Hand Rolled

 

 



The Ice Cream Shop

I was in the back seat not really paying attention to where we were going or how we were getting there; pretty much just going along for the ride.

After a short time the car stopped and we were all climbing out.  Apparently we had arrived.

My first impression of the building was its age.  I could see it was quite old, and like a weary old man it had had some work done over the years.  Judging by the foundation I'd guess a knee replacement or two.  The windows were quite hard to see through and should have gone through several prescription changes by now. I felt it was trying hard to look young and sturdy, like the newer structure across the road.  I didn't say anything, but I think the roof looked to be thinning a little as well.

The inside surprised me; it seemed to be a blend of old and new.  The wooden floors were solid and didn't squeak as we walked across to the counter, and just like a much younger person it was filled with ice cream.  Each flavor sounded better than the next; it was hard to decide what to order.

The walls were hung with giant black and white photographs from years back,  just as an old man's mind would be filled with the thoughts of old friends and the times of his youth.  One of the boys in the center photograph was the great grandfather of the owner of the building.  Dispensing ice cream was a new tradition, and it seemed to suit the place.

As we sat on the large front porch enjoying our cones, the owner walked around the corner and introduced himself.  He was a pleasant man and enjoyed telling us about the history of the building as well as of his family, who had come directly from Poland years ago.  He was much like the building itself, full of ambition and ice cream but well worn around the edges.  He spoke of his plans for expansion and possible new business ventures with a spark that I wouldn't have put so close to the old porch.

I didn't want our time there to stop, but cones and conversations had come to an end.  As we said good-bye and climbed back into the car, I wanted so much to turn and run back.  I wanted to climb up into one of those black & white pictures and tell those people what a great thing they were a part of.  I wanted to bring two handfuls of ice cream cones with me, hand them out and say, "Here, try this, it's amazing. And years from now your great grandson will be making this right here.”

But I couldn't even see the building in the side mirror any more.  We had moved on and my thoughts of a time travel adventure quickly melted.

 

 

Don't get excited

 

 



Bar Code

 

 

 

 

 



Full Moon

This is not a scary story, neither is it made up.  It is simply something that took place very early this morning.  For whatever reason, I was wide awake at 3:30 am.  The moon was bright coming in the window and as I got up and looked out into the yard it was like someone was shining a bright flood light over the neighborhood.  The moon was so bright in fact, the trees were casting shadows.  It looked rather pleasant.  Of course no one else in the neighborhood was up yet.  It was all very quiet and peaceful looking.

I'd never done this before, but I decided to get dressed and go for an early morning walk.  I put on the quietest shoes I had, as I didn't want to wake all the neighborhood dogs.  The only other person I expected to see up and about was the slow moving car that delivers newspapers to everyone's boxes.

Once I was outside the air temp surprised me.  It was much warmer than I expected.  I left my jacket on the front porch and headed down the driveway.  Now even though I started off by saying this wouldn't be a scary story, it was kind of eerie out.  There were more shadows than I realized and the silence only served to accentuate the slightest disturbance.  Squirrels making their way through the leaves sounded like some giant, and when the occasional breeze rustled through the trees, I'd jump.

I started out thinking this was going to be just a pleasant stroll but I seemed to be working myself into a frenzy.  What was I so scared of?  I looked back to see how far I'd gotten from the house and it was quite far already.  My porch light was on a timer and it was still on so I knew it hadn't been long at all, just spooky.

As I walked, flashes of last night’s dream were popping into my head. Yes, what was that?  I remember it was somewhat disturbing and that's what woke me.  It wasn't the moonlight, it was that stupid dream.  I tried to think back but it wasn't coming.  Then another mental flash, my bike... It had something to do with my…

I remember.  I could see it.  My bike was bent up and twisted under some lady's car, but where was I?  I could see my pals, we were at the pond. What were we doing at the pond, and why could I see all of them but not myself?  It seemed so real.  The noise from the scampering squirrels no longer bothered me.  As I walked l kept piecing together my very vivid dream.  I looked behind me once again, expecting to see my house off in the distance but what I saw was my entire neighborhood, like I was looking at some tabletop model, but it didn't frighten me.

The next thing I knew I was floating over some proceeding.  My pals were there, all sitting together.  People were looking so serious.  I wanted to know what was going on; I wanted to hear what was being said: and why were they there without me?  We went everywhere together.  Why was I seeing all this from the ceiling? 

The sun was starting to come up and as it did the shadows from the headstones grew longer.  The group of mourners over there looked as if they were part of a movie.  "Places everyone."

I could see my porch light go out.  Odd, it was like I myself had been on a timer. Suddenly it was all very peaceful.



 

 

 

Slowing to a crawl

We raced our bikes through the neighborhood and down to the grassy area at the pond.  I didn't win the race but was happy for the soft landing, as we all sort of crashed together and went sprawling.

Larry had the bread in his saddlebags and we quickly divided it up and each picked out a spot along the edge of the pond.  I pulled off a little piece and tossed it out onto the water.  It landed gently and made almost no ripples.  I plucked another piece from the loaf and tried to toss it a little farther out.  The movement of my arm startled a small frog, who had apparently been watching me.  He jumped into the pond and swam down to the safety of the bottom.

The frog's ripples caused the floating bread to bounce and rock with the surface of the water.  As I watched the first piece bobbing up and down it suddenly disappeared.

"Over here!" I yelled to my pals, who were scattered around the edges of the pond hoping to be the one to spot the fish first.  Some of them came running, others stood their ground, thinking their location would turn out better than the one I had picked.  Then the second piece of bread quickly went under; snatched by that same monster fish no doubt.

For all the times we'd been feeding it throughout the summer, it had most likely grown much too big for this small pond.  It wouldn't surprise me if the top of the old fish didn't start showing above the water.  Larry said I was nuts.  He said, "When was the last time you ever saw a sunburned fish?"  I guess he was right, I never had.

It wasn't long before everyone was crowded around my spot, tossing chunks of bread and waiting for them to be eaten by the great Fish.  Every now and then we'd see a turtle swim up and snag a piece of bread, then disappear back down to the bottom.

After all our bread was gone we decided to head over to Tommy's house.  We untangled our bikes and as we headed back out through the neighborhood I took one last look back at the pond, just to see if the top of that fish was sticking above the water.  I suppose if I hadn't looked back I might have seen that lady's car zipping down the road and if I had seen it, maybe I could have yelled or something.

I just couldn't believe it.  Everything happened so fast, the screeching tires, the sounds of everyone screaming and yelling.  Larry's bike was all twisted and jammed up under the lady's car.  Larry wasn't moving.  I wanted to rush over to see if he was ok but I knew he wasn't. I couldn't bring myself to move.  As I looked over at the lady behind the wheel - all I could see was the terrified look on her face.  I watched as she scrunched her eyes closed, hoping when she opened them none of this would have happened.  It was at that point I leaned over my handlebars and threw up.

The rest of that summer seemed to pass in a quiet fog.  None of us ever got over that day; we just sort of went through the motions.  We never saw Larry's parents again, not until the trial in December.  The prosecuting attorney had called all of us in as witnesses.  I don't think any of us wanted any part of it.  We had struggled so hard to push it out of our minds, to forget about the nightmares we had for weeks after.  Now it was going to be brought back in agonizing detail, with color photographs projected up onto large screens.

As the courtroom filled up, the lot of us sat quietly in the back row.  We could see the backs of the defense attorneys with the lady driver sitting at their table.  She looked different somehow.  I was thinking it wasn’t her but then realized she had colored her hair.  It looked very different and the way she had it combed looked different as well.  The prosecutor was quite large.  In fact, he could have played Santa Claus with no trouble at all.  He did not, however, look jolly.  There were two younger men at his table, maybe legal associates or something; junior lawyers perhaps.

Sitting behind the prosecutor’s table were Larry’s parents.  They weren’t moving or talking, not even fidgeting.  They were just sitting, waiting.  I couldn’t see their faces but the angle of their heads suggested they were both staring down at the floor.  I began to feel queasy.  It was warm in the courtroom and the slow-moving ceiling fans weren’t doing much to improve things.

Tommy, sitting in the aisle seat of our row whispered something and Sam, next to him, quickly covered his mouth to muffle his laugh.  I didn’t look over.  I didn’t want to know what he had said.  Nothing about any of this was funny and I didn’t want to be here. The bailiff kept looking at his watch and then up at the courtroom wall clock.  He looked antsy, like he wanted to go see what was keeping the judge but was afraid to leave his post.

The prosecutor leaned over and said something to the assistant sitting next to him.  The assistant got up and went over to the far wall and pushed the window open a little, letting in some cool air.  Half way back to his table the bailiff stood up and, quite loudly said, “All rise.”  We all stood up, the assistant stopped in his tracks as the judge walked in from the far door.  The judge looked across the crowded room and then said, “Be seated.”  The assistant scurried back to his chair and sat down as we all did.

My tendency to daydream seemed to kick in at that point.  I was hearing the voices of those who were speaking but it was like they were muffled, background noises and not really anything I needed to hear.  As I watched the large prosecutor walking back and forth in front of everyone - I was seeing him as the very large fish that swam in our neighborhood pond.  The sunlight through the window was striking his back, just like it would light up the back of the fish if it were sticking above the pond water.  His puffy cheeks moved as he spoke.  He looked like he could have been trying to snag bits of bread that were floating on the very ripples he was making by walking back and forth.

Suddenly the prosecutor stopped talking and turned, looking back at Larry’s parents who were now standing up and making their way to the aisle.  They were leaving; walking out.  I could see her crying and his arm was around her as they left.  The judge announced a short recess and asked all attorneys to his chambers.  I was wishing now I had been paying attention to what the prosecutor had been saying.  I glanced down the row towards Sam and Tommy.  Their expressions didn’t give me any clues as to what had just happened.  I suddenly became aware of the hardness of the wooden benches we were sitting on.  They were the same as the pews in church, rock hard and designed to survive years of use, not comfort.  I looked back up at the ceiling fans.  They seemed to be slowing to a crawl, and this was only day one.

On your mark...