“Mom, do you know where Hanny is?” Mom has Isabella in her arms, who is hooked up to monitors.
Mom looks up but it takes effort. “She’s probably hiding again.”
I nod.
The corners of her mouth turn up into a smile. Well not a real smile her eyes sag under the strain. I shake the anger that rises in me because I know she can’t help it. She reaches up and touches my cheek. I want to shake her hand away and scream “What about me?” but I know that’s wrong. “I will go find her.” I say instead. My mom’s head falls down. She starts to doze then an alarm goes off. She jerks her head up and suctions Isabella’s mouth. Isabella chokes on her own spit.
I leave my mother and Isabella in search of Hanny. “Hanny” I holler. “Please don’t hide.” Then I hear it: in the distance a sound so magical my heart skips a beat. I run to the kitchen and yell: “The ice-cream man.” We seem to miss him every time. “Hanny hurry!”
She pokes her head out from one of the cupboards. She takes my hand. The truck’s music is getting closer. We’re going to miss it; I worry. We bust out the door and start waving our arms franticly.
“Stop!” I yell. Hanny is running fast for her tiny legs. We meet the truck just in time.
We stand face to face with the ice-cream man, finally. His eyes are the palest I’ve ever seen. They look odd and a little scary. They remind me of marbles. His eyes dart around rarely landing in one place longer than a second. I take two steps back.
Hanny is jumping up and down. “I want that one: that one!” she squeals. She is pointing to the rocket: a Popsicle with three bright colors. I hand the man the money. He reaches in a big freezer and pulls out Hanny’s treat.
“And you young man?” His voice is so quiet I have to step closer to hear him. There are so many choices I can’t decide. I have been waiting so long but now I can’t decide. Do I want a fudgesicle or an orange dream? I am about to make my choice when the man makes a sound. He is clearing his throat but it sounds like he is about to hack up a cat.
His bouncing eyes come to a stop on me. My stomach turns. He looks like he would like to say something but nothing comes out. He holds up his finger in a gesture for me to wait. Then he turns around, walks to the back of the truck and rummages around for several minutes.
He comes back to the window and leans out to hand me something. It looks like a fat Popsicle on a stick wrapped in ugly brown paper. I take it but I’m confused. He walks back to the front of the truck.
He drives away. I stand there in the street as the music grows more distant. Hanny already has her popsicle half eaten with a good portion smeared on her face. She is happy.
I remove the wrapping from my treat and disappointment hits me in the gut. “I’ve been ripped off.” I say as tears start to form in my eyes. I don’t know why I am crying. Boy’s my age are not supposed to cry but it’s not fair. Just like every thing else, it is not fair. I lift it up to my nose. It smells of nothing, of water.
Just as I am about to through the icicle to the ground Hanny lets out a shriek. She points at the Popsicle. A deep red glow begins to form in the middle. At first it is tiny and then it grows and grows until all of the ice is melted away and I am left with a red marble the size of an acorn. The marble is warm and it has swirls in it. When you stare at it the swirls grow and change into different shapes. The swirls are sort of like smoke clouds and remind me a bit of the sky when Hanny and I watch the clouds go by and pick out the different shapes they make.
We walk to the grass and sit down. “This is bizarre.” I whisper. I wrap my hand around and hold it. When I do I could swear I hear some one singing. I drop the marble. The singing stops. I look around. Nothing.
I pick the marble back up and hold it. The singing starts again but it is very quiet and distant. I close my eyes. It grows louder. The music pulls me away until it’s all I hear. The sound is sweet and soothing. The music wraps itself around me. Warmth sprouts up in my chest. I jerk. For the first time I see the pain that is there, the coldness that I have been carrying. The warmth grows until my chest is full then it moves through my arms to my fingers then through my legs to my toes.
The warmth moves up the back of my neck. I want to cry; I feel so peaceful. Then I am standing in an alley. A little boy walks up to me and hands me a fudgesicle. Then a little girl hands me a dreamsicle. The music is louder here. I realize it’s a woman’s voice that sounds so beautiful.
Several feet ahead there is a stall full of colorful plump fruit. I’ve never seen fruit with so much color. I walk to the stand. The man there turns around. For a moment I am scared. It’s the man from the ice-cream truck but his eyes are different. They are a clear vibrant blue. He smiles at me.
“Where am I?’ I ask.
“You are in a place where you may always come.” He replies.
“Where is that music coming from?” It seems louder and even more beautiful here. The man points behind me. I turn. Across the way is a woman sitting in a rocking chair with a little girl. I walk closer and see that it is my mother and Isabella but Isabella isn’t hooked to monitors. She is sucking her thumb and smiling. My mother’s voice is the most beautiful sweet thing I’ve ever heard.
My mother stops singing and looks up at me. “You’ve found us.” The corners of her mouth turn up into a smile, a real smile that reaches her eyes.
Then I am on the grass in our front yard again, the marble in my hand.
