My Journal of Weekend Write-Ins

A Simple Treat

Anyone watching my family of six as we squeezed into the small blue Toyota, would think that we belonged in the circus. Maybe we did.

We somehow managed to make it all the way into the busy streets of Corona, Queens, without any A.C. on a ninety-degree summer day only partially drenched in our sweat. Normal people would turn the A.C. on rather than melt in the heat, but they didn't have a mom who suffered from the perpetual cold.

"Is it me or is there a chilly breeze?" my mom put on the spare jacket she carried around.

"Just you ma. Maybe you should move to Florida," my older sister had put up with our parents the longest, which made her a bit jaded.

"No, I think your mom is right," my aunt, who loved to copy my mom, said while she also donned her jacket regardless of the sweat that was dripping from her forehead.

"Can we just go already?" my brother whined.

"Dad still has to pay the parking meter," I said.

"But the line is getting longer. They featured the shop in the Post." My brother might hate reading books, but he enjoys reading any and every newspaper he can get his hands on. "There's probably a mob of people making their way here."

"I doubt that," dad had finally come back. "We have exactly fifteen minutes before we have to get back to the car. Does everyone know which flavor they are getting?"

"Raspberry," we all said in unison.

Dad laughed. "That's what I thought."

A few cars honked as we crossed the street. My brother gave them the middle finger and they, in turn, yelled some profanity back.

That's the soundtrack of New York, I thought, honks and yelling.

We waited on a long line, while dad kept glancing at his watch and counting down the minutes.

Once my brother had told him just to add another quarter, which led dad to go on a long rant about having to stay an extra 15 minutes to get his money's worth. After a lecture that went on for days, we learned to just stick to one flavor.

After getting six medium-size raspberry Italian ices, we packed ourselves back into the car with one minute to spare.

As I turned back one last time to look at the sign that read, The Lemon Ice King of Corona, I promised myself that one day I would come back by myself and try all the flavors. But for now, I  focused on eating the cold sweet treat before it melted away.