Ice Cream in Chicago
By Mushroom Montoya
Anticipation jumps up and down
The tunnels in my stomach,
Hanging on bungee cords
From my overly taut shoulders,
Fighting with them
To calm down
A notch
Or two.
The bones in my butt cheeks
Press like cinder blocks
Against the cold gray metal chair.
Where I sit with hope jiggling in my gut.
A tall skinny airman,
Clipboard in hand,
Calls out the names
Of sailors, soldiers, and airmen.
One by one they stand
And float out of the waiting room
Wearing happy traveler smiles
On their way out the departure door.
Only one seat is left
I could get bumped off the flight
If any sailor, soldier, or airman
Shows up
With official travel orders.
The clock’s tic toccing on the wall
Is teasing me with the question:
Is anyone with travel orders
About to walk through the door
And bump you?
I sit all alone in the waiting room
Accompanied only by empty chairs,
Like mouths of baby birds
Waiting to be fed.
The giant metal bird rumbles
Outside, in the cold
Pulling on its leash
Eager to fly away to Chicago
Thirty tic toc seconds left
I stare at the entry door
Praying no sailor, soldier, or airman
Runs in at the last second,
With travel orders.
My name is finally called.
I heave a sigh
And stand up and run
To the big metal bird.
The doors clank closed.
My seatbelt clicks snug.
The giant metal bird
Loudly vibrates its flight.
After sitting backward
For nearly two hours
In the cavernous belly
Of a military cargo jet
The doors open
And pour me and the others out
Onto the tarmac
On an early March afternoon.
George Roby,
My sailor buddy,
Arrives with his smile
Filling the interior of his car.
He takes me to his parent’s house,
And leads me down to the basement
He asks, “What kind of ice cream
Would you like for your birthday?”
“I am not picky
I’ll take whatever you have?”
His laughter is so contagious
I am laughing at I don’t know what.
He opens the door
Exposing a standup freezer
Filled to the top
With half gallon boxes of ice cream.
My eyes pop wide open,
Followed by my mouth.
He asks me once again,
“What flavor would you like?”
I scan the huge variety
And point asking if THAT one is open
He removes an unopened half gallon
Of Rocky Road ice cream.
He opens the box.
Plunks a big metal spoon
Into the middle of the Rocky Road ice cream
“You have a week to finish it,”
He laughs and grabs his own
Half gallon box of ice cream
And directs me to sit down
On one of two oversized stools.
We dig in our spoons,
Like little boys,
Laughing and eating
All the ice cream we want.
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