Mari, get up. Get up,” Daisy squeals. She pulls my hand from my book and tries to drag me from the couch.
“I just got settled, Daisy. I told you I would help you make a house out of the cardboard box this afternoon.”
“It’s the ice man.”
Matty comes up behind Daisy and reaches for her other hand. “She means the ice cream man. Come on, Daisy. Give Mari a break.”
I strain my ears and can barely make out an instrumental jingle version of Sly and the Family Stone’s “Hot Fun in the Summertime.” “Thanks, teammate, but he’s playing my song. Let’s all go.”
Daisy claps her hands and hollers, “Ice cream time!”
Everyone in our house heads outside. Dad even decides to leave his latest crossword puzzle to join us.
As we step into warm sunshine, doors open and close throughout the neighborhood, and a steady stream of children pours from apartment building entries. The song gets louder and the line forming by a fire hydrant gets longer. We step in behind the neighbors from across the street.
“Well, hello, Mari. I wondered when we were going to see you in the ice cream line. You waited until the last week. Are you being good?” This single mom has a warm laugh and three adorable boys with thick black hair and hazel eyes.
“I haven’t been paying attention. I think my dad deliberately sends me on errands during this time of day. He wasn’t fast enough today.”
“I heard that.” Dad steps up next to me in line. He is using a cane and seems much more mobile. “Frank, are you ready to work on the carburetor?”
Dad teaches the eldest boy how to work on cars. It keeps Frank’s mind off not having a dad in the picture, and it keeps my dad’s mind off his limited abilities right now.
“Yes, sir. I’d like that.”
“Don’t forget us.” Marcus comes rushing across the street with Wallace riding piggy back just as the ice cream man stops at his usual driveway and opens his traveling refrigerator for business.
“Can we take cuts?” Wallace asks.
Dad looks behind us. “If the two people behind us say it is okay.”
Marcus and Wallace ask permission and return to our gaggle of family.
Mrs. Jamison looks at us all with a big smile. “This is just like old times. Except Frank was just four then. And you two were teens. Remember how he used to call you something funny…what was it?”
She is pointing to Marcus and me. I try to act like I don’t know what she is talking about, but Marcus is eating this up. “Love birdies.”
“That’s it. Sounds silly now, but you two really were old souls. Kindred spirits, I guess you could say. I look at Frank, who is about to turn eighteen, and I cannot imagine him finding the love of his life this young. He’s still my baby.”
“Aw, Mom.” Frank blushes and turns his attention to the ice cream man. He then realizes that he needs money from his mom so he holds out his hand for the dollar.
Dad reaches across her shoulder with a twenty-dollar bill. “All my kids get treated today. Including you, Cheryl.”
She laughs and graciously accepts the offer. I gladly accept the distraction from the line of conversation.
Marcus handles all the orders and doles out the flavors one at a time. “Carmel nut for you.”
“Thank you. Still eating cherry chip, I see.”
“Nothing better.”
“Except our own creations, of course.”
He smiles. “Goes without saying.”
We walk in silence for a while enjoying one of the last days of summer. I feel seventeen again—all tied up inside with life’s questions and joy. It was the point in my life when I realized I was an individual and could have my own future someday.
“If you had asked me thirteen years ago what I would be doing right now in life, I would have rattled off so many things.”
“But not this?” Marcus jokes softly.
I slant my head toward him. “No. Anything but this.”
“Have your dreams served you well?”
“They have. I went through a phase when I was dreaming of the wrong things, but I think I have that figured out.”
“I did the same. Realistic is better.”
I pause in our walk. “Yes, realism inspired by dreams and faith is best.”
“Here’s to dreams, then.” Marcus tips his cone toward mine.
I take a bite off the top of my ice cream swirl and hold it on my tongue as long as I can stand it. Another carryover from seventeen. Marcus does the same.
“You swallowed. I’m the best!” I say after a couple minutes. Though it comes out more like, “Thoo swawod, I’m thu beshed.”
“Hey, love birdies, beat you to the house,” Frank says from behind us. He and Dad are also heading to the house.
I notice Marcus smile shyly at our nickname. Then bravado takes over. “You’re on. I’ll beat Frank. Mari, you outrun the old man with the cane!”
We take off for the house. Each of us running in awkward, silly strides. By the time we reach the front step, we are winded, covered in a smattering of ice cream, and laughing.
The taste of pure joy hits me hard. And I am surprised by the sweetness of childhood contentment.