Page 69 of Nine

We both stand up.

“What if I just take a picture of that kid eating an ice cream? There’s nothing really emotional about that,” I say.

“What are you talking about? Getting ice cream used to be like the highlight of my day as a child. It’s a memory, and a happy one at that. When that ice cream man came around my neighborhood, playing that stupid song through the intercom on his white beat up van, my brother and me would lose our minds. People remember these things.”

I shake my head.

“It’s not something I can relate to. We barely had food in the fridge when I was little. My parents smoked it all up. I never bought ice cream off of a van. Can’t say I know how it feels.”

“Well, let’s go pop your ice cream van cherry now. No one should go through life without the experience.”

“Any recommendations?” I smile.

“Mega Missile or a King Cone is pretty safe to try. If you’re feeling adventurous you could even get one of the Pop Ups.”

“Those all sound like vibrators.”

He turns and gives me an ugly look.

“What?”

“Stop being nasty. We’re talking about childhood memories.”

“Mine was pretty messed up, so I get a pass.”

He drags me over to a dingy white ice cream van and points to all the pictures on the side of it.

“Choose,” he says.

I let my eyes bounce around to all the different photos. There’s at least fifteen ice creams available, and I can’t decide. This is too much pressure. Kids are lining up behind me and shoving through to look at the pictures too. The man inside the van stares at me with irritation, and it just makes me stress out more.

“King Cone,” I finally say.

“Malt Cup,” Trig adds.

The man turns, opens up a freezer, and slowly pulls our picks out. I find myself wishing he would move a little faster. I can hear the groans from the children behind me, and if he doesn’t hurry up, they may just start a riot. Finally, he walks back over and hands us our ice cream with a spoon as well. Trig slides him some money and we make our way through the little hellions. I start unwrapping my cone.

“That was intense.”

“It’s just ice cream,” Trig says.

“It’s the hardest decision I’ve made all day. What are you talking about?”

Trig pops the lid off his Malt Cup, and digs in. I put the cone up to my mouth and take a big bite.

“Oh my god. You’re right. This is really good,” I mumble

Trig nods.

“Cherry popped, girl!”

“It actually wasn’t that bad. I might even describe my experience as a little fun.”

“Maybe later I’ll take you to Chuck E. Cheese’s and let you hug a giant mouse.”

“You’re hilarious,” I say with a thick amount of sarcasm.

He puckers up his lips to hold in his ice cream as he laughs. I elbow him in the side. We continue to walk down the street and the camera is swinging from my arm.

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