Dust & Ice Cream by Cecile Jennings
“Whatcha want, Mitch?” His father looked down at him.
“Lift me up.” Mitch raised his arms and his father lifted him, so he could see into the glass case. Mitch stared intently into the swirls of color in the tubs below.
“Whatcha want?” His father shook him jokingly. “I’m gonna shake the answer right outta ya.”
Mitch giggled. He pressed his face and hands to the glass. He sniffed. It still smelled like cleaner.
“I’ll have the blue one, right there,” Mitch pointed.
“The blue one right there,” the big man echoed, sliding the glass door.
“Are you gonna get one?” Mitch turned to his father. He set Mitch down and drummed his fingers on the counter. He stared into the tubs of ice cream, but Mitch was sure he wasn’t really looking at them.
“Here ya go.” A cone with two scoops of bright blue ice cream was handed down to Mitch. He sniffed it. Smelled a little less like cleaner.
“Are you gonna get something?” Mitch’s father didn’t reply. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Mitch followed his gaze.