It’s a Summer’s day and I’m in line to buy an ice cream. It seems laughable to line up for just one scoop. So I should get two? Three? No! Three is greedy. OK two scoops it is.
There’s something curious about the word ‘scoop’, it’s kind of plump, bright, childish and clumsy too.
A warm summer breeze kisses my cheek.
The counter is full of ice cream cones, cute little jars, and tiny plastic spoons in all the colours of the rainbow.
I have to squint to read the pretty cursive writing on the blackboard.
It takes me back to the end of school when we’d all be walking along without a care in the world, dragging our school bags behind us, nonchalantly making our way home, completely free, nothing but good times and ice cream. Finally breathing in freedom.
Lemon, vanilla, cinnamon, mmmm.
Little hands exit the queue taking the greatest of care as they hold on to their precious cones filled with pink, white and green happiness.
Ice cream melts so quickly. It is ridiculous to walk along with three scoops, yes three scoops, so I stop for a moment to lean on the greenish edge of du pont Marie.
Open air sightseeing boats pass below. Tourists kiss and make wishes.
I close my eyes. With one lick I am taken back to another summer, I see a little girl wearing a pretty white and green polka dot dress, she is running along and clutching coins in her sweaty palm.
Over and over she repeats different favours of ice cream and reminds herself not to forget to say merci and s’il vous plait
That little girl is me.
The ice cream is delicious. The memory is too.