I swung the door open with a bell jingling to my arrival. A few heads glanced back to see who was coming into our quiet little town’s roadside diner. Most of them went back to their eating while one or two of them nudged the person next to them, whispering. But that was all going to change, soon they would have something else to whisper about. All I cared about at that time was to satisfy a craving I have had for a long time. I made my way over to a booth and sat down into the plush cushy seating, wincing at the sharp pain coming from my rib cage.
In mid-approach, I wasn’t sure if the waitress was either taken aback by who she was about to serve or the still pulsing bruise on my cheek. She continued making her way to me with an obvious discomfort “What can I get you?” I tried to ignore her all but friendly attitude “What kind of Sundaes do you have?”
“What was that?“ she leaned over closer to me “You’re going to have to speak up a little bit”
I begrudgingly repeated myself and she briefly paused to digest my question. I knew that pause, she was trying to figure me out. Just like the rest them, she gave up “We have regular, strawberry, and a banana split special”
Just what I was hoping for “I’ll have a banana split”
After a quick jot in her notepad and an “Alright then” she left, turned her tension away from me, and went to submit my order.
Even with my head turned, gazing out the window, I knew people were keeping an eye on me. I knew that conversations shifted towards me. Always gossiping but never lifting a finger. It would have been a lot better if they just ignored me. At least that‘s one thing my Mother was good at doing.
“Here you go young man” my sundae slid in front of me.
“Finally” I thought to myself “a banana split sundae of my own“ A special treat someone went out of the way to make just for me. I overheard someone at school talk about how he had one for his birthday and how delicious every bite was.
Before I could grab my spoon the waitress placed her hand on my arm “Maybe you should wash your face before you eat” she gestured at my bruise “Some cool water might reduce the swelling”
I glared at her wanting to tell her to mind her own business but I didn’t want to risk causing trouble, not with my sweet dessert so close to me. I complied and made my way to the restroom. The cool water splashing on my face felt good, refreshing. I looked in the mirror and realized how noticeable it really was. Afterwards, I sat back down and she nodded “There we go, I’m sure your mother" she hesitated at the word "would feel better knowing that cleaned up before eating”
Mine would be too busy nursing a bottle to ever bother with me. I took my first spoonful and savored the sweet combination of flavors exciting my taste buds. Delicious, just like what that kid said. She was probably still in a drunken stupor, unaware of what just happened in her own house. Mmmm, strawberry jam mixed with vanilla. It wasn‘t the first time she heard banging and slamming from the next room. She never once tried to stop him. Next was the banana drizzled in chocolate syrup. Then again, he probably would have started swinging at her. Better me than her I guess. I dug into my sundae. He got what he deserved. When he wasn’t busy hitting me, he would rant about how I was just another reason things never went his way. Another bite. He was hitting me harder than usual. I actually heard one of my ribs crack. Another bite. I was so scared, I didn’t want to die. Another bite. So glad I kept that knife in my room. It was either him or me. Another bite. The blood trickled down the blade onto my hand. Another bite. No more hitting, no more yelling. Just heavy breathing with a craving.
“Young man?” I felt that same hand on my arm in mid scoop “Is something the matter?”
Just then I realized that my sundae was gone and I felt warm tears trailing down my face. I licked my lips inside my mouth to recall my last bite but failed to taste anything. “Can I get another one, please?“ Before she could reply back, she suddenly darted her eyes outside in shock. I didn’t even have to look back, I knew exactly what it was even without turning my head. The strobe of red and blue lights pierced through the diner windows. “Would it be possible to have it to go?”
Author's Note: I originally thought about writing something referring to the Barefoot Bandit, who I recently heard got caught. I did some research on some of his family background and then some. Eventually, I kept having an image of a traumatized boy desperately reaching out for a childhood experience. Since it's been quite hot lately, ice cream was the most refreshing thing that kept popping up in my head while writing this. In all honesty this is the first time I attempted to write something a bit darker so I'm sure it has quite a bit of faults. Not one of my best works but something I wrote nonetheless. Critical critique and blunt responses are appreciated. Thank you
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