The Ice Cream Truck

My eyes shot open in the dark. The tinkling chimes of the ice cream truck had invaded my dreams to the tune of “do your ears hang low” but the slamming of the screen door is what jarred me awake. Desperate and groggy I search the room and my mind for reality. The clock beside the bed reads 3 a.m. There is no reason for an ice cream truck this early. Where did that music come from? Who would have slammed the door? The realization is cold and paralyzing. Ava. She’s four, the truck is one of her favorite things. Without hesitation I shot up, wide awake. I don’t recall the feeling of my feet on the floor, or even the stairs. Flying is understatement. I don’t even stop at her room to assure myself. I know she’s gone. My breath caught in my chest a moment at the sight of the open door. Only the briefest pause before I barreled out into the dark. Scanning the street and gutted. She was nowhere. A wave of every possible emotion and thought overwhelms me. I hate myself for not locking the door. I drop to my knees and a primal scream erupts from my chest. Heaving uncontrollable sobs overtake me and I can’t breathe. Then I hear it faintly to my right in the distance. Those stupid chimes.

A switch has been flipped, I find my breath and my feet again and bolt toward the direction of that heinous tune. The normal nighttime sounds of the neighborhood are enveloped by the eerie song, no insects, no animals, not even the wind, nothing stirs. Yet no one else seems affected. Determination sets in. It’s like running in a dream. I have never felt that I was running so fast and yet so slow at the same time. I can tell I’m catching up, but I still see nothing.

Pushing onward heading out of the neighborhood onto the curving canyon roads, the ocean crashes and foams to my left, high rocks to my right. I’m closer, I can now see the faint red glow of the taillights in the inky black pitch. Every part of my body burns in agony. The chase has gone on for miles. I won’t quit but I feel myself beginning to slow. Then a giggle “look Mommy I’m on the ice cream truck!”. Relief and anguish restore me. I push forward faster, the back of the truck coming into view her little face smiling out the back window, waving happily. Forward even though my legs felt as if they would break. So close, I reach out grab the back door handle and haul myself on to the bumper. The truck accelerates, wavering and weaving along. The handle is small and I’m struggling to hang on. Then the sounds of crashing metal, the truck lurches forward. Weightless we are going over. Falling felt like an eternity. Then darkness. Then you were here.

“Thank you for telling me the story of how you got here.” The dark cloaked figure replied. He was standing calmly between them.

Feet in the sand, hair full of the morning sea mist, she looked up at the figure. Eyes welling with tears. “But why”. A heavy cold hand rested on her shoulder It was eerily comforting.

“ I cannot tell you why child. I am only here to help you find your way.” He held both hands out, one for mother and child each.

“Together” he said.

“Yes together” she nodded.

Hand in hand they strolled toward the sea and the sun on the horizon.