Here goes;
Ice Cream: Kay Flavoured
It all started with ice cream. Yes, the favoured treat of children every where, and for some, teenagers too. They just can’t get enough of it, the cold, stinging sensation of frozen sugared milk mixed with who knows how many different things; peanuts, different candy bars, and if you’re a dairy queen fan, even pie crust and filling.
But ice cream is more than just a frozen treat meant to be shared in the middle of summer in the hot temperatures; it’s magical, as a child would put it. Two small ice cream cones, a small red booth snuggled between five others, and two crazy people in the middle of winter isn’t just a trip away from home; for some of us, it’s a bond.
It was a sunny afternoon that Sunday, and I was sitting down in my bedroom in front of my small laptop computer when I got the call. My grandma had a friend with her, and they were going for ice cream; did I want to come? Well, duh! Who wouldn’t want ice cream on a hot summer day? Without a pause, I chirped back my answer and hung up, content to get ready as quickly as possible and watch through my front door for that large, beige Chevrolet Impala; my grandma’s car.
The wait seemed like forever. Standing impatiently behind a slightly opened door, staring through the sliver of visible space in order to keep my dogs from escaping, I tapped my foot as I listened to the loud T.V from the living room above me. I hadn’t told my parents I was leaving yet, but they would understand when she got here. Hello, it was ice cream, and I was a teenager; it was meant to be.
Jumping from my day dreaming state of wondering what kind of ice cream I would reward my taste buds with, I yelled goodbye and the word “ice cream”, and bounded out the door. She was here, finally, driving around the corner and towards the large driveway outside of my pink house that sat only one large truck and a Toyota Camry. Leaning on the spoiler of the white sedan, I waited for her to pull up the drive and stop before I started for the back seat, greeted by two big smiles, and a wave from a lady in the passenger side.
Her hair was all greyed out and sprinkled with white, done up in a small perm. On her face sat a pair of large glasses, and behind them bright blue eyes that shone in the sunlight. Her skin was a fair white color, and her cheeks accented slightly with rose powder. Nothing about this lady seemed menacing or cheek-pulling at all; she seemed nice. But I was a teenager, I was supposed to be afraid of the elderly; it was our job.
Climbing in the backseat, my grandma introduced me to her, “This is Kay,” she told me after informing her of my name, Michelle. The only ensuing sound after the introductions was that of the gear shift being placed into reverse, and then the feeling of the car slowly sliding backwards down the driveway. My happiness of the silence and not having to talk was short lived, though.
“It’s nice to meet you, Michelle.” Kay said in a shaky voice. I smiled like I always did when someone talked to me; it was protocol: make them think I was enjoying the encounter. Pushing back the awkward feeling I always got when meeting new people, I agreed.
“Nice to meet you too,” I said, fiddling with my fingers as my grandma drove up the hill that accented the crescent I lived on. We soon reached the next intersection, and my grandma turned her right blinker on and pulled into the turning area. Yes, we were going to Dairy Queen! Well, at least I hoped.
“So what grade are you in?” Kay asked me as we drove past a large Church.
“Nine.” I answered her, trying not to talk too much. Too many times I had been told that I talked too much, or too loudly; and if this lady was paying for my ice cream, I was not about to go and ruin our possible relationship now by talking too much – but would she get offended by me not talking?
“Ah,” was all she managed to say before my grandma interrupted. She began to tell Kay all about me, about my passion for dogs and writing; the two dogs I housed at home, the two cats, and the story I had written not long ago for English. If she kept this up, Kay would know more about me than I her! But that was okay, I was getting ice cream.
The Dairy Queen parking lot was empty as we pulled into it. Not a car or bike filled the area; leaving ample room for us to park and get in. I seemed to have forgotten that I was not with my long-legged parents, though, when I rushed inside the store and stood waiting for at least a minute for my two companions to finally join me. I was like a little kid, afraid that the ice cream I was destined to have would melt before we even got there.
The word anything had never meant so much to me before as it did then. Anything you want, Kay said. Order anything – I could get a medium blizzard, or a large! Or even a large chocolate and strawberry sundae, maybe one of those new moolatte’s; I could order something more than what I needed. I was like a kid in a candy shop, except this was ice cream, and I was almost fourteen. So, I ordered a medium Reese’s Pieces blizzard.
After all the ordering was done, I was left with the duty of waiting for the ice cream. Theirs came first, so I rushed it to them with napkins in tow. Of course, they had already grabbed some, but who was I to pay any attention? After a muttered you’re welcome, I returned to the counter just in time to grab my ice cream then walked back and sat down. My blizzard was eaten in silence – on my part. Grandma and Kay conversed, but I was silent. I had ice cream.
After the filling ice cream, I once again found myself in the back of that same old Impala staring out the front window, cautiously eying the clock. We turned left as we exited the Dairy Queen parking lot, but instead of doing a u-turn at the lights, my grandma kept going straight. We were going for a drive.
After the long tour through the surrounding neighbourhoods, and the showcase of my friend’s large house, I was finally standing back on my driveway. I waved goodbye and turned around, shoving my hands in my pockets as I trucked up the drive towards my front door. I was satisfied; I had gotten my rare fix of Dairy Queen ice cream, and I had made a new friend. I just didn’t know it yet.
The next Sunday found me once again in front of my laptop’s screen, staring aimlessly into space as I attempted to compose my newest piece of short story artwork. It wasn’t working, though. I was drawing a blank and craving ice cream; thinking about last week and how much fun that was. Out of the blue, my phone rang and, sure enough, on the other line was my grandma asking if I wanted to go for ice cream.
This trip was much like the last, but instead, this time we drove up past the large university that sat on a hill overlooking the valley that was our city. The drive was calm and peaceful; just three people going for a drive. Being my impatient self, I stared at the houses that were just barely visible and waited for the moment to be over. I needed my computer, or so I thought.
I soon found myself back on my driveway; once again turning my back and walking back into my house, as I would for a long time. Sunday after Sunday, I sat in the backseat of that beige Impala as we drove to Dairy Queen or the hard ice cream shop that is nested beside the highway, snacking on ice cream with my two newest favourite people.
Some days I found myself relaxing in her small backyard in the middle of summer before we went for ice cream, sipping water and eating goodies. My outside life was short lived, as the piano that sat neatly in her living room never stopped dragging me into the house to compose aimless pieces of horrid music. That didn’t matter to me, I had fun.
Time flew by, and soon I was talking to Kay as if I had known her my entire life. Our car rides were no longer filled with silence, but instead they were filled with teenager-teach-elder talk time. I told her and my grandmother all about my school, the tenth grade, my friends, and all of the technology they always said they would never understand. In turn, they told me about their lives growing up, and even told me about a town I had never known existed: Salmo.
I started growing up more, and Kay started slowing down. We often skipped Sunday’s and my grandmother and I went out alone, or not at all. It was never the same without Kay, and I constantly regretted never savouring that last time I sat behind her in grandma’s car. I sometimes wished that I had said, “Let’s go for a longer drive”, instead of climbing out of the car and walking back into the house.
Time swept by, and things happened. I remember getting a call from my grandmother, saying that she had found Kay fallen on the floor in her house. It was scary for me, because, without knowing it, I had become completely attached to this gentle woman; this angel. I didn’t want to think about her getting injured. Two weeks went by and a decision was made: Kay would move into a house where she would receive constant watch. There would be no more backyard masquerades, no more piano solos that sounded good only to my ears. But hey, Kay would be fine – I hoped.
Grandma and I went on vacation for three weeks across the country and back. During the time, Kay was selling her house, and managed to find a buyer. She moved into her new place on August first, just a few days after we got back. Nothing really changed; she was still the same old crazy Kay, wanting to go for ice cream and refusing to let grandma pay.
We skipped even more Sunday’s, and Kay grew ill more often. Our ice cream days were still alive, but we rarely went. And when we did, we didn’t go for a drive; it was just straight there and straight back. I would often say I didn’t want to walk Kay back to her door when we did get back, simply because I didn’t want to say goodbye. It seemed too final, and I didn’t want to miss my favourite ice cream lady.
Time flew by faster and I awaited my sixteenth birthday, ice cream days had all but stopped, and Kay seemed to be having more bad days than good. Soon after my birthday, my grandmother left to go spend Christmas with my uncle, auntie, and cousins in Maple Ridge, British Columbia. As usual when my grandma went away, I never spoke to Kay, never heard anything from her; but I constantly thought about her. It wasn’t until my grandma came back until we got the news; Kay had had a stroke and was in the hospital.
I often looked forward to going to see Kay with my grandma. She was the lady who always brightened my day and made the weeks fly by, just simply waiting for Sunday. I would ask grandma to go with her, and she would say yes, but end up going without me. I’m simply a teenager, I sleep in until noon and she wanted to go early. It pained me, only going to see her twice. I feared she’d think I didn’t care.
Kay had slowly made it into my teenage heart and become one of the most important people to me, so when grandma and I walked into the hospital one day, I was almost in tears. We walked to her room and stood in the doorway, seeing her bed surrounded by curtains and two nurses in with her. She was groaning in agony, and as we walked away, she screamed. She didn’t know we heard that, but her pain hurt me. I didn’t want to see her suffer; she was an angel to me, and angels weren’t supposed to suffer.
After that, I went to see her only once. School had started again in the second semester of grade eleven, and it became more difficult to go see her. My weekdays were packed with homework, and my weekends were packed with catching up on the sleep I missed during the week. The day I did go to see her with grandma, I felt like I knew her, but at the same odd time, I didn’t. Her face was pale, and atop her lap sat a small cardboard carton, which I assumed was to be used if she needed to vomit. Her daughter, Noreen, sat there by her mother, and her dear friend Louise stood there and made conversation with my grandma, but I was stuck on Kay. The lady I had come to know as always upbeat, who always won arguments with my grandma about who would pay, was no more.
Now as I sit here writing this, tears rim my eyes as I recap the small portion of life we spent together. There is so much I missed, and so much I forgot, but there is no room for it on paper. In my heart, and I’m sure in hers, there will always be room. A small, locked away space that no one can take away or remove, that no on will ever replace. It holds a piece of her, a piece of my favourite lady, my angel; my ice cream lady.
In my heart, we will go for ice cream once more. We will sit across from each other, one of us with a milkshake, one of us with a Reese’s Pieces blizzard. But this time, I’m buying.
