My sophomore year of high school, about six months before I got my driver’s license. My then (a wise-beyond-his-years 17-year-old) was driving my little brother and I home from school. School let out early on . It was a beautiful day—a perfect day for .
“Mmm, that looks good. What kind is that?”
“Gold—duhhh!” grinned 13-year-old Derek. Chocolate ice cream was dripping from his cone all over his hand.
“I should have guessed,” I laughed.
“What kind did you get?” my boyfriend asked, grabbing a chair in the sun. He had a strawberry cone.
“Peach.” I winked.
Suddenly, we were distracted. A large group of motorcyclists had just roared into the parking lot. They were dismounting their bikes and walking heavily—clunk, clunk, clunk—towards our pleasant spot in the sun. Apparently they thought it was a good day for ice cream, too.
I wrinkled my nose.
“Don’t be rude, Jess!” hissed my boyfriend after the men had tromped into the store.
“I’m not!” I protested, but he cut me off.
“Yes. You are.”
Just then the first of the men came out of the store. He was slurping a vanilla milkshake. He sat down at a nearby table and pulled out a chair for his buddy who was exiting the store. The men started chatting (to me it sounded more like grunting) until another buddy came out, and then another, and another.
Our perfect spot in the sun had been ruined. I was not happy. My boyfriend could tell.
“Let’s go,” he said.
In the car, an old Crysler LeBaron with cushy seats he was borrowing from his grandmother, my boyfriend scolded me. “Do you know what you looked like just now?”
“She looked like a witch!” Derek jumped in and leaned forward eagerly from the back seat. He still had chocolate all over his hands and around his mouth. He started giggling.
“Did not!” I gave him a playful shove back into his seat. “Put on your seat belt! And wipe your face!” I threw an extra napkin at him.
“Disgust was written all over your face.”
“It was?” I stopped. I looked at my boyfriend.
“Oh.” I frowned.
“What did they do to you?”
“But, I . . .” Suddenly, I felt bad.
“Don’t you know those Harley riders are just like you?”
We are all alike, on the inside. — Mark Twain
All people are equal; it is not birth but virtue that makes the difference. — Voltaire
- people are people (jesscy.com)
- no matter what you eat . . . (jesscy.com)
- Life’s Tough Decisions: Picking the Perfect Ice-Cream Flavor. (foodpanda.in)