Summer Tastes Like Saltwater Popsicles

Temperatures hit 100℉ easily. The past few days of rain didn’t make the world any lighter. Instead, the blazing sun turned the outdoors into a giant steam pot. Looking beyond my fence line, I thought I saw air sizzling and bubbling into a distortion. On days like these, I have no motivation. The moisture steeped into my bones, and the AC continued with its frugal effort in trying to keep our three-bedroom house cool — failing regardless.

So I laid in staleness, listening to the relentless summoning of the cicadas: come back, come back. Slide deep into your memories. It’s a fine day for a nap. And summer is for reminiscing.

Enchanted, I closed my eyes and dove back in time.

Kids in Shanghai had the most effective solution to the most bitter summers: Saltwater Popsicles.

On the hottest summer afternoons, kids lined up at the corner store with change in their hands. “A saltwater popsicle, please!” We tiptoed to lift ourselves over the counter, “a Guang Ming Saltwater Popsicle, please!”

As the store clerk was walking to the cooler, the kids gathered around the old, squeaky, floor fan. The wind was practically warm at that point, and we couldn’t tell if it was because of the temperature, or if the corner store simply needed a new fan. But that didn’t matter. We were only here for one thing — and one thing only.

We fixated our eyes on the clerk as she reached into the cooler. The popsicles in the classic white-and-red wrappers were stacked neatly behind the glass. “Don’t eat too quickly. You’ll ice burn yourself.” The clerk said as she handed the popsicles over. But could you expect a child to care about ice burn?

We pulled the wrapper open, and buried our teeth into the crunchy popsicles. Back then, we had no idea how they gave a popsicle the texture of shaved ice, and we didn’t care. The moment we bit into it, salty, sweet, and slightly citrus taste combined with the crunchy ice that shattered in our mouths, replenishing every drop of energy we’d lost.

That was how we survived every day of Shanghai’s ridiculous steam-pot weather.

My love for salt water popsicles grew fonder as we grew older. After P.E. classes, I somehow always mustered more energy out of my sore limbs and beaten muscles to drag myself to the school convenience shop. Through a wide selection of ice creams, I could only see the familiar wrap. “A salt water popsicle, please.” I spoke loudly and proudly. A few of my classmates would join: “One for each of us too!”

The clerk laughed: “You girls don’t want anything different?”

“No! The popsicles are the best!” Our skins were burning from the sun, but our smiles were bright and pure. We didn’t care about the chocolate ice-cream sandwiches or the frozen jelly sticks. We wanted our healthy, simple treats that biologically refilled the saline lost through sweating.

Within the brief ten-minute break between P.E. and the next class, we devoured the popsicles even though it gave us an ice burn and a brain freeze. Sometimes we ate so quickly our gums would bleed from the sharp ice and the freeze. Yet we still laughed out of pure delight and enjoyment. Every bite was a treat, every swallow the most precious experience.

If happiness had flavors, it must taste like saltwater popsicles.

Nowadays, I have endless ice cream choices. The limited coolers have long been buried by dust in my memory, along with one bitter summer after another, where I joyfully sucked on the $1.50 saltwater ice popsicles, squinting my eyes with delight. The popsicle peeled into ice shaves as I bit, and the slithers of coldness turned into salty lemonade upon my tongue…

It had been too long.

I peeked through the half shut blinds. The leaves, sky, and sun all blurred into floating colors. Cicadas crying echoed with the rumbling vents, dutifully serving as my background music as I dragged myself off the floor fouton and went into the kitchen.

I guess this year, I’m making saltwater popsicles at my new home in the US.