We were on a leisurely after-dinner stroll when we heard the music. “Did you hear that?” my daughter Sara asked when we were two blocks from home.
That couldn’t be an ice cream truck … or could it? It had been a long time since I’d seen one in the neighborhood. Sara began recounting stories of her young years when the ice cream truck rolled down our street every afternoon in the summer. We were hopeful for a few moments. Then the music stopped, and we started talking about our favorite popsicle flavors in the old days.
It was a warm summer evening, one where it was easy to dream about a sweet icy treat appearing from nowhere. I was thinking about creamsicles when I thought I heard the music again. “Was I hallucinating?” I wondered as Sara uttered an enthusiastic “There it is again.”
We tried to follow the sound as it played again and then stopped. By now we were in full detective mode as the episode continued. Music played. Music stopped. It sounded closer. Then far away. We surmised the truck was coming up and down the neighborhood streets, stopping to sell ice cream, then continuing to the next block.
Suddenly the situation took a promising turn as we saw the truck, lights flashing and music blaring, about two blocks north of us. Neither of us had any money with us, so there was no point in running up the street. My mind was racing. I calculated that we had maybe ten minutes until the truck with the sweet stuff hit our street.
Out of nowhere, I heard a voice that sounded strangely like mine issue a sharp command. “Let’s run back to my house and get the car.” I figured if we missed the truck on my street, we could drive toward the music. We took off walking quickly and then broke into a run. Sara sprinted ahead to get the car keys and cash from the house, and I stood guard at the curb in case I had to flag down the truck.
We hopped in the car and headed toward the music.
“Mom, look at that lady,” Sara shouted, pointing to a woman we had seen earlier on our walk. “She has an ice cream cone, and she didn’t have one before!”
Nothing could stop us now.
We followed the music, that same tune that has been luring children to ice cream for years. It led us to a right turn that unveiled the flashing lights of the multicolored truck that was parked by a waiting line of happy faces, which I quickly joined. Who knew buying ice cream could be such an adventure?
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com.