Melted Smiles

“Pop Goes the Weasel” blares from a sky blue van as it cruises down Cello Drive. Pete, the driver; doesn’t see a soul for miles. The lawns are a parched yellow, and wavy lines can be seen dancing over the street. 

Pete wipes his brow and cranks up the AC. The truck whines, and Pete decides to pull out one of the popsicles from the back. He stares at the Parrot on the wrapper and smiles as he reads the Petey Pops in bold underneath. He had spent a long time perfecting that logo, and it gave him a sense of pride every time he saw it. 

The sweat trickling down his back wipes that pride away, and he quickly shoves it down his shirt. The cool, wrapped treat gives his reddening skin some relief from the heat. 

As he turns onto Washington Lane, he sees a door on a ranch style home fly open. Standing on the porch is a heavier set kid panting like one of those air pumps when you don’t have it inserted into something. 

Pete lowers the speed of his truck until he makes a gentle stop right at the glistening kid’s driveway. Sweat has already claimed every inch of the child’s face. So much so, that when he gets to the truck window the salty excrement is being flown from his lips. 

“Can I get a ssstrawberry popssscccicle, pleassse?”

Each elongated S makes Pete feel like he is being water boarded. He lifts the lid on his cooler to retrieve the order and lets the miracle that is refrigeration cool his spit covered face. 

“Hey! Where’ssss my popsssscicle!? Issss it that hard to grab frozen iccce?”

Pete rolls his eyes and reluctantly pulls himself away from the freezer’s cool embrace. He shoves the popscicle from the wrapper, hands it to the child, and says “That’ll be ten bucks.”

“What!?!? Ten dollarssss? Are you ssserious!?” More of the spittle and sweat mixture is thrusted upon Pete who jumps with every spray. “That’sss a robbery!”

Pete nods, “I agree kid, but it’s hot as hell and I have the sweet relief. For five more bucks I’ll let you stick your face in my freezer”

The boy screams. “Mommy, mommy, the weird  popssscicle man is trying to kidnap me!! He wants me to get insssside his van!!”

“Woah, that’s out of context kid. I was offering you a service.”

“I bet you were, you sssick freak!”

“Listen, keep the popscicle.” Pete then puts the van into gear and continues down Washington where he sees more sweaty children braving the heat for one of his icy treats. 

Pulling up to the closest house, all the children flock around him. A bombardment of voices demand his sweet ice and Pete can neither hear nor keep up. Money flutters around the moaning vehicle as Pete tries to fulfill the orders. 

“Come on ice man, move faster!” Shouted one of the kids. 

“Yeah, my ass is getting swampy!” Shouted a nasally kid with glasses. 

“Mine too!”

“Do you have ice cream?” Asked a little girl. 

“Can you mix flavors?”

“Ahhhhh!!! Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!”

A sea of hands barrage the van, and Pete, as he flings orders out the window. One of the sweet desserts smokes a kid on the face and the rest thrust themselves upon the poor soul. Pete shudders as he watches the other children  lick the sugary residue off the crying one’s face. He stares until the horrific image shrinks away in his rear view mirror. 

At his next stop, his freezer dies. 

“That didn’t sound good.” Said one of the children with red juice trinkling  down their arm. 

“You think!? My fridge makes a sound like a donkey being stabbed, and you think it didn’t sound good? Please narrate each of my breaths next.”

“Gees! What’s wrong with you, popsicle man?”

Pete sighs, “Sorry, kid. It’s hot and I really need this stuff to just work.”

The kid shrugs and makes way for more demanding children to get their popsicles.

As this last wave of kids leave, Pete realizes he can no longer hear the thrum of his engine. Nor can he feel the delicious puff of what little cold air was pumping out of his vents.

 Did the van die? He thought.

 Leaving the freezer, Pete focuses on the dash and sees the yellow engine light blaring back at him. He moans. Going back to the freezer, he sees that his merchandise is already starting to melt. Sweat drips off his face and splatters onto the fruity liquid below. 

He paces the van as he wonders why his truck had to die on the hottest day of the year.  

“Hey, misstuh?”

Pete turns to the window and sees one of the kids he had just served peering in on him. 

“What can I get you, kid? Be quick because it’s melting fast.”

“I’ll take a raspberry pop..”

Pete grabs the sloshy package and swaps it for the kid’s cash. 

“What is this?”

“A raspberry popscicle. You know, the thing you asked for?”

“No it ain’t. This is liquid in a bag. I ordered a popsicle not a drink.” 

Pete wipes his brow before answering. He is sweating profusely. So much so, that his eyes are stinging from the tiny droplets. He suddenly feels overwhelmed and clammy. was he melting? His breaths grow shallower and shallower, and the truck feels like it is spinning.

“Did you hear me asshole?” 

“No, you little shithead! Now scram!”

As Pete tries to collect himself, the kid yells, “My Google Review will ruin you!”

The threat makes Pete wince, and pulls him back into reality. He didn’t need anymore bad reviews. This business was his last shot. He failed one too many times, and he spent the last dime he had on this van. He looks over at the pile of dirty clothes hidden behind his freezer, and the various food wrappers trying to bust out of his glove box. He needed the cash, and as much as he hated to admit it, he needed the kid to leave a good review. 

Slicking back his hair, Pete recomposes himself and smiles. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Pete hands the kid back his ten dollars and adds, “My van is shot, and the freezer is kaput. I don’t have an icy treat, but the juice in the wrapper should still be cool if you want a sugary drink. It’s on the house, since it’s technically not what you ordered.”

The kid shrugs and splits the top of the wrapper so that he can drink from it. When he finishes the drink, he tosses the wrapper into the wind and scurries to the AC in his home.

Pete watches the wrapper floating away, wishing he could be that free. When it lands, a little girl picks it up and stuffs it into her pocket. Her face sours as she marches up to Pete’s van and yells,

“Listen here mister! My mommy is a cop and littering is against da law. You’re lucky I was hear ta save ya.”

“Yes. Thank you random child. Can I offer you one of Petey’s famous Juice Pouches? Only five dollars” Pete pops a hole into the popsicle he just fished out and plunks a straw into it.

“No thank you. My mommy says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

“Does your mommy want a juice pouch?”

“No. She wants a man.”

The girl’s matter of fact response causes him to start choking. To save himself, he begins drinking from the pouch he just offered to the girl.

“Oh… maybe her future man will like juice? Are you sure you don’t want one?”

The little girl shakes her head, “Nope. Can I have a popsicle!?"

Pete winces, “The sun ate my last one. I’m sorry. All I have are juice pouches.”

The girl’s smile melts away. “Oh. Okay. I understand.” With her head hung low, the little girl saunters into her home where a woman peers out of the window. Pete looks to see if she is looking at someone else, but her eyes continue to bore into his. 

Giving an awkward smile, Pete leaves his van and starts walking towards town. He doesn’t make it far before his clothes are plastered to his skin. 

“It’s so hot.” He moans. 

“Why did I do this? Why did I think I could start my own business?”

Pete holds himself up right and changes the inflection of his voice to sound snootish. 

“Because you went to school for it Peter. You’d be failing yourself, and you would have wasted all that money on a piece of paper if you didn’t at least try to run a business.”

He looks back at the Popsicle Van and sighs. “Then why did I choose to do a fucking popscicle truck? I could have at least done ice cream.”

“Well, Peter, you don’t know how to make ice cream. Now shut up. It’s too hot to be arguing with yourself.”

Each step felt heavier than the last, and he was starting to get chills. He knew if he kept walking he would either throw up or pass out. 

What am I doing? He thought, I can just call a mechanic! 

The phone rang. 

“Mike’s Mechanic’s, you got a busted car, and my name's Mike. What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Mike! My van broke down. Do you mind coming over to fix it?”

“Of course, but it’s a scorcher. It’s going to cost you extra.”

“Do you have AC that I can sit next to while you work?”

“Um, yes?”

“Then you’re my man. I’m next to 48 Washington Lane, Lake Springs, FL.”

“Be there in a jiff. Stay cool!”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Once Mike got there, Pete rushed into his truck and pressed his face against the center vent. The older gentleman laughed and got to work on Pete’s truck. Pete sucked up the frigid air until it stopped just as quickly as it came.

“Hey, Mike!?”

“Yeah!?”

“Your truck died.”

“No shit!? That’s awkward. Well, damn. It’s too hot for this shit. I gotta girl I’m kind of talking to who lives nearby. Why don’t we walk over there and cool off. Did any of your popsicles survive? She’s got a kid that I think would love to have some.”

“No, but I have the juice. I’ll freeze some at their place.”

When Mike told Pete that he knew someone within the neighborhood. He hadn’t expected it to be the house with the little girl speaking about her mom’s romantic endeavors to be that someone. Thankfully the mom was no longer watching from the window, but she did answer the door after one knock. 

When she did, Pete could feel the cold air escaping from her house. He desperately wanted to go in, but Mike had to get them invited first. 

“Hello, Michael.” Said the woman, “Funny seeing you here. I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore since you have left me unread for weeks now.”

Pete arches his brow towards Mike who gives a sheepish shrug in response. “Sorry about that, Mel. With this heat I have been pretty busy fixing vehicles. I’m here now, though!”

Mel folds her arms, “You think you can waltz back here and expect me to just forgive you?”

Pete was growing tired of this. The taste of AC was becoming overbearing. “Could we finish this conversation inside?” He asks.

Both Mike and Mel replied with a stern “No!”

After a few minutes of explaining, Pete and Mike were welcomed in. Pete was quick to put his popsicle juice into the freezer. Once it froze, Pete shared some popsicles with the group, who were happy to eat the sweet treat. When they finished, Mike said,

“This is pretty da…” he notices Mel’s daughter in the corner and corrects himself, “arn good. You should try selling these.”

“Geez…thanks, Mike” replied Pete, “Maybe I will.”