Circle Writing

For Ice Cream

It was the absolute perfect day.

Clouds etched against the sky in brushstroke wisps, the sun a willowy pinprick of yellow. The city of Orange today was the city of blue skies and brown brick buildings, the downtown plaza tickled by the slight breeze and toddlers skirting the sides of the big water fountain in the middle, balanced on tiny tiptoe. Bird cut through the air on red-tipped wings. People ate their brunch wearing trendy hats at hole in the wall cafes, chattering about their to-do lists and dinner plans. Palm trees, rose bushes, magnolias lined the red brick sidewalks. Nothing possibly could disturb such an idyllic, quaint town.

TJ was engaged in the most difficult battle of his young life.

Daddy had been holding his hand while mommy held his younger sister Sara in her arms when he’d first heard it.

The dulcet tones of the song, getting louder as the truck came closer. The wheels on the bus go round and round, it played. He had never heard anything sweeter, literally and figuratively.

Ice cream.

He had to have it.

“TJ, wait!” Daddy called after him when he realized TJ had broken free from his grasp. But TJ had a head start, Daddy had been preoccupied with talking to an older couple admiring Sara in her pink headband.

“Yes, she’s something, my daughter,” he’d said proudly, just as he’d noticed his son racing off on stubby legs faster and disappear around the corner, faster than he thought possible.

We’ll have to put that kid in soccer, he thought.

If TJ made it back alive, of course.

TJ. Five years old. Clad in Ked sneakers, blue button down shirt, green eyes, sunglasses. Mission - ice cream truck. Acquire ice cream. Obstacle - every foreseeable object in his path. Parents heavy on his heels. Mission accepted.

He reached the roundabout in the town center. Problem - so had the ice cream truck. Even though his stubby legs were fast, the V4 cylinder engine of the truck was faster.

For a split second TJ watched as it turned, like slow motion, along the street. It was painted with colorful sloppy stick figure children smiling lopsided blue and orange smiles. It was playing Twinkle twinkle little star now, and there were popsicles and ice cream sandwiches in its belly.

TJ started to run. He needed them in his belly, too.

Target: ice cream truck. Location: Chapman Avenue roundabout.

Being but five years old, to TJ the avenue was not yet a place of rampant danger, pick-up trucks and sirens and buses all the precise size necessary to squish a young child.

No, it was the location of the ice-cream truck so TJ hopped off the sidewalk and sped toward it. His stomach audibly rumbled as he did so.

Well, it would have been audible but for the two cars that abruptly smashed into each other while trying to avoid the little boy stepping out into heavy traffic.

Parents, this may be a lesson why not to feed your children broccoli for dinner two nights in a row.

Target - in sights. Almost in reach. TJ looked behind him. All the pesky cars had piled up behind the two smoking sedans. A siren sounded in the distance, mixing with the tune of We Wish You a Merry Christmas.

The street was now entirely clear, because everyone was rushing to look at the scrunched up hoods of the Toyota and the Camry. Perfect.

The ice-cream truck was pulling to the curb now. If it had just done that in the first place, TJ thought, he wouldn’t have had to hurry so quickly.

He stepped up to the window, panting, starving, thirsty, hair all angles on his head.

The stickers on the white door swam before him. Cherry rocket, lemon swirl, Oreo sandwich, dripping with syrupy anticipation.

He walked up to the window. The man in the driver’s seat was on the phone. Sweat beads were dripping from his forehead.

“I’ll take the limesicle,” TJ said.

Then he realized without Daddy he didn’t have any quarters for the limesicle.