Based on a sunshine_revival prompt, and a conversation I had with
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elizalavelle . Some names and minor details have been changed to preserve anonymity.
Icy Pops
I'm at a cousin's baseball game. Five years old.
My aunt hands me a ice pop, blue because blue ice pops are the best, and I slurp while watching the game. My cousin hits a home run; perhaps amped up by the sugar, I cry, "go Callie!"
Callie smiles and waves.
Ice Cream Sandwich
I grab an ice cream sandwich from the fridge, and go outside to read. Reading's my favorite pasttime.
But I'm reading more than eating, and soon the ice cream drips. I grab a napkin, but some of it's already landed on one of the pages.
The stain goes on to remind me of that simple day.
ChocolateBy sheer coincidence, Cora and I move into the same neighborhood within the same three months. Naturally, we become fast friends.
We decide the best way to introduce ourselves is to walk around offering people chocolate from a jumbo pack. Which is exactly what we do. Hardly anyone takes us up on it, so we eat the rest.
Mashed Food
I spend my summers working at a senior living facility. One of my duties is serving our participants food.
Mashed potatoes. Mashed broccoli. Gravy. All in small blue trays. One for Marco, who can only speak Italian; one for Patricia, who is restless until she sings; one for Nettie, who loves singing
Take Me Out to the Ballgame.
Enjoy.
Frappucino
Starbucks is the closest thing my friends and I have to a hangout. We don't go often; but when we do, we know our orders. I always get the Caramel Frappuccino. Iced, of course.
We sit outside Barnes & Noble, me wanting to buy books but not daring tell my friends. They're not readers. We talk about our hopes for next school year. Our plans for our lives after school. Jill wants to study biology. Cora wants to become a singer. I'm not sure what I want.
I suck back the last of my Frappe and throw it out as we head back to Jill's car, wondering if we'll always meet here in the summer, or if the future has other plans.
Pickles and Cheezies
I often stay with my grandmother a few weeks out of the summer. She lives in a small bungalow and serves me pickles in a tiny dish. They're always delicious. I talk to her about high school, and she tells me about her high school days, how she met the grandfather I never knew.
At night, we're less healthy. My grandmother loves Seinfeld, so we watch it on her old TV. She in her rocking chair, me on her bed. We always pour cheezies and watch Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer do one terrible thing after the other.
PopsiclesIt's a hot summer day, so after a bit of tanning, Cora and I sit in her room. The fan whirrs loudly over us. A copy of
Seventeen is on the floor, waiting to be opened.
We split the grape popsicle as we read the advice column to each other, napkins in hand because the popsicle is faster than we are. When we finish, we read each other the jokes. They're so bad, they're good.
They're among the last vestiges of our childhood.
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