(Shakespeare eat your heart out!)
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I Scream For Ice Cream!
Every child has a favourite shop he/she wishes could own. Toy stores, supermarkets, even "McDonald’s". Mine was the ice-cream parlour across the street. However, I could not visit my favourite shop whenever I pleased. A moat, graphically described by my parents as "one that was swamped with menacing cars, trucks and buses", surrounded my icy palace. I was only ever allowed to cross the treacherous strip of gravel with my paranoid parents beside me tightly clutching my hand.
During one extremely scorching summer, the air-conditioner untimely broke down. Drenched with perspiration and with my clothes clinging to my soaked skin, I craved for a scrumptious, spine-tingling mouthful of ice cream. Trouble was, I was alone, as my parents were at the air-conditioner outlet, with a mouthful of disgust to share with the "reliable" manufacturers. Unable to resist the temptation, and with my mouth already watering, I bolted out of my unguarded cell, firmly hugging my piggy bank. Watch out world! I was alone, unsupervised and free! Armed with a hungry appetite, I locked on to my target, "Mr Gelati’s Ice Cream Parlour". Without hesitation, I dashed through the stretch of territory previously uncharted alone. It was not like the experience of "running the gauntlet", as my parents had once said to deter me from crossing the "perilous" strip.
Pushing the door wide open, I was instantly blasted with the icy, fresh air from the store. I had arrived at my oasis. The shopkeeper, affectionately known as "Mr Gelati", was busy refilling his "Squishy" machine with confectionary ice, while the fridges and soft-serve machines hummed quietly away. Mr Gelati had watched me grow up, as I had watched him grow rounder. I always wondered whether his curly moustache bothered him whenever he licked an ice cream. "Ah, welcome little Justin," he piped in a Mediterranean accent, "What will it be today?"
Standing on my toes, I peered over the counter with my hands pressed against the cool glass display, while marvelling at all the spectacular colours of the rainbow, encased in the cylindrical tubs. Which delicious flavour to choose? "Rocky Road"? Or perhaps "Peppermint Choc Chip"? A child’s decisions are so complex! I know, why not be daring and have the best of both worlds? "I’ll have a double scoop of "Peppermint Choc Chip" and "Rocky Road", coated with chocolate fudge, and topped off with sprinklings of "Hundreds and Thousands", thanks Mr Gelati."
"Sure thing, little Justin", he replied, "Say, shouldn’t your mother be here with you?" queried Mr Gelati rather suspiciously.
Guiltily, I confessed about my daring escape. I had expected then that he would send me home without any ice cream. However, to my astonishment, yet delight he continued to scoop generous spheres of his homemade ice cream. Handing the cone to my eagerly awaiting hands, he chirped, "Oh, I understand. After all, ice-cream is the food of guilty indulgence."
Puzzled by his remark, I replied with a huge ice-cream smothered grin of delight. While devouring the innocent, yet devilishly tempting serve of ice cream, I perched myself up onto the swivelling bar stool and glanced at the outside world. I could see cyclists struggling to pedal uphill, pedestrians wiltering under the intense heat, residents tiredly chasing their roaming dogs. All working up a sweat. Meanwhile, I was living in luxury, comfortably cocooned in a frosty kingdom while pleasurably feasting like a king.
While I continued to lick my divine ice cream, I escaped into a deep trance. Suddenly, I was abruptly awoken by familiar sounds. The first was the screeching of the family car pulling up the driveway, while the second was of my parent’s arguing. "Hey, your folks are back, little Justin," Mr Gelati announced.
"Yikes, now I’m dead," I squealed, while choking on a mouthful of ice cream. Right then I had realised that I just had my Last Supper. Suddenly, I could feel a thick layer of perspiration coating my skin; and I shivered.
Returning home to face my parents, I farewelled Mr Gelati and re-entered the sweltering world. However, the road was not as empty and tame as earlier. Cars rolled by, trucks roared, buses steamed angrily down. Safely, I dodged the first horde of vehicles. Momentarily relinquishing my guard, a cyclist had suddenly appeared to my left, hopelessly swerving in an attempt to avoid a collision with me. With my mind paralysed with fright, and legs glued to the asphalt, we collided head-on.
Feeling a sizzling sensation frying my backside, I suddenly woke up with the sun’s rays beating down on me. I found myself surrounded by curious onlookers, my hysterical parents, and my neighbour patching up my bleeding knee. Once the commotion had dissolved and the nosy crowd petered away, my parents vented their rage. "You directly disobeyed us, we’re very disappointed with you," my father scolded. After delivering his lengthy lecture on road safety like a "lollipop man", I realised how fortunate I was to escape with my life and limbs still intact. "I just hope you’ve learnt your lesson, son." I suppose lessons are sometimes learnt the hard way.
From that day, my parents kept a vigil watch whenever I was outdoors. To my disappointment, Mr Gelati was now certainly out of bounds. I was a miserable child. Then one day, I was hypnotised by a mesmerising tune, like a charmed snake rhythmically coiling out of its barrel. Rushing to the window, I discovered to my excitement, "Mr Whippy", the ice cream van chugging by. Lucky for me, Mr Whippy had redirected his route and now passed my house everyday.