Most People Like Ice Cream
He could never be happy while he had so many unanswered questions in his head. But there aren’t any answers, I said. We were discussing freedom and God with the windows rolled all the way down. The usual. The difference between knowing and believing. They’re the same, I said. Not at all. We went back and forth until I said I needed to get out of the car. We got ice cream and talked about how many shells it would take to make beaded curtains.
The last time I ate ice cream was in summer in New York and I swore I’d never do it again. I hate ice cream but I always seem to go along with it. Let’s get ice cream. Sure. I’m hopeful that one day I’ll like it, that it will stop being cold vomit to me, that maybe it won’t melt so fast. I got the caramel macadamia nut.
Sometimes I get really sad when I’m in one of those moments where I think, I’ll always remember this. Exactly this. Like when I looked across the room once and I saw how perfect you and I were together. Maybe I wasn’t even there, maybe it was just you. The last of the violet candle burned out and the sun rose right on time. I think back to other times with different candles in other years, how they’re not clear like that anymore. That time, and that time, and that time, and that time.
It’s probably the sugar, the sweetness, the cheap buzz. People associate ice cream with fun, summertime, with childhood. I will never get a cone, always a cup, only a cup. I’m terrified of the ice cream scoop dropping from the cone, splattering on the warm concrete. Just standing there knowing I’ve ruined something special.