It was Saturday. And like all good American citizens, my husband and were sitting in front of our computers, enjoying nap time. (And by that I mean that Harrison was napping, not us. I do spend a lot of time in front of my computer, but I don't SLEEP in front of it. I'm not a crazy person.) And then we heard the soft tinkling of music, and it took us about 5 seconds to realize what it was. The Ice Cream Man!
Richard and I ran out on the porch but couldn't see him anywhere. From the sound of the music, we figured he had to be just around the west corner and getting closer, but it sure seemed to be taking him a long time. I started wondering if it was really a guy with an ice cream cart, or maybe just a little girl on a tricycle with a boom box taped to the back, blasting out "The Music Box Dancer" because it is her favorite song.
When I was a kid we lived at the end of a really, really long driveway, so that whenever we heard the Ice Cream man, he was always long gone by the time we got out to the street. It always made me so mad. And sad.
Richard said when they were kids, they lived for enough out in the middle of nowhere that the Ice Cream man hardly ever came by, and even if he did, and they all ran out and chased him down, they would just have to say "Hi! We don't have any money cuz we're kids. But it's good to see you again buddy!"
While we stood on the porch, waiting for him to come around the corner, I watched a group of boys carrying really long sticks come running down the street toward the sound of the ice cream truck. They got to the corner, and all shouted, "Where is he? Where is he?" and then turned around and ran back up the street the way they had come, brandishing their sticks and yelling "ICECREAM MAN!"
The music stopped, so I gave up and went inside, but soon it started up again and I had to go outside, just to see. (Just like when we were kids and we heard sirens. We always had to run to the door to see the ambulance or firetruck go by. The only thing that stops me from doing it now is the fact that I can't see the main street from my door; I'd have to run a block and a half out to Main Street, and I am just not that ambitious.) I ran back out to the porch and there came the ice cream truck, but from the opposite direction than I thought he was. That is the crazy thing about the ice cream truck. Their little speaker on the top of their van has the ability to project their music out into the farthest reaches of the neighborhood, so that it bounces around off of houses and trees and makes it impossible to tell where the sound is actually coming from. It's what we in the biz call "Magicical", or sometimes "Annoying".
Those boys showed up again a few minutes later. Looking a little defeated. Probably because they didn't have any money. The truck had to have passed right by them. They all stopped at the corner and started beating on a bush with their sticks. Can't say I blame them. Lucky for me I'm not a kid anymore, so I got to just walk back into the house and sit down with my gallon of Heavenly Hash.
That is all. That's all I got. The end.