Skip to main content

We All Scream For Ice Cream

July

Momma ran her hands through her hair. Always uncombed. Always a mess. Her skin looked dry today, hanging on her bones.
The living room window was open. It was so hot. No one wanted to wear clothes.
Tommy sat on the couch in his blue underwear, his brown skin dirty looking. His toes definitely dirty.
The Statler Brothers played from the radio. All Tommy wanted to do was watch TV.
Momma would probably let him.
Except Momma had been staring at the wall for a real long time and it scared him. So Tommy just sat there, staring at his mother.
Sissy started to stir in her room, soft, low. I am awake cries.
She suddenly opened her bedroom door, diapered in a green shirt, rubbing her eyes. She plopped on the floor just outside the door and did not move.
Momma looked up at Tommy, suddenly aware. Her eyes were un-readable.
"Your Father has not sent the money," she whispered. Her eyes were suddenly bright, shimmering, luminous. He watched as a lone tear coarsed through her dry skin, leaving a slow path to her chin.
He said nothing.
"If the money does not come tomorrow, we will be eating ice cream cones for supper."
Tommy could not help but smile.
"Do not smile, Tommy," she sighed. "We have no ice cream."
"I know, Momma," he said.
But he kept smiling. They had raspberry jam in the fridge. There was nothing better in an ice cream cone as far as he was concerned.
"Everything will be okay, Momma."
She nodded her head, slowly at him and turned her attention back to the wall.
Tommy really wanted those raspberry jam-filled cones.
He did not get them.



Comments

Traci Dolan said…
Q, this kid breaks my heart but I'm so addicted to his story... your writing is so vivid and real.. wow.
The Writer said…
Gotta love your writing, Q! Never ever disappointed...not even a smidge.
Phoesable said…
I feel exactly the same way as Inanna. I just love Tommy --- and this segment is, well. Wow. Sorry to be redundant, but wow.
Self Induced said…
O_o

Crap! Reading your story just sent the temperature around me scrambling up the thermometer. Turn on some fans! Turn up the A/C!! Eeeeeeeeeeee!

(By the way, she could, I suppose, get a job... or something...)
AJ in Nashville said…
Since the word "WOW" has already been used twice, and I don't want to sound like a copycat, I'll instead say, wonderful Queenie, simply wonderful.

Hmmm...did I just copy myself?

:)
AJ in Nashville said…
BTW...I *LOVE* Moose Tracks!

:)

Popular posts from this blog

Unending Paper Chase

You check in on me when you get your break for lunchtime now. You never used to. You ask me, "Are you all right?" You breath in and out hard once through your nose, like it is a chore to even ask. It seems to me that for you everything is an obligation, even holding my hand. Everything you do doesn't feel like anything more than surveillance now. I don't want the days to end and it is getting harder to sleep at night. I am starting to feel sick, like I have the flu. I'm always cold. But I haven't eaten much lately. My stomach is filled with acid. I smile at you anyway. I write two letters a day. One to keep you smiling and one that tells of the truth, but they both look the same. You do not know that I form certain words and sentences in a way that triggers me, in a way that reminds me of what is real. It is something that I started doing in grade school for tests, so that I could easily remember the answers, and then later, so my mother would not underst...

Boxing Day

Countless times, on the weekends when you are here, you leave for me a stream of yellow in the bathtub. Something angled wrong in this 160 year old building. Sometimes you hit the tiles, as you whip your dick to the left to spray. Do you hold a finger over your pisshole? Do you laugh inside your head? I don't want to know. She bathes in there too.  I have been kind even letting you here. It is only because I love your father.    It is May or June, I don't remember. As sickness washes over me and the rest of the planet too, it can be easy to lose track of time. We tend to the plants, stroke their leaves and name them all. We watch the cat grow fatter, as she lolls in the sun on the stolen chair cushion she's dragged to the hard cement balcony floor. I feel like I know Gamer Chad better than myself and she complains about Jordan Peterson. She can't stand his voice.  But I am more tired and angry on weekends. I tell my her so. I tell her my solution. She tells me she...

Below One Eye

It's just a phase, the Moon says to her, when she tells him she can't sleep. Up again, at 6 a.m., tossing and turning through fitful dreams. The sort of dreams that say, You can still have this, if you want this. Weeks of them again now. They are not unpleasant, especially if she can wake herself up fast when she realises where she is. Before she sees his face. She has taken to arming herself with protection. She conjures up her older brother's face and he brings along his wife. They stand beside her and help wake her up. "But if you don't want to," her brother says, leaves the offer on the plate, "I can kill him instead." But I disagree. He doesn't want to die. And that's such a shame. It is the end of winter now. It holds on like the cat who doesn't want to be picked up. The hateful sort of cat; the kind who would spit at you instead of nuzzle. And that makes it hard. Not to want This. She has said nothing to him, that she hasn't...