Ice Cream Guilt

They used to come in every other Saturday night. I could always count on them to come in and brighten an otherwise dreary night working at The Ice Creamery. I was usually stuck serving up Bananamania Splits and Squishees to all the town folk on Saturday nights during the summer, when all I wanted to do was stroll down to the lake with Rhonda Lesliee. She was sort of my girlfriend, or at least that was the talk throughout town. Truth was, she was more interested in her obsession with Mark Wahlberg to even notice my feelings. Truth was, I was more obsessed with her long tan legs than her personality. In that regard, we got along. However, she spent more time with her friends down at the beach, so it was just the occasional customer and colorful sprinkles keeping me company, until they showed up.
“They” were this family that just moved to town a year ago. It was a father, mother, and young girl about three or four. They were a happy family, with a lot of money and desire to get out and enjoy summer evenings in the clean air Motel, Minnesota provided. The father, whom I only came to know as Bill, was a manager of a trucking firm in Saint Cloud. The mother, who went by the name as Crissy, worked out of her home as a medical transcriptionist or something. The girl, whose name was Miranda, was cute, sassy, and at times, outspoken. One thing she was not was a brat. Both parents saw to that. She was very well behaved and so thankful to get what she got from people.
The lake attracted mostly young people with no where else to go. We’d all get together there and make our plans for the evening there. Sometimes, it would be a field bonfire at Chase’s place, 15 miles north of town. Other times, it would be a house gathering at the home of someone with vacationing parents. Most of the time, we’d have no place to go, so we’d stay at the lake until 11:00 when Officer Joe would shag us home. Technically we were supposed to be out of there at 10, but Officer Joe understood our dilemma. Actually, he kinda liked our hanging spot. When we’d go somewhere, he always figured there was trouble. By hanging out at the lake, he could keep an eye on us, and since there was very little for us to get into there, he usually let us be, occasionally stopping by to talk to us. He was a great guy, and we never did anything to violate his trust.
My last summer before graduation, I was stuck working at the shack every Saturday night. Seems Erick Sunstrom managed to impose his will to get out of Saturday night duty to “pursue inner peace”. It was a well-disguised plan to hang out at the lake in a vain attempt to win the heart of Cassandra Taylor. While he was out there failing, I was stuck digging up scoop after scoop of chocolate ice cream. I never could figure out how he pulled this scam, but I was young, and $4.75 an hour was a lot of money to me. I was sort of saving it for college, but I was also trying to buy a car, and the more I worked, the more that dream would become a reality. Besides, what Erick wasn’t aware of was that on Saturday nights, people were more likely to tip big.
Bill, Crissy, and Miranda would walk up to the shack every other Saturday night around 8 or so. Crissy and Miranda would be absolutely ecstatic over coming to the shack to get ice cream. Bill, on the other hand, would be sulking up to the window, with some sort of scowl that might have indicated he would rather join me in hanging out at the lake instead of going to The Shack with the family. However, once I got to know this family, I learned he was rather thrilled about it.
It was a sort of tradition in their house. Every Saturday night, they’d grill out in the back yard. Then, after they cleaned up, Miranda would start in on Dad for ice cream. Soon, Crissy would join in on the fun. Before he knew it, Bill had the two most important women in his life begging him for ice cream. Seems all he wanted to do after a hard week was sit on the porch and read the evening paper. But, after he’d get comfortable, Miranda would sit next to him and tell Daddy, “I want ice cream. Daddy, I want ice cream. Please?” Soon, Crissy would join in. “Yeah. I want ice cream. Billy, I want ice cream.” He’d often try to deflect their train of thought by telling them that The Shack had burned down, or that it was raining. It never worked, and they’d be walking to the shack in no time.
They would get to my window, all three of them. Miranda would always ask for the same thing: “I want a banana split! With extra whipped cream!” Crissy would usually order a chocolate fudge cone, though she would sometimes stray from that, going with a vanilla dip cone. Bill, glaring playfully at both of them, would look at me and grumble the same thing every time: “Large squishee! Raspberry!” I would cheerfully serve them their treats and they would sit at the park bench, where Miranda and Crissy would get on either side of Bill and say, “Thank ya, Daddy!” and kiss him on the cheeks.
I always knew Bill was happy as all get out to take his family to The Shack. In a way, I looked forward to seeing them come in. They seemed so content to live in our little town and do something so utterly simple it bugged those bored with it all. It was something that made me feel warm to see them have fun by themselves. Bill was so cool about everything. He always had this aura about him I always found calming. In that regard, I wanted to be just like him. To me, he had it all.
While I was at college, Miranda and Crissy were killed. A truck driver passing through town lost control of his brakes and crushed them both against the Shack. Bill had been through a tough week, and decided to stay home and rest rather than join in that particular evening. The news shook me up pretty well. I mean, everything my young life entailed was flattened that fateful day. I’d never get another opportunity to serve Ice Cream Night again. Even if Dottie and Mac had the ambition to rebuild, it just wouldn’t be the same.
Once I got the word, I made up my mind to stay at school that summer. I had grown too old to hang at the lake, and with nowhere else to go it would be an endless summer of reruns and pinochle with my parents. It was inviting, but I took my chances on campus. As I look back, I think I made the right choice.
I saw Bill about two years after the tragedy. He was coming out of a Chinese buffet as I was walking in with my roommates. At first, I thought it was someone else. He still had the same physical features, but there was something missing inside. Looking into his eyes was like looking at an extinguished fire, nothing left but ashes and charred remains. He stared into me for about two seconds. It was sort of eerie. I got the impression he wanted things to go back to the way they were inside that ice cream stand, where the only thing that mattered to him was that Raspberry Squishee.
I took home a very strong lesson from that experience. Seeing Bill, before and after, made me understand the importance of holding on to what is special in my life. With this story, I pray I never forget that.