Today I found a dime in the grass just outside the 5 Guys. Before I was even half-way down to pick it up, I remembered something from my childhood.
It was summertime, in the evening, I was about 5 or 6, and we were living in Guyan Estates. The ice cream truck came by in the evenings and when my parents were feeling generous, they would give us 11 cents to buy a treat from the truck, 10 cents plus a penny for something called tax. We would listen for the beacon, the tinny music, announcing its impending arrival.
This particular evening I had my two coins in hand waiting, playing in the mean time. The adults were gathered in the yard too, my parents and the neighbors, chatting. Then I noticed my dime was gone, I'd dropped it in the grass somewhere. I tried to find it but I couldn't, and I had to hurry because the ice cream truck would be there any minute. Any minute. The adults helped me look too to no avail. After what seemed like an hour of panic, the neighbor pulled a dime out of his pocket and gave it to me, for which I was ever so greatful, still after all these years. I was all set again to obtain my long awaited fudgesicle.
The ice cream truck never came that night.
6 days ago