Charlie and the Ice Cream Man

By
More by this author
The eyes of Charlie Wilson were always mischievous, along with the smirk on his face that would never fade. Charlie was never quite the one to do what he was told, especially when it came from his mother or father. So, surprisingly, when Charlie was asked to do his chores one crisp, fall evening, he flat out refused. He could not understand why someone would lock himself or herself inside the house, exhausting their body mopping the kitchen floor, when there were so many exciting adventures waiting outside. Charlie was told that if his chores were not completed by the time he rested his head on his pillow that night; he would not receive any of his allowance money. However, Charlie did not care, for he was thirteen and was convinced that he knew all there was to know about life in the real world. So, just as expected, Charlie laid his head down to rest that night, while the wet mop patiently awaited his return to the kitchen. He was proven to have no conscience, as that evening he dreamt of rainbows and ponies and things made of sugar. Upon waking the following morning, Charlie was anything but enthusiastic. It was Monday, and the bus was expected to arrive at his house very shortly. So he shoveled down a waffle smothered in syrup and ran a comb through his hair. Charlie slept through his classes, and chewed his way through lunch, until the final bell rang at 2:45. Charlie swiftly made his way through the crowds in the halls, and burst his way past the double door entrance. Although he was ecstatic that school was done for the day, Charlie still had to trek home, about two miles away. Off in the distance, Charlie heard a familiar tune. As it drew nearer and nearer, he knew what it was. His mouth began to salivate and his chin was dropping more by the second. His mind was stuck on a one-thought track: ice cream, ice cream, ice cream! Charlie’s head flew from side to side as kids ran from all directions, fervently waving their five dollar bills in the air. He waited not a second longer before diving his hand deep down into the dark depths of his pocket and began to fish around. A moment later, he pulled it back out with some money in hand. Charlie frantically counted the money before the truck pulled away, “ Twenty-five, ten, five, twenty-five, and ten.” Charlie attempted to swallow but was interrupted by the feeling of a golf ball lodged in his throat. All he had in his hand was seventy-five cents and some cookie crumbs. Immediately, he thought back to the previous day and his encounters with his mother. He recalled that there were chores for him to do, and money to be earned had those chores been completed. It was now apparent that Charlie’s mouth was salivating beyond his control. He felt tears of regret slowly trickle down his cheek, and into his palm that was held open below. For the first time in his thirteen years of life, Charlie truly felt that he had let himself down. He wept for a few moments and decided it was time to move on. As he shuffled down the dirt road that would lead him home, he repeatedly mumbled to himself, “Out of sight, out of mind.”





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback