Hello and Happy Friday,

I know I do a lot of talking about writing, I say I write but who knows if I do? I do; so here's a short story, flash fiction I think and I hope you like it:



ICE CREAM AND CHRISTMAS TREES


Gerald shivered beside the rows of spruces, firs and pines, smelling their sharp tang as they glowed dark green under the string of Christmas lights. It was twenty degrees but felt colder, maybe because it was Colorado in December or because he’d been standing there for four hours watching people dressed in parkas, snow boots and ski hats eating all manner of ice cream; single, double and triple scooped cones, banana splits, sundaes, parfaits and frosty milkshakes as he tried to sell Christmas trees and watch for Sherry.

He stamped his feet and rubbed together his gloved hands as he watched car headlights come off the highway ramp and down the street toward him either to pass by or stop at Romeo’s Ice Cream Emporium where he sold the trees. He’d always thought it funny-strange how the place did a brisk business in winter where you would think the idea of having ice cream would be horrible. But Marvin Pile, the old man who owned the ice cream stand along with half the commercial strip, said folks seemed to love it even more in winter than in summer so that was one reason he kept it open year round.

“Some of my best business done in the winter,” said Marvin, a pock marked, skinny man who looked like he never ate a thing let alone ice cream. “People love the frozen cow’s milk whatever the time of year.”

Romeo’s was little more than a stand with a neon ice-cream cone tilted helter-skelter on its roof and was only large enough for two people to work inside at one time. A drive-through sized window was cut out its front with a lip attached; customer’s walked up, ordered and the order was pushed out on to the lip for pick up. A couple of picnic tables sat on the tarmac off to the side for anyone brave enough to risk a frozen rear for their frozen treat. Marvin, partial to entrepreneurs, had for the last three years kindly let him sell holiday trees on the small lot next to the stand for two percent of the take and it had worked out pretty well too; it seemed eating ice cream put a lot of people in a good mood to buy Christmas trees. There was a line even now at the stand though it was close to eight


Where was she? Did something happen? He looked at the cars coming toward him all passing by. A guy wearing a black down-filled coat and an orange hunting cap and eating two large scoops of what looked like to Gerald Rocky Road ice cream, walked over. Pointing to a balsam fir over seven feet tall, full from top to bottom and the silvery blue of a deep, clean lake asked, “How much is that one?”

“Its forty dollars,” Gerald glanced over the man’s shoulder at the passing cars.

The man looked at the tree, licked his ice cream, shrugged, “Its nice enough and a good size; I’ll take it.” He fished around in his coat pocket, told Gerald, “Hold this,” handed him the cone, took out a wad of bills and pulled off two twenties.

Gerald took the money and handed the guy back his ice cream. He cut a half-inch off the tree’s trunk, hauled it to the guy’s Ford pick-up and laid it carefully in the truck’s bed.

“Merry Christmas,” he called out to the guy just as Sherry’s red Corolla came off the ramp, down the street and pulled up beside him. Gerald felt the knots of fear in his stomach loosen a little at the sight of her.

She got quickly out the car looking at once beautiful, terrified and eager but mostly beautiful; they stared at each other, then met holding on to each other next to a set of decorative wreaths with red bows.

“I thought he wouldn’t let you get away.”

She stuck a strand of soft black hair underneath her cap, the plume of her cold breath smelled like fresh peppermint, “I didn’t think he’d buy my story but he didn’t give me any trouble this time; he usually has a fit if I got out without him.” The violet eyes in her slim face took hold of mines, “Do you have the money?”

“Cleaned out my bank account,” he said. I’ll never complain again about working day construction. You?”

She opened her purse, took out a white envelope and opened to the to the bills packed inside, “That’s everything. You think it’ll be enough to get us started?” Her glorious eyes looked again into mine and I nodded.

If we’d had ten dollars between us I would’ve still nodded; the money didn’t matter only that they were together and could get away together was his only concern and had been the first time he’d laid eyes on her; to have her, to make her his any way he had to.

“Have you sold a lot of trees?” she looked around.

“Not many, my mind hasn’t been on it tonight. You ready to go? There’s nothing else keeping us here is it?”

She shook her head and smiled, “I’m scared but ready. I love you.” She took his hand, “Can we have a last one to go?”

“Anything. I love you.”

They started for Romeo’s as her husband Jimmy came off the ramp, down the street in his green Cadillac STS, hitting a Fraser fir and tumbling it over to knock down six other firs before he stopped and jumped out of the car pointing a pistol at them; he was crying.

“I thought it was me you loved,” he waved the gun at them. The people buying ice cream had frozen as they stared at the three of them.

“Not anymore,” Sherry’s right hand went to my chest. “I’m Gerald’s now.”

“She loves me,” I said, “It can’t be helped, Jimmy.” My eyes went from his wet face to the gun, “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Jimmy’s face sucked in as if he’d been forced fed a sack of lemons;, his eyes closing “You sure; that damn sure?” He pulled back the trigger.

Sherry and Gerald glanced at each other and nodded; their eyes only for each other. Jimmy opened his and saw it under the hanging Christmas tree lights and neon helter-skelter ice cream cone. He released the trigger, his arm sinking down from the weight of the gun and lost love. “I can’t leave here with nothing?” he said.

Sherry moved toward him, took the gun and tossed it into the front seat of the car, “How about an ice cream and a Christmas tree.”

The End

Send me a story if you want; the reading is almost as important as the writing.

If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: shabazzl@adasbcc.org.

Until next time, God willing

Lori