in the competition.” 

Oleg Sault smiled from his place behind the camera lights. He was a rather large man, with broad shoulders and a booming voice, laiden with a thick Russian accent. He clasped his hands over his belly when he spoke, like if he didn’t hold his voice inside of him it would rumble right out of his chest. 

Next to him, smiling with big blue eyes stood a rather small girl. No more than 8 years old. She wore a thick white cardigan with a softened leather skunk fur collar. 

Underneath that was a very pink, very sparkly, very expensive looking dress. With matching white ruffle ankle socks and pink princess shoes. 

She held the golden ticket out in front of her with outstretched arms, batting her eyelashes and smiling at the cameras as they flashed and flashed and caught the light. Oleg smiled at his daughter. 

“I’m in the business of food, you see. Salt in particular. My family has been in the business for generations. We run bigger sales than McCormicks and Spice Islands. It’s an art of the ages. Yes indeed.” Veruca turned to stare at her father as he tipped his head back. An expression began to cross her face, one like she had tasted something bitter. Oleg continued. “Initially I saw Wonka’s competition strategy as a cheap buy back into the market. But now my sweet Veruca has won, I see it is genius!” Oleg let his hands float off of his belly and laughed. Veruca tugged on his sleeve and huffed. 

“Eh? Yes?” Oleg sputtered and moved to lean toward her as she stood on her toes to mutter something into his ear. “Oh.. oh yes yes. Later, Printsessa.” 

Veruca huffed at him again and turned away, crossing her arms. He looked at her with wide eyes, hands now knotted together nervously. Like a scolded child. 

“Mister Sault. How did Veruca come about finding the ticket?” 

He whirled his head toward a waving interviewer. 

“Eh? Oh. Of course yes.” He cleared his throat and straightened up. “When Mister Wonka made his announcement Veruca decided that she would win this contest. And when my sweet daughter wants to win, well it my duty as a good father to give her what she needs to succeed. As any father should!”

Veruca refused to look at the cameras as they flashed at her. Oleg sighed and tried to smile. 

“I told my peanut shellers, who make a key step in the process of exporting our famous Sault peanuts. Er… that they should start immediately to shell the wrappers off of Wonka chocolate bars. I bought each 1000 chocolate bars for good measure!” Oleg tapped his forehead. “So of course for many many long weeks we had no results. Many many times did Veruca cry. How could I refuse? I tell my shellers to shell faster. And this morning after the night shift ended a worker stood and in her hand… a golden ticket! Immidiately I give it to my daughter who is now so happy to… to…” Oleg’s words escaped him as he saw Veruca begin to sniffle. He quickly leaned toward her again and began to mumble softly in Russian. Veruca huffed again and pointed toward the cameramen with her hand, still clutching the golden ticket. 

“ Я этого хочу. ” She whined. And Oleg sighed. 

“What is it? What did she say?” The interviewer leaned forward. Shoes creaking against the hardwood floor laiden with animal skins. The head of a Snow White bear stared into the cameras from its place on the ground. Black eyes flashing in the shuttering lights. A grim roar permanently stuck on its face.

The light of the sun through the windows was blocked by thick red curtains. As Veruca stared at the cameramen and pointed again. 

“I want the camera.” She said in a pout.

The cameraman stared at Oleg. Who smiled painfully at him. 

“How much to buy?” He managed

“…My camera?” The cameraman stuttered. 

Veruca was now clinging onto her father’s sleeve and batting her blue eyes. Golden ticket clutched in her hand, almost as worthless as a dollar bill… catching the shine of the cameras again. Oleg smiled again. 

“No. No… your news station.” 

“Makes me sick” Grandpa Joe’s face contorted into a look of disgust. Charlie sighed from the foot of his bed, picking the rice from the bottom of his bowl and eating it one grain at a time. 

“She didn't even get the chocolate herself. Her dad bought it for her.” Charlie grumbled. 

He couldn’t help it. He was angry. It wasn’t fair.  

“It’s not fair.” He admitted.

Grandpa Joe frowned. 

“That’s what happens when families have a lot of money. They think that it can buy them love for each other. But it doesn’t. It only buys more waste. Remember that, Charlie.” 

“I will.” Charlie put his head in his arms. Staring at his empty bowl. He heard his mom sigh from her chair pulled up to grandma and grandpa George and Jun. 

“We could use a bit of “love” right now.”

“Alice.” Grandpa Joe said sadly. 

Charlie’s mom sighed and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. 

“Sorry… long day today.”

Grandpa Joe sighed and searched her face from across the room. Charlie watched his eyes speak. The pain that softly crept into his gaze that  met his mothers at her parents’ bed. 

Her eyes met his, she sighed softly this time, and crossed the room to lay her hands on Charlie’s shoulders. 

“It’s time for bed, yeah?” She said quietly. 

Charlie didn’t move. His mom slowly sat next to him, moving her hand to rub his back. 

“What’s wrong, Charlie?” 

Charlie bit his tongue on what he wanted to say. Because he knew better… 

So instead he sighed, and lifted his head, and said something else. 

“We watched a documentary in class today. About mister Wonka.” 

“Oh?” Charlie’s mom kept rubbing his back. “Did you like the documentary?”

“I guess… I dunno.” Charlie huffed. “They were saying things about Mister Wonka.” 

“What things?” Grandpa Joe asked, brow furrowing. 

“The people in the documentary were saying that he was… insane. They said other mean words too. And they said that he was too… too ‘flammable’”

“Flamboyant?” Charlie’s mom offered. 

“Yeah. Flamboyant. What does that even mean?” 

“It means they probably thought he dressed a little funny, Charlie.”

“Mister Wonka had the most beautiful taste in clothes.” Grandpa Joe huffed. “I could tell you about them, Charlie. He wore the most beautiful colors. Red and green and purple. And they matched his eyes so well.” 

“So… you think that he wasn’t flamboyant?” 

“He was… in a good way.” Grandpa Joe put a hand to his chin. “I think the people who said that were trying to make fun of him. A man can dress however he wants if it makes him feel good, especially a successful man like mister Wonka.” 

“But I don’t get it… why did everyone hate him so much?” Charlie stared into his bowl again. “It’s like… the only people who really liked him were the ones he was giving something to. Like candy, or- or money, or… something.” 

“That’s how lots of people think.” Charlie’s mom rustled his hair. “They only like someone when that someone can do something for them.” 

“Exactly, don’t believe a word that those naysayers say. Mister Wonka was a wonderful man.”

“Yes. But that’s not to say he didn’t make some mistakes. He made a lot of mistakes. And then he ran away… which isn’t any way to solve any sort of problem.”

“He had no choice, Charlie. He had to. The world had turned its backs on him.” 

Charlie’s mom looked at Grandpa Joe and sighed, lifting her hand from Charlie’s head. 

“Joseph-“

“It’s true, Alice. I was there. I saw the whole thing.” He insisted.

Charlie’s mom sighed and picked up Charlie’s bowl. 

“One more story and then you’re off to bed, okay?”

“Okay.” Charlie said sadly. 

“You need lots of rest for this weekend!”

“Okay.” Charlie said sadly. 

“My big boy is turning 12!” 

“Yeah…” Charlie said sadly. 

Charlie’s mom kissed his hair and walked away into the kitchen. 

Grandpa Joe shifted in his bed. 

“Have I ever told you the story, Charlie,  about mister Wonka making clothes from candy?” 

Charlie smiled at Grandpa Joe, leaning toward him ever so slightly. 

“No. You haven’t.” Charlie lied. 

Grandpa Joe smiled and leaned back in his bed, his eyes filled with the sparkle of his past… and his voice changed just like it always did. 

Willy Wonka was an appreciator of beautiful things. 

He always was. Ever since he was a little boy. He always filled his world, no matter how small, with scores of beautiful treasures. He collected them carefully throughout his travels and searched for them far and wide to satiate his sugary gaze. 

He didn’t stop at trinkets, either. Mister Wonka would always decorate himself in the finest and most beautiful of fabrics. He had shirts woven from silk moth threads. Cashmere lined coats and silver-stitched fabric cuffs. He wore finely fitted and tailored velvet gloves with embossed embroidered patterns. His collection of hats and ornaments rivaled that of the ancient pharaohs. And his shoes always shined like they themselves were glowing, shone with the most careful of hands and slickest of silk. 

His creations, no matter how small, graced the world with an impermanent beauty. Even framed paintings done by the Renaissance masters hanging in the Louver wouldn’t dare show their oil-acrylic faces to match his handiwork. Wonka was an artist. He was a poet of flavor, an author of color, a spinner of sugar, and a weaver of dreams. 

His craftsmanship didn’t go unnoticed. One winter day, designer Francefield Burgeski decided that he wanted to commission Wonka to create the headliner for his Spring collection. 

Mister Wonka was going to make the world’s first candy fashion. 

He set to work, all by himself. Reading book after book on fashion design and textile work. Spending hours in his kitchen synthesizing and perfecting the most durable and delectable candy fabric. 

He filled journals with drawings. He poured his soul into his sewing needle. And his nimble fingers began to prepare the world's most beautiful show-stopping candy fashion headliner to ever be made. 

In the spring, the piece was finished. 

Oh, Charlie…

They say those who saw the finished piece in person began to weep the moment they laid their eyes on the silhouette. 

They say each accessory and element and thread-pulled stitched moved and danced and glowed with such meticulous precision and expertise that it put all craftsmen to shame. 

They say it was so beautiful, so moving and grand, that no model, not even the most beautiful of them all, would dare touch it in fear of smothering its life. 

Which is why Mister Wonka wore it on the runway. 

And took the world by a savory storm. 

Francefield was so proud and impressed by Wonka’s performance, that he threw a massive gala and banquet to celebrate his world-renowned collection. Mister Wonka offered to prepare the food. 

“Mister Wonka!” Francefield spoke with sparkling eyes over a glass of sweet rose. “I simply can’t believe you’ve been keeping your couture talent from the world for this long!” 

Wonka laughed. 

“Keeping? Of course not!  I shared it with everyone!” Wonka held a plate out to Francefield. “Cake?”

“Oh! Why not! We deserve to celebrate.” 

Francefield took it from him and bit into a forkful moments later. 

His plate nearly dropped, his face collapsed, his eyes began to glisten, and his lip wobbled. 

He stared at mister Wonka in disbelief. Wonka smiled at him.

“Do you like it? I made it myself.”

“It’s absolutely delicious. It’s- it’s just like the cake my mummy made me on my eleventh birthday… when I got my very first sewing machine. 

But- but- how did you do it? What on earth is in this?”

Mister Wonka beamed.

“Why, the headliner of course!” 

Francefield’s face turned white.

“What??” He gasped and sputtered and let the plate fall from his hand, nearly tripping. “But why??! That was our headliner!! That was meant to be put in a museum! Immortalized in amber! Hung up on a gallery wall!”

Mister Wonka raised his eyebrows, taking a nibble from his slice of cake. 

“Why would I do that? That doesn’t sound very tasty at all…”

Francefield Burgeski had to be carried out of the venue. For, by that time, he had finally fainted. 

“ I still don’t understand. Why did he turn it into a cake? Why didn’t he keep it? He worked so hard on it, only for it to be eaten?” Charlie’s head was lifted off of the foot of Grandpa Joe’s bed, eyes wide. Grandpa Joe chuckled. 

“Because, Charlie. Wonka never wanted to make something immortalized in amber. Or hung up on a gallery wall for all time. He made candy. A thing to be admired for only a moment, and then enjoyed for a moment less. 

If he hadn’t destroyed the headliner, it wouldn’t have been half as beautiful as it was.” 

Charlie hummed, looking at the quilt on the bed, picking at the pull away strings with his fingernails. 

“I wish I could have seen it.”

“As do I.” 

“I wish I could have tasted it too.” 

Grandpa Joe smiled. 

“As do I.” 

Charlie laid in his bed that night, stomach twisting in knots. Shivering, not from the cold. He looked out at the sky through the glow of the window above the kitchen sink, and the buzzing and beeping of the oven fan. 

A star twinkled in the distance, splitting through the city fog in the way of what may actually be a reflection of the moon. Or maybe a speck of dust on the already tired glass. Or perhaps a slow airplane, or station in space. 

Still. It was a wishing star. A star meant to be wished on. He was turning twelve years old in two days. 

He closed his eyes together, tightly shut. Holding his hands together. Wishing his hardest. 

He knew what he should be wishing for. What his mother was wishing for. What his father would wish for. What his grandparents and school friends were wishing for. 

But still. Charlie wished on the dusty star for a chocolate bar. Who’s wrapper held a ticket into his wildest dreams. 

 

BREAKING NEWS  

A culinary student at Washburne Culinary Arts seeks written advice from Mr Willy Wonka! The response she receives surprises the Chicago Tribune!

On Monday the 21st of last week, undergraduate student Asha Morse in the esteemed Culinary Arts school of Illinois cooked up something very surprising. 

“I did a project on Wonka for my culinary history class” Morse recalls. “For a time, he had his own cooking advice column in the Chicago Tribune. Cooks across the country would send him questions about recipe making and perfecting and he would send in his answers for publishing.”

Wonka’s column in the Tribune was less popular than the paper had hoped, and was short lived. Only lasting from the years 1968 to 1972. However, despite the seemingly dead trend, Asha Morse thought that she might give seeking advice from the candyman himself an attempt. Morse sent Willy Wonka a handwritten letter, much like how a letter might have been sent to him in the times of the Wonka Advice Column. 

“I told him a little bit about my studies. And I asked him how he went about making a name for himself in the business. I asked him how he got through those rough few years of starting a his own brand. I didn’t really expect a reply. He probably gets so many letters in his PO Box. Especially considering his Golden Ticket search resurfacing his name.” 

However, a week after her history presentation, Morse found something very surprising when she checked her campus mailbox. 

“I thought it might have been a letter from my parents. Or a postcard from my aunt. But it was a purple envelope with a red wax seal. 

I was like… no way. I mean, it had to be a prank. But no! The wax had his logo and everything! I opened it right there in front of my mailbox. I was so shocked.” 

Morse found a handwritten letter tucked neatly inside the envelope, written with a fountain pen and signed at the bottom in Wonka’s own signature. 

“Greetings to you, Miss Morse.” Morse reads the letter aloud to the crew, still smiling. As if reliving the excitement. “I applaud you in your studies at Washburne. The culinary arts are a fruitful endeavor of the mind and soul. The biggest advice I give to this effect is to learn and learn quickly. I began to procure an education at your age as well. It is certainly a privilege to experience. Enjoy your time there and learn many things about yourself as well as your craft. Remember, your experience is what you make of it. So make absolutely everything you can. 

On another note, as far as business is concerned, I began my journey to notoriety in a very very different world. One of both social and economic change. Your professors would be much better suited to answer questions about the business world in these times. If I’m being quite honest, I would have very little of an idea of how to make my way into the market had I started my business now. 

I have had many successful years and many many more not so successful years. However, I grew to love even the times where what I loved did not love me back. A pining of passion, of sorts. Similar to a swinging pendulum, or perhaps a Newton's cradle. You must bounce back. To survive is to live, despite the odds…

I wish you the best of luck in your studies. 

- W Wonka “

Shortly after receiving the letter and showing it off to her classmates and professors, Morse decided to check its contents with the editors of the Chicago Tribune to see if it was indeed authentic. 

The response was mixed. Some were assured that there was a strong possibility of its authenticity. However, editors were quick to notice that the handwriting was slightly different, and Wonka’s advice, rather than being sufficient, was strangely vague and rather difficult to decipher. 

“The editors of the Wonka Column often struggled with vague advice back in the day…But not quite like this.” Senior historian of the Tribune Samuel Darwin describes. “We have records of editors' clarification communications with Wonka before publication…most of them trying to decipher strange metaphors. For example, when giving advice on the correct tempering time of chocolate, Wonka wrote something quite crypted that hadn’t passed the proofread. 

‘Chocolate should be tempered at a certain temperature where one can see the blooms disappear, and one can hear the mixture harmonize.’

Wonka never sufficiently elaborated, and his metaphors seem to match that of Miss Morse’s letter. But there really is no way of knowing for sure…”

Despite the controversy surrounding the response she got, Morse still decided to purchase a frame for the document. Unfortunately neglecting to give it to the Chicago Tribune for preservation and further testing despite their advice. 

“It was addressed to me.” Morse says assuredly. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t get to keep it. Besides, fake or not, I still think it’s pretty good advice.” 

As of the publication of this article, there are still three golden tickets left in Wonka’s Golden Ticket Search. The first two were found by Augustus Gruber of Düsseldorf Germany, and Veruca Sault of Yekaterinburg in recent weeks. For more updates on this developing saga, be sure to sign up for our email chain! 

Chapter Text

“What’s happening, champions! I’m Violet B and welcome back to my channel!” A girl jumped up into the camera view, Afro puffs bouncing. “You saw the thumbnail! So you probably guessed by now. I’ve got a wild video challenge for yall today!” She moved her hands near her face, purple acrylic nails glistening in the ring lighting. “After my volleyball tournament yesterday, my daddy was driving me to Tangsudo and he told me that he had a surprise for me today!” 

Famous YouTube personality, volleyball prodigy, high school track star, cheerleader captain, double black belt, and Saskatchewan spelling bee champion, 15 year old Violet Beauregarde has just revealed in her latest YouTube video titled “I Attempt the Wonka Challenge and WIN???! Real Reaction! Not Clickbait!” That she has found the third golden ticket!

“You’ve all probably heard of Willy Wonka’s golden ticket challenge online. I mean… it’s all over the place! But today my daddy says we’re gonna go to all the stores in our town and buy all their Wonka bars to try and find a ticket! Thanks to your guys’s donations, we’re able to make it happen! So thanks again for supporting the Beauregarde family! Be sure to check out our merch store! Some fun new stuff is gonna drop on Friday! So be on the lookout! The link to our store is in our bio and in the description of this video! Or you can find it at ThaBeauregardeFam.store.com! 

But back to the video-“

Previously known for her world record breaking jaw, Violet Beauregarde puts herself on the world map yet again! Only this time it isn’t gum that she’s known for chewing, it’s Wonka Chocolate bars! 

“You all know that I’m a winner. I get things done. I broke that world record when I was 9 years old. I had chewed that one piece of gum for two whole years! That’s dedication!  I know that I’m gonna get a ticket. And I’m gonna break my own record while I do it too!” 

She reached into her mouth, smiling, smacking, pulling out between her fingers a faded and stiff piece of pink chewing gum. She held it triumphantly in front of the camera. 

“I’ve been working on this one for three years!”

In her now viral video, Violet and her father Eugene Beauregarde spent eight consecutive hours going from store to store in their area, buying out each supplier’s stock of Wonka bars and opening each of them in their car. 

The floor of the minivan was tiled with candy wrappers. Violet sat in the back of the passenger’s side while her father drove. Second camera up now. The first one dead and discarded on the floor, filled with useless footage. 

Violet’s hands were stiff from unwrapping. She frowned at the 305th Wonka bar she was about to unwrap. Stomach sick from the chocolate she snuck in between stores. 

Her fingernails tore into gold. And the camera caught her eyes widen. Her face light up in a thrillified wave. She screamed and tore into the bar while her father grinned from the front seat. 

“It’s gold!! Its gold, daddy! It’s a gold ticket! I got a gold ticket!!!” 

Violet’s excitement is certainly contagious. All of her fans are congratulating her in her comments! 

“I couldn’t have done it without all of you!” Young Miss Beauregarde says proudly at the end of her video. “Stay tuned for my new series! Countdown to Wonka’s factory tour! Where I’ll be doing candy themed challenges every day until the factory tour!” 

Violet’s eye twitched. She smiled and swung her head again. 

“Be sure to like, share, and subscribe for more videos! And hit that bell so you don’t miss anything! Next up- Willy Wonka’s factory!” 

Charlie woke up that Sunday morning the 12th of December with a bowl of his favorite cereal and his mom shuffling him a sealed envelope. 

Charlie looked at the envelope, and then up at his mother across the fold out table at the bedroom’s center. 

Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine smiled from their bed. 

“What is this?” Charlies asked. 

“Happy Birthday Charlie!” Charlie’s mom smiled. Charlie reached for the envelope. 

His fingers ripped the seal, and touched in between his fingers were two round trip Amtrak train tickets. 

Chicago Illinois. 

Charlie stared at the tickets. And then at his beaming mother. 

“Chicago?”

“Surprise!” Charlie’s mom grinned. “You and I are going to spend a day in Chicago!”

“Really?” Charlie gawked. “But-… that’s where-”

“That’s where Wonka’s factory is!” Grandpa Joe could no longer contain his excitement. He grinned from his bed. 

“Oh really?” Charlie cried. “You mean it?” 

Charlie’s mom’s eyes glistened with joy. 

“Surprise!” 

Charlie leaped up to hug his mother tightly around her waist, squeezing his eyes closed and yelling and jumping around. 

Charlie’s mom smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. 

Charlie got dressed for the day in a buzz, picking out his favorite red jacket and nicest shirt. Charlie’s mother stuffed a knitted hat over his mess of black hair that was overdue for a cut and the two marched out the door to make their train, waving goodbye to Grandpa Joe, Grandma Josephine, Grandma Jun and Grandpa George. 

“Goodbye Charlie!”

“Goodbye!”

“Wave hello to Mister Wonka for me!” 

“I will!” Charlie called as he closed the door behind them. 

Down the stairs, down the block, up the hill and toward the pier to make the 9:00 train, Charlie and his mom proudly presented their tickets and sat down in the passenger car. 

Charlie had to walk by the snack car to go to the bathroom in the middle of their trip, staring at the Wonka bars being sold and frowning to himself. 

“Mom…” Charlie said while he approached his seat again. 

“Yes, Charlie?”

“Do you think I could maybe…” Charlie stood in the isle, looking at his boots. 

A chip of leather was flaking off of his toe. He swallowed and looked back up at his mother, waiting for him to finish. 

Charlie quickly thought of another question to ask. 

“Do you think I could sit by the window on the way back as well?”

Charlie’s mom smiled. 

“Of course.” She nodded. “You are the birthday boy after all!” 

Charlie smiled and sat back down, staring at the trees as they whipped and whistled past the window. 

The trees began to shrink, and the buildings began to grow bigger and bigger in the distance. Charlie pressed his hands to the cool glass, staring with wide eyes as the train began to slow and the brakes began to squeal. There was a grinding noise as the track changed, and the sunlight was obscured as they chugged inside a large echoing tunnel. 

“Are we here? Is this the city?” Charlie asked. Charlie’s mom grabbed her purse from between her knees and offered her hand for him to hold. 

“Let’s take a look!” 

Charlie lead her out the doors and down the long sidewalk through the tunnel. When they went up the stairs and into the main station hallway, Charlie almost pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. 

Chicago Union Station was bigger than anything Charlie had ever seen. With large towering sloping ceilings and floors that carried the voices of passengers from every corner of the room. 

Charlie spun on the hard tile floors, staring up at the windows and circular carved dials that arched the ceiling like rainbows. 

“We’re in Chicago!” He cried. “Chicago!” 

And let his mom lead him out the doors and into the busy street.

People in big snowy coats trotted past with purses and chains and briefcases full of papers and plans. The buildings shot high into the sky, singing in the sunlight. And out in the distance was the shining waters of Lake Michigan. Alight with the sun and circling seagulls. 

The sounds of traffic felt familiar in Charlie’s ears as he walked with his mother and pointed at the marvelous buildings and expensive cars. Charlie’s mom even handed him his very own bus token to give to the driver as they got on one of the city busses 

“Where are we going first?” Charlie asked, sitting down and holding his standing mother’s hand as she gripped the pole at the center of the floor. 

“You’ll see.” She winked. And Charlie grinned. 

They got off at a stop next to a beautiful park and large fountain, where the water shot into the sky and the large circular pool rippled with coins and flying arcs of shimmering water. 

“Cheese!” Charlie shouted while his mother took a picture. They walked around to look at the theaters nearby and stroll along the docks. 

Charlie saw a great big Ferris wheel in the distance. 

“What is that, Mom?”

“That’s Navy Pier.”

“Do people go in that Ferris wheel?”

“Yes they do, Charlie!”

“Oh wow.” Charlie gawked. “You must be able to see the whole city!” 

As the sun sunk lower in the sky, they took the bus again to more shops downtown and looked inside the giant windows at the mannequins and displays. Charlie’s mom smiled and watched him scare away the pigeons. 

“Today has been so much fun!” Charlie cried. “I can’t believe it’s gone by so fast!”

“We still have another stop.” Charlie’s mom winked as they went around the block. Charlie skipped down the sidewalk as they rounded the corner, and then gasped with excitement. 

At the very corner, nestled in between two glass and concrete buildings, was a little brick and stone shop with tall green windows and a large swirling red and violet sign 

Wonka Chocolates: est 1950. 

Charlie stood in shock and awe, leaping with glee, he grabbed his mothers hand as she laughed and let him lead her inside.

The smell of chocolate wafted from a vent above the door as the little bell above jangled, announcing their entry. 

The store was small and decorated with rosewood arches and beautiful stucco tile designs. Pinwheels stuck into the walls, glass blown bulbs hung from the ceiling, and along the back shelf and counter were beautiful jars of candy and truffles and chocolate bars. A young woman with a red cap greeted them warmly. 

“Hello! Welcome to the Wonka Collection and Museum!” 

“Hello!” Charlie said excitedly. 

“Well hello, young man!” The woman chuckled. “Is this your first time here?”

“Yes.” Charlie’s mom nodded. 

“Well, welcome again! Would you like a little tour?” 

“Yes!” Charlie said even more excitedly.

The woman rounded the counter and gestured to the display behind her. 

“This entire building is the very same building that housed Wonka’s very first chocolate shop! Back then when it opened in 1950, though it was a soda counter. And went through a lot of remodeling and expanding. See, the shop was originally only about as big as from that wall to where I’m standing here!” She gestured to her planted feet, where a line had been placed in the tile. “But over time Wonka had the place expanded into the building next door, and then further back to build a state of the art kitchen! Before Wonka’s factory, this place actually served as a ‘main base’ for most of his new recipes and products! It was definitely Wonka’s most beloved shop, you can see in the tile designs!” 

She gestured to the stucco murals nestled into the wooden arches.

“You can see pictures of all four seasons and their flavors, in summer with the citrus and tropical fruit, autumn with cinnamon and pumpkin spice, winter with peppermint and nutmeg, and spring with flowers and fruit! All of that is actually made out of candy! Wonka put them in himself.”

Charlie gawked. 

“Not all of it is his original work, of course. This place was kept locked up for a while and… well… the elements got to it after a few years. But the city of Chicago had this place restored about ten years ago after they saw its value. And now, we still make a few of his recipes, offer cooking classes, tours of his private office, and, of course, sell a few Wonka products!” 

“His private office?” 

The woman beamed. 

“Where Mister Wonka did most of his paperwork and conducted most of his meetings before the factory opened!” 

Charlie gawked. Charlie’s mom nudged him. 

“Do you think we could get a tour?” 

“Oh- well-“ the woman frowned. “We haven’t been doing a lot of tours lately. Most of our team is busy with restocking and outletting Wonka bars what with there being two golden tickets left…”

Charlie’s eyes turned downward at his flaking boots. 

“Oh…” he frowned. “It’s okay.” He decided. “It’s magical enough just standing here in the shop!” 

The woman smiled at him, and then looked at Charlie’s mom. 

“Sorry.” 

She pursed her lips. 

“Is there anything you can do? …It’s his birthday.” She tried. 

Charlie stuffed his hands in his pockets, hoping. 

The woman chewed on her lip, looking at Charlie’s mom, then Charlie,  and then at her coworker over the counter. 

“I’m gonna go on break.” She said. Her coworker nodded, and she turned around to walk back behind the counter. 

Before she closed the swinging half door behind her, though, she stepped with her leg to hold it open, gesturing with her head and putting a finger over her painted lips. 

Charlie beamed, skipping forward and giggling with elation. Charlie’s mom smiled and followed them behind the counter, and then through a rose colored door. 

The bottom half of the walls of the hallway stretched out in front of them were carved from the same rose-tinted dark wood of the elaborate shop area. The top half was clad in beautifully intricate gold and purple and red wallpaper that stretched up to the crown-molded ceiling where similarly ornamented glass bulbs hung, throwing dancing light all over the hardwood floors in every hue. At the very very end of the hallway, a beautifully painted portrait of the familiarly faced Wonka, smiling softly and kindly with white highlight lights painted on his green eyes.The woman that was behind the counter, but was now leading them down the hall, stepped right on top of the forest and sage green carpet that sat at the halfway point of the hallway, placed perfectly underneath the window. Charlie was afraid to tread any possible dirt on it, he stepped around it on the little tassels at the edges. 

“Wonka walked this hallway many times to get from his office to check on his shop! Sometimes I like to imagine I’m a business connection knocking on his door to meet with him.”

She stopped in front of the door at the very end of the hallway and to the right, holding out her hand toward the paneling of the wood. 

Charlie looked at her, unsure if he should even be breathing in the air inside the hallway, much less rap his knuckles against the wood. 

“Go on, birthday boy! You can knock.” The woman said kindly. Charlie took a deep breath of the sweetened air, and then knocked thrice on the wooden door.

The door swung open after the woman twisted the golden doorknob. 

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows in the back, decorated with arching maroon curtains and wooden paneling. Emptied bookshelves lined each wall, expertly placed over top of intricately carved rosewood molding. 

The desk in the back was long and comfortable, with a large elaborate purple velvet chair. The carpet that it sat on was long enough to stretch all the way to the door, beautifully woven with patterns of flowers and herbs and sweeping font Ws. 

Charlie’s imagination leaped and bound and escaped from him, and as he stepped inside the marvelous office he dreamed that he saw the shelves completely filled with books and candy jars and models of flowers. 

He dreamed of music coming from the gramophone in the corner near the door, a romantic symphony with fluttering clarinets. 

He blinked his eyes until he saw a man fill in the form of the desk chair, hat and coat hung up on the hatstand near the window, cane propped up next to his chair, picking up his pen with his slender gloved hand and scratching it over the leather bound book in front of him. Charlie’s presence in the room alerted him, he picked up his eyes, hair glowing like a halo around his head. He smiled when he saw him. 

“Charlie, my boy! You’re here! Take a seat!” 

Charlie sat down in the purple barrel chair in front of the desk as Wonka stood up, towering over his book. His green eyes leaped with joy. 

“I just wanted to congratulate you! You’ve done it! You’ve proved your dedication by coming all the way here to see me!” Wonka rounded his desk to stand, kneeling, eye level with Charlie to grab his hands gently in his. “I wanted to give you a golden ticket myself.” 

Charlie gasped, as Wonka withdrew from his breast pocket a shimmering golden ticket. 

“All your dreams will come true, Charlie.” Mister Wonka said, smiling affectionately as he handed him his golden ticket. “I can promise you this. I can promise you everything… You and I will do amazing, grand, spectacular things! Beyond anything that this world could ever possibly dream!”

“You mean it?” Charlie felt tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Charlie! Of course I mean it!” 

His heart leaped with joy, he threw himself forward to wrap his arms around Wonka’s neck. Wonka laid his gentle hands on his back, pulling him in like his father always would. Then laughing and spinning him around the room until Charlie squealed with glee. 

The real Charlie though, who knew better, still stood in the doorway with a leaping heart and stinging eyes. He smiled at the wonderful vision of his imagination, and then turned back to the empty bookshelves. 

“What do you think?”

“It’s so nice in here… but it’s so empty.”

“Wonka had most of his personal things moved when he moved his operations into his factory.” The woman touched her hand to the shelf, swiping off the dust with her finger. 

“It looks like an office straight from Downton Abbey.” Charlie’s mom laughed. 

“Actually, this place was modeled after the architecture of the late 1800s. Wonka always had a fascination with the Victorian era and its architecture… despite being born well into the 1900s.”

“That’s interesting. I bet this place was beautiful when it was fully furnished.”

“Oh yes. That is Wonka’s actual desk and chair, though!” The woman gestured. “We managed to restore both! They were in pretty good condition. This whole room, actually, was in nearly perfect condition when the city of Chicago acquired it.”

The woman approached the desk and picked up a laminated black and white picture, walking back to show it to Charlie and his mom and pointing. 

“See, there there would have been about two bullet chairs to match the one at his desk, and then two little coffee tables for each. On all of these shelves he would have had his recipe books and business records. Very very top secret, you could imagine. Someone actually tried to break in through the windows, but they couldn’t get out of the alcove there at the other end.”

“Did they steal his recipes?”

The woman hummed “I’m sure they tried to. But that was in about 1965, the real recipe stealing and scandals wouldn’t come in until the late 80s.”

“Wow.” Charlie’s mom hummed. The woman smiled and set the photo back down.

 “The curtains are not originals though, they’re recreations hand stitched by volunteers at the Trevor Project. You know, Wonka was known for hiring blacklisted Gay and Lesbian workers in his chocolate shops! A lot of the public speculate on his orientation because he never married or had a public relationship.”

“What does blacklisting mean?” Charlie tugged on his mom’s shirt sleeve. 

“It means people didn’t want them working because they were gay.” Charlie’s mom answered. “I didn’t know Wonka was an activist.” 

The woman shrugged, making a face. “Not necessarily. He never made any public announcements or policies. He conducted a lot of things outside of the public eye. That didn’t stop the LGBTQ community from embracing him as an icon for a while! Hence why we often receive donations from LGBT organizations.”

“I didn’t know that.” Charlie’s mom laughed. “I suppose that I’m out of the loop.”

“My grandpa Joe worked here.” Charlie said, because he wasn’t sure what to say. 

“That’s right!” Charlie’s mom snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot about that! You’ll have to ask him if he was ever allowed in this office when we get home!”

“He said he was! To see the butterfly!” Charlie looked at his mom, and then at the woman as she made a noise and stared at Charlie with wide and excited eyes. 

“Ahh! The fated butterfly!” She grinned. “If your grandfather did work here then he must have seen it all!”

Charlie nodded. The woman huffed at herself. 

“I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone as closely tied to Wonka as you two! That’s amazing.”

“Where did he keep the butterfly?” Charlie asked. The woman frowned and bit her lip. 

“You know… I’m not sure… That’s usually something we avoid mentioning on our tours.”

“But why?”

“Charlie-” Charlie’s mom warned. 

“Well… some people might find it offensive or sad. And we like to focus on the better side of Wonka’s career here.”

Charlie stopped himself from letting out a huff. Because he knew better.

He wasn’t sure why everybody avoided discussing the butterfly. To Charlie, it seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea. If you could do anything, why not make a butterfly out of candy? A butterfly was a harmless creature. 

But even though Charlie didn’t understand, he knew better than to be upset at the kind woman who was giving them a tour. 

She talked a bit more about the room’s appearance, and how much of it was the same. And then told the two of them that her break was almost over, and she had to go back to the counter. 

“Thank you!” Charlie said. “That was the best tour I’ve ever been on!” 

The woman laughed. Charlie’s mom reached for her wallet. 

“Here-“ she handed the woman a five dollar bill. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. But I really do appreciate it.” The woman took the money, smiling kindly. 

“It’s more than enough, maam. You both enjoy your day! And you, big guy.” She looked at Charlie and winked. “Enjoy the rest of your birthday.” 

“I will!” Charlie said excitedly. 

They left the shop, waving to the other man behind the counter as the bell above the door dinged once again and the sweet smell of melted chocolate and sugar left Charlie’s nose. 

“That was very nice of that woman.” Charlie’s mom observed. 

“It was.” Charlie agreed. “Where are we going next?”

“We have two hours before our train… we should probably find a bus station and go back.” Charlie’s mom observed. Charlie frowned at the sidewalk, darkening in the sunset lights. Charlie’s mom frowned and tapped his shoulder. “Do you want to make one more stop?”

Charlie looked up at her, blinking hopefully. Charlie’s mom smiled and gestured down the block. “Let’s go see Wonka’s factory.”

Charlie grinned, holding his mother’s hand to cross the street and hop down the block. They walked on, weaving through pedestrians, staring momentarily at shop windows, and following the docks further past the pier. 

“I see it!” Charlie cried. “Is that it?” In the fading golden light of the day, the sun from the lake shone on a swirling smokestack ushered high up in the sky. Over rows of train tracks, past bridges and buildings, the light faded over the water and the factory in the distance slowly began to light up. Coming into view as they rounded a corner and passed a block of tall buildings, the tall barred factory gates. They stopped at a place where nothing was obstructing their view except for a low highway and a chainlink fence. Charlie hooked his fingers in the links, watching lights fall over the factory spires, and the purple light at the very top blink on and off and on and off again. In the dark he could only make out the shapes, the blocky foundations, the spiking towers, the smoke spires rounded at the top like rising balloons. 

Despite Charlie’s best efforts, his imagination stayed put. 

There was no leaping hopes, dancing lights, colorful visions, or candy-colored daydreams. 

There was just a factory. Large and dark even in the distance. Perhaps it was the lack of daylight, or the smell of smog, or the eerie sound of squealing car tires and honking horns. But the factory was simply a factory. 

Charlie let out a breath into the night. 

“It looks… empty.”

“Oh, no. I’m certain it isn’t. That’s where all of the Wonka bars in the world come from!”

Charlie frowned, watching the smoke rise into the dark and cloudy sky. 

“Do you think it’s better on the inside?”

“I’m sure it is.”

“... do you think he’s happy there?”

“Well… he’s been in there for a while hasn’t he? And he’s making a lot of money…”

Charlie watched closely as a little truck-shaped rectangle sped along the road connecting the factory to the highway. The factory gates opened, drowned out by the sound of the city at night, and the truck pulled its way inside of its confines. 

The gate quickly closed behind it. 

Charlie stared for a long time after that. Wishing that he could see further past the gates, wondering if the inside was just as wonderful as that shop. 

Wondering if Wonka was inside an office just like the one he had seen. Only this one’s shelves were full, and warm fluttering clarinets were filling his ears while he worked. 

“Cmon, Charlie. We have to get home for dinner.”

Charlie breathed out again, heart pounding. He nodded and let go of the chain link fence to hold his mother’s hand again. 

They took a silent city bus back to the train station and Charlie watched the city fade away again from his window. 

“It was the most beautiful shop I’ve ever seen!” Charlie spoke excitedly over his baozi, and then took another bite. Grandpa Joe smiled, eyes sparkling again. 

“Was everything still there? The portrait? And the chairs?”

“Almost.” Charlie chewed before he spoke so he wouldn’t talk with his mouth full. “It was mostly empty. But all of the carvings on the walls were still there and everything!”

“Oh-” Grandpa Joe sighed. “That’s wonderful…”

“I remember… his office.” Grandma Josephine said, out of breath.

Grandpa Joe laughed and squeezed her hand. 

“On one occasion, Josephine was able to meet him. They talked for hours over tea.”

“Lavender… and mint…”

Charlie smiled, finishing another bite before he spoke again.

“I wish I could meet Mister Wonka.”

Grandpa Joe smiled, and looked across the room to Charlie’s mom, who stared back at him and smiled. 

“I suppose it’s time.” She admitted, collecting Grandpa George and Grandma Jun’s plates to wash. 

“Time for what?” Charlie spoke with his mouth full. 

“Chew your food, Charlie.” Charlie’s mom warned from the kitchen. 

Charlie swallowed. 

“Excuse me.” 

Grandpa Joe laughed again and reached his hand out for Charlie’s mom to hand him a paper bag, decorated in sharpie swirls. 

“I convinced your mother to put together some money for a present…”

Charlie gawked, quickly chewing the rest of his food and taking the paper bag. Charlie’s mom placed a kitchen chair at the center of the room. 

“Open it here so everyone can see, Charlie!” 

Charlie leaped up from Grandpa Joe’s bedside and quickly sat down in the chair. 

Grandpa George lifted his head to see, smiling with his wife. Charlie’s mom stood beside them, hand on her mother’s shoulder. 

Charlie exhaled, heart racing, and slowly reached inside the bag. His fingers closed around a smooth and papery slab that stuck slightly to his fingers when he moved them around. 

Gasping with joy, Charlie pulled his gift from its wrapping, and made a noise of glee when he turned it over in his hand. 

“A Wonka Bar! A real Wonka Bar!” 

Charlie’s mom smiled, Grandpa Joe chuckled to himself as Charlie inspected it with shaking hands. 

Its wrapper was silver and shiny, held in place by an embossed paper wrapping with stripes of red and purple. At the center of the chocolate bar wrapper was the logo, a beautiful sweeping W in perfect cursive. 

Milk Chocolate Honey Fudge Flake

Charlie traced the writing with his finger, taking in the sight. He looked at his mom, holding the bar with both hands. 

“Can I?”

Charlie’s mom smiled affectionately. 

“Have you finished your dinner?”

Charlie nodded. So Charlie’s mom chuckled and nodded. 

Charlie looked back at the bar, licking his dry lips, heart thudding in his chest. 

His imagination escaped him, leaping with joy as he carefully unwrapped each corner of the bar without tearing the wrapper. Slipping off the paper casing, he imagined the golden ticket greeting him beneath the shining silver foil. Carefully picking at the rest of the folds, he imagined holding up his prize to Wonka’s factory gates, and being welcomed inside with open arms. 

“I can make your dreams come true, Charlie!”

And this was the first step. The penultimatum. His nights of dreaming and his days of wanting more than his aching heart could bear was all for this moment. 

“Remember, Charlie. If there’s no ticket…” Charlie’s mom hesitated. “You’ll still have the chocolate.”

“I know…”

Through the top of the foil, he could see the top of the chocolate bar inside. 

He wanted a golden ticket more than any boy in all of the world, he decided. 

It had to be there. 

His heart thudded in his ears, he let in a breath and slipped the foil from the chocolate inside. 

He stared for a moment in shaking disbelief,

 and then felt his heart soar into the ground. 

The bar was a beautiful dark almond brown, with little squares dividing one end. Each square was decorated with stripes and an emboldened sweeping W. 

There was chocolate. There was nothing but chocolate. 

Charlie frowned, turning the bar over in his hand again. Charlie’s mom exhaled because she was holding her breath. Grandpa Joe sighed. 

“A shame… I really thought…” He didn’t finish. Charlie blinked his stinging eyes and decided to lift his head and smile. 

“Thank you all…” He said earnestly. “I must not be as lucky as those other children.” Grandpa Joe frowned. Charlie’s mom went over to him to pat him on the shoulders. 

“Do you want to eat your chocolate?”

Charlie nodded. And then looked around the room, into all of the eyes watching him. 

He blinked, looked back at his bar, counting the squares. 

“I want to share it.” 

“Charlie-” Charlie’s mom frowned again. “It’s your birthday gift. You can have the whole thing.”

“I want to share it.” Charlie insisted, breaking off pieces at the seams. He broke off each square from the other so that there were six separate pieces. He stood up, crossing the room to hand one to Grandpa George. 

“Thank you, Charlie.”

He dropped one into Grandma Jun’s extended hands, 

“Thank you, Charlie.”

Crossing the room again, he handed one to both Grandpa Joe and Grandma Josephine. 

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“Thank you… Charlie.”

Finally, he gave the last one in his right hand to his mother, who smiled at him as if she were about to cry. 

She took it and put a hand to his hair. 

“Thank you, Charlie.” 

Charlie smiled and gave her a hug around her back. 

“Thank you, mom...”

Charlie’s mom sighed and patted his head. 

“I don’t think I’ve had one of these since I was a little girl.” She laughed. 

Charlie let go and looked at his square, careful not to let it melt in his hand, he pinched it in between his fingers. 

“You never forget your first Wonka bar.” Grandpa Joe laughed. He stared at his square, still un-nibbled. “You ready?”

Charlie smiled and nodded, staring again, and then slowly touching a corner of the square to his lips. 

Underneath his teeth and on top of his tongue, the bar easily began to melt. The chocolate was rich and sweet. As Charlie chewed, the chocolate coated his mouth. He crunched down on little flakes of honeycomb and began to taste swirls of rich and salty fudge. 

He hummed, closing his eyes, feeling something flutter on the tip of his tongue. 

Something strange began to fill his chest. Something warm that poured itself out over the sinking pain in his heart. 

The bitterness of the fudge reminded him of the fact that he hadn’t gotten that golden ticket. But then the honey flake that washed over his tongue reminded him then of the wonderful day he had, the fact that he had been closer than he’d ever been to Wonka himself. 

A tear fell onto his cheek as it surfaced, and Charlie opened his eyes again, feeling his lips tremble. 

But at the same time, feeling that pinching in his throat begin to loosen as he swallowed. 

The taste on his tongue was bitter and rich and sweet and light all at once. He sniffled and smiled. 

“Charlie? What’s the matter?” Charlie’s mom asked, leaning down to look at his face. 

“...I like it.” He said. “I like it a lot.”

Charlie’s mom smiled and ruffled his hair again as Charlie took another bite. 

Grandpa Joe smiled as he began to think about that day, wishing he had been there with his grandson. But then feeling relieved that he had such a wonderful time. 

Grandma Josephine chewed as she took a deep breath for the first time in a while, thinking about how nice it felt to be able to breathe with the help of her Oxygen tube. And how wonderful it felt to know that her grandson and daughter cared for her so much. 

A tear fell down Grandma Jun’s cheek, feeling many things. But mostly gratefulness about how wonderfully Charlie was growing up. Wishing she could be there to see all of it, but knowing that he was going to become a wonderful man nonetheless. 

Grandpa George stared at his daughter, remembering her clinging to his hand a long time ago. Missing that little girl, but smiling at the beautiful mother that she was now. 

Charlie’s mom took a bite from the corner of her square, and felt her eyes sting for her husband. 

How wonderful it was to be able to love someone like that…

 even for a little while. 

The family enjoyed their chocolate squares, thanking Charlie again. And then washing up, turning off the lights, and settling themselves into bed for a good night’s rest. 

Charlie placed the wrapper of the Wonka Bar safely in his sock drawer as he settled down, thinking about the wonderful day he had. And how perhaps this was his favorite birthday yet.