Ice Cream Cures All

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ice cream is more than just a yummy frozen treat.

Submitted: March 10, 2008

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Submitted: March 10, 2008

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Ice Cream Cures All
By: Kristyn D’Angiolillo
 
The wind whipped my long brown hair around my face. I felt the strong hands of my mother pressing on my back as I swung towards her. Her push sent me flying back up and away from the ground. I smiled at the warm feeling of sunshine hitting my face. I was swinging from a piece of wood tied to an old oak tree in my great-grandmother’s back yard and I was so happy that I lost all focus on the rest of the world.
That is until I heard my younger cousin yelling, “Come on, Krissy, you’ve been on there forever!!”
I shouted back down to her, “Have not! Wait your turn!” I wasn’t ready to leave the swing yet. It was the most fun I’d had in the past couple days; a great relief after spending sixteen hours in a van making its way to Florida.
 Tiffany stood looking up at me, her bright blue eyes pouting and her lip sticking out in protest. Another push from my mom made Tiffany yell again. “Aunt Bonnie, let me have a turn!!”
“Alright, Kristyn, you’ve been on there for long enough, let Tiff have a turn.” This time when I came rocketing back at her she caught me and held me tight.
Reluctantly, I slumped off of the swing and allowed a happily bouncing Tiffany take my place. After just a few pushes I got tired of sitting and waiting until it was my turn again so I announced, “Okay, it’s my turn now!”
‘“Hey, no fair, your turn was longer!” she yelled back at me.
“Calm down, Tiffany. Your turn is still going. Kristyn, you are going to have to be patient.” My mother told us sternly. Needless to say, I disagreed.
“Fine!” I screamed and stomped into the house where the rest of my cousins were playing UNO. I joined in and forgot about the swing.
 
***
My cousin had been my best friend ever since she was born. Tiffany was eleven months younger than me, as I frequently reminded her, and we’d grown up together like sisters, always making up silly games and getting into trouble together. But unfortunately, like all sisters do, we also fought quite a bit. Unless of course, we were attacked by her mean brother, Braxton. Then we banded together against the forces of evil. Or so we thought at the time.
***
Tiffany and I acted childish and stubborn for the rest of the morning not breathing a word to each other and trying hard to avoid eye contact. The rest of our cousins ignored our little fight. They knew that we got into things like this all the time and were plenty used to it.
That afternoon we were all sitting around outside trying to find a game to play when we heard the tell tale signal of the ice cream man. Pop Goes the Weasel was jingling down the street towards great gram’s house. All at once the six of us got up and bolted for the back door of the house, screaming, “Mom! Mom, it’s the ice cream man!!” Our mothers looked up from their conversation and smiled at our eagerness to get ice cream.
My Aunt Michelle, Tiffany and Braxton’s mom, said to her sisters, “Okay, who wants to go with them to get it?”
When no one else volunteered, my mom piped up. “I guess I’ll do it.”
“Yay!!” we all yelled, and took off out of the front door, Mom following behind us with a smile.
By the time we made it outside, the ice cream truck was all the way down the street, so all the kids started running after it. My mom must’ve figured that protesting wouldn’t help because she followed.
So there we were, six kids under the age of seven and a twenty-five year old woman sprinting down the road after a colorful singing truck serving frozen dairy treats. The object of hilarity to all of the neighbors sitting outside on Peach Street. And after three blocks of breathless running, the ice cream man finally saw that we were chasing him. It took him long enough but he eventually stopped to ask what we wanted. If you ask me, he should’ve given us free ice cream but instead we paid fifty cents a pop.
While we ate our quickly melting and dripping vanilla cones, Tiffany and I completely forgot our little spat, as usual. We perched on top of the tree swing together swaying back and forth and licking the sticky drizzles of ice cream from our hands. Who knew we could both fit on the little piece of wood at the same time?
***
Our little tree swing spat happened nine years ago and we still love to bring it up just to laugh at ourselves and our childish idiocracy. We always make jokes like, “Hey stole any good swings lately?” and “When was the last time you ran down an oblivious ice cream man?”
For some reason, my mom doesn’t remember our fight, only the chase down three blocks after the ice cream man who jipped her out of three dollars and fifty cents.
 
 


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