I freeze in place with the distinct sound, sweet and slow enough to catch. The reminder from a year past beckoning me to rise.
Here it comes, inching closer by the second… Hurry!
Wait, I need money. The rush begins: Quarters, nickels, dimes; I need one penny, just one. I can always find rogue currency mushed beneath the couch cushions, or on the floor of the car, and now that I need one, I can’t find one.
Ah, got it! Finally.
I run for my life out the front door.
Second in line wasn’t so bad. I can relax while I review my options, pick what I want, and order in confidence by the time it’s my turn. The variety was exquisite. I purchased four of what looked the best and flew past the horde.
“I love it. It’s so good!”
At home we sat with satisfied smirks, slurping our shakes within a calm spring breeze and gentle sun. Mom and Dad daydream about the times they dabbled in the same joys of youth. The rush to find money, the pressure to catch the music, the relief of making it just in time. Their inner child blooms, immersed in happiness. We’re swept away in laughter, aching bellies in all…
Until mom spit out an eyeball.