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Ice Cream Analogy // peterick

"How many cups do you want, kid?" the ice cream guy asked friendly.

"One chocolate and one vanilla, please."

"Here you go! It's just five dollars."

Patrick handed the guy a 5 dollar bill and took the ice cream cone. The only thing he dreamed about all day was a sweet, sweet ice cream to cool him off. It was so hot outside you could see the steam rising from the most desired soda bottles. He has never seen such high temperatures in Chicago, at least not in the last couple of years.

He took a mouthful of ice cream and sighed. None of his friends were in town in this time of year, so he was all alone. But at least he had his trucker hat to protect him from the sun.

As he was walking down the street, he felt someone bump into him.

"Hey! Patrick!" someone said behind him. Patrick turned around and saw none other than Pete Wentz.

"Pete!" he cheered, high-fiving Pete. "What are you doing here? Weren't you going to the countryside this summer?"

"I came back earlier. My grandmother is quite busy, though I don't understand what you can do when you're as old as she is," Pete giggled.

"Wanna get some ice cream?" Patrick asked pointing at the ice cream van.

"Yeah, sure."

***

"You know, I've always thought about this when I was eating ice cream," Patrick said taking another mouthful of his new ice cream. Pete admired his weird capacity to swallow a whole ice cream cup at once.

"What did you think?"

"People are like chocolate-coated ice cream," he said pointing at the black chocolate half-ripped coating of his ice cream. "It doesn't matter what type of chocolate is on top it, though."

Pete was intrigued. He always loved Patrick's weird analogies.

"Whether it's black or white, you know it's great. It's ice cream, afterall! But if the inside - the actual ice cream - is bad, it doesn't matter, does it?"

"Not at all."

"You gotta accept: some ice cream brands are terrible. Think about this. So are human 'brands'. You can either be a nice person or a jerk. It doesn't matter what chocolate coating you may have. It doesn't matter if you're black, white, mixed or anything else, am I right?"

"Damn right, lunchbox," Pete smiled. He never told anyone that his mom was Afro-Jamaican. Nobody in his school ever saw her. They only met his father, and that was because his mom didn't want his boy to be discriminated by being biracial. Maybe he could finally trust someone. And that could be Patrick.

"You always the dumbest shit mixed with deep shit, lunchbox."

"I guess that's just who I am this week."