Minty ice cream

The air was humid. The AC broken in the little restaurant children yelling. I looked to the side. The glass window separated my past and present self. I was sitting with an older friend as the words blurred. I had been here before with an older lady. It brought up harsh memories.

“You look kinda sad.” I chuckled, “no just thinking.” The question was loaded. I hadn’t wanted the ice cream or to get anything. I browsed the menu as sharp echos came up, “I’ll get a root beer float please.” The check came as I sipped my flat soda, “I wanted to know if the machine was okay? My soda tastes off.” She hesitated uneasy, “so what do you want me to do about it?”

I pulled back, “no, no there’s nothing wrong I just wanted to make sure the machine was okay.” The akward silence was palpable. I knew the waitress was overstressed. I looked out the window to find a memory.

Little me walking into Friendlys to get a treat.

My mom held my hand in the parking lot, “I’d like to get something.” I stayed silent. We sat at a booth as she put her pocket book down. The colorful kids menu spread out. Crayons and coloring pages.

A special treat after my doctor’s. I would smile knowing after the doctors I would get ice cream. The monster one with the ears stood out to me. Minty ice cream.

“May I please have this one mom?” She checked. Cheese quesadilla. My mom had drilled in me I was allergic to wheat soy eggs and dairy.

“Mom can I eat this? Is it gluten free?” My little hands figited. My young mind not understanding what gluten meant. She checked her silver flip phone cell phone.

“That’s okay. But no fries okay. Maybe you can have some ice cream. Before we drive home.” I nodded. My bloodwork had been done as many doctors had checked me at the office.

“Hyperthyroidism.” The doctor nodded. The reason I stayed up late and was active alot. I clung to her, ” mom whats that mean will I have to get more blood drawn?” Her irritation snapped.

I stayed quiet. Tried to. I would make up a pretend world where both parents existed and they gave me whatever I wanted. We lived in a rocket ship I had a dog. Each week I would sit in a chair to have blood drawn.

“You have been such a great kid.” The nurse held my hand.  I nodded, “yeah it doesn’t hurt.” As if I was proud of my achievement. “But how about other kids?” My little mind raced to solve a problem, “at the gift shop I saw a singing flower what if the other kids would like it. Then they wouldn’t be scared right?” The nurse nodded.

My adult mind comprehended my fate. The painful jab of a needle for blood work. I held out my arm believing it would make me better. My mom looked away. A sticker was given each time. Candy was given, food was given. All of it warped.

“I’m going to get better? If I take this pill and this drink?” My mother nodded. Everyday for breakfast. A seaweed drink promoted to be “healthy” as of current news it was not FDA approved.

“if you take it will make you better.” Forced to take a drink every sitting of disgusting seaweed mixure. I would begin to question why. Was it all a written memo I couldn’t see?

A liquid lie. Not a truth. Liquid curable lie. “You have to take it. So we can get to school on time. Actually I don’t know. I can’t take you to school so walk.” The door shut as I grabbed my backpack.

The sandy dirt road that would lead me to the paved road. Homes well kept gardens blooming. Bees buzzing. The quiet hum before school. My little bag had my Friday folder. Blue shiny reflective plastic mess.

I lined up as we filed into classrooms. The teacher wrote, “Japanese pen pals.” She explained the task. Each of us would get assigned a student. We could tell us about our day about school. Living here in America.

“Felix your pen pal is Jenna.” I nodded. I would soon realize she was also from my same hometown. I wrote I poured my stories into writing, “My mom is the best she owns a garden center.” I drew a cute doodle.

Class ended as I packed my little bag. I walked home. Went to see if mom was home. But the accountant was in the big office chair today, “will my mom be home later?” She told me she didn’t know. I closed the door and went upstairs. Which babysitter would I have today? Hopefully the babysitter that sang to me. I turned on the radio.

When I moved back home. Her anxiety was apparent, “if I’m not here to help you who will.” I would begin to unravel this string of falsehood, “I’ve called some movers to compare prices. But I think the Uhaul idea is better.” I would combat her thoughts either a logical rational mind. She spoke from her own fears.

A constant bark of words, “can’t you pick me up from the airport. I need this.” Avoiding the solution. The truth there are other ways to get to the airport, “I haven’t even begun my life.”

I whispered quietly. The possibility I haven’t been able to begin such a beautiful life yet. I had been taking care of the very thing that shaped me. I would explain PTSD and tell her a story,

“Why can’t they look at the past and get over themselves.” I sat calmly. I would later piece together my mother would show her truth as soon as I moved out. She wasn’t ready for a deeper conversation.

A babysitter once told me, “you know you carry the world on your shoulders?” I swung my legs on the porch. I stayed quiet. I shook my head, “thats silly.” My 7 year old toothy grin showed. I knew. But chose to bear that silence.

“You can’t do anything alone. You need me.” The words would echo as my eyelids fell. Tears would weld up as I erased my memory.

“Why can’t you write something happier?” My friend asked. In a daze I responded internally, “you wanted me to be authentic.” I hesitated.

“Maybe next time I’ll write something happier.” I chuckled knowing if I did it wouldn’t be me.

Notes: I will write soon about my vacation. Sorry for the delay. I usually write my posts as they come to me. I’m not currently in my usual space as I write this. Tha nk you for reading.