We were moving from Huntsville, Alabama to Fairbanks, Alaska on our way to a new army base. We had been on the road for days, bumping along in our white Chevy station wagon. We were grubby, our clothes were dirty, and the car needed an oil change. It was the summer of 1966, and I was 6-years old, Calvin was 10, Brian was 4 and Hope was nearly 2. My Mom and Dad would both have been 29 years old.
It’s funny to think of my folks as ever being in their late 20’s. I can still see them through the eyes of my six-year-old self. How adventurous and bold they were, driving north along the mostly unpaved AL-CAN highway with just a thin wad of cash in their pockets, and four kids. They were dark haired, with smooth faces and while my dad was slim his whole life mom was a little overweight and self-conscious about it.
We were in Canada when we stopped our relentless forced march to clean up. Mom and Dad both chain smoked, and we must have been a mess. I’m sure we had not bathed in days. Dad and Calvin dropped Mom, the two little kids, and me at a laundromat and then took off to take care of the car.
How I resented being stuck with the little kids, forced to labor away washing clothes, while Dad and Cal got to do the manly work of fixing the car. The only work I had to do was assist in keeping those little kids out of trouble. Imagine a little kid keeping two other little kids out of trouble at a laundromat. However, at that time, I was positive that it was, in fact, I, who kept the whole operation running.
The sleepy little town where we stopped was not much to behold. I have no idea where this town is, nor its name, except to say it was carved out of the endless piney woods somewhere in the Canadian Northwest. The laundromat was a narrow, bare cement block building and we were the only ones there during our late morning stop. A few bleak businesses stood nearby. Scattered along the dirt and gravel street was a drab café, a drug store, one of those gas stations with the green dinosaur logo, and a hardware store. And in the laundromat there was no TV, no radio, no nothing.
Instead, the brightly lit sign of a little soft serve ice cream shop beckoned from across the street. The name of the place was Dairy King. I remember thinking it must have been some kind of joke. Not Dairy Queen, it’s even better, it’s Dairy King! I was so proud of understanding this very clever name.
But alas, ice cream with its dripping white goodness running down my little skinny arm was not to be had that day. Money was tight and even then I understood that heartless fact. It didn’t matter how much I might want it.
Abandoned and left to wash clothes is painfully boring. To make things worse the neon light of the Dairy King sign constantly taunted me. Add to this my Mom and a couple of little kids and my misery was complete.
The washing task was dragging on when my mother made a discovery. She had run out of Canadian coins. She cursed at the bothersome prospect of having to seek change from one of those nearby but uninviting businesses. Years later I came to understand that her reluctance to be seen in public places was because of her weight shame. Being sent to the store to buy cigarettes, Kotex and Pepsi was just the way it was, at the time I didn’t know any different, I thought every kid was given similar jobs all the time. So, as was her custom in such situations, she sent me as her change-seeking emissary.
She placed a single one-dollar bill in my hand and pronounced unambiguous instructions. “Go over to the Dairy King and get FOUR COINS.” She annunciated those last two words so as to assure my clear understanding. Fooooouur Coooooinnss. I got it.
Finally, a mission worthy of me!
With cash in hand, I was about to begin my quest when Mom added some details to my assignment. “Take your brother and sister with you, and hold hands.” Even with the little kids, this was greatly better than thumping around in the laundromat. So off we went. Brian would not hold my hand. He smirked and stuck his tongue out at me and ran ahead leaving me to tend to Hope. For her part, my sister just toddled along with me happy to be going for a walk.
A few moments later we arrived at the soft serve shop. Brian was already there and was filling his pockets with rocks, probably for ammunition to fire at me on the return trip. Hope joined in the rock collecting. She just liked rocks.
I peered up through the screened service window and found the deep blue eyes of an ice cream goddess. She was lovely. Her blonde hair was pulled neatly up into a loose bun. It was kept in place by a hair net that was both visible and somehow transparent at the same time. To receive the attention of this clear-skinned Canadian beauty with her see-through hair net was intoxicating in an unfamiliar way.
Her eyes looked straight into mine, and said “Can I help you?”
My head was reared all the way back and I only managed to mutter, “Four coins please.” I placed the bill on the counter.
She turned on her heel and her hair bounced within its confining net as she sprang to work, making ice cream cones. I was dumbfounded. Some mistake was happening. The cones she was filling with that distinct white twisting spiral were enormous. A quarter bought a big cone back in those days.
When her work was done, she returned to the window, slid the bill aside and with both hands she reached down to give me the cones. As she held the tempting treats out, I did not reach back. My eyes darted to Brian for help, but he could render no assistance. He was four.
My heart was gripped with terror. I was going to get in big trouble for sure. My little lower lip began to quiver. With my arms still limp at my side I said, “But I asked for coins.”
Now it was her turn to be alarmed. In a moment of indecision, she withdrew the cones. Then I saw her eyes flash as inspiration sprang into her mind. She dashed a quick glance over her shoulder back into the unseen darkness of the shop. Again, in a gesture of pure kindness, she offered the cones. “Just take ‘em anyway” she whispered.
She quickly handed us our four embezzled cones and gave me the four coins, too. I went from terror to elation for we possessed both four cones and four coins. Brian and Hope both forgot the rocks and gleefully accepted their treats.
We went striding across the dirt road proudly licking our gloriously giant cones.
When we approached the laundromat my mother was there with her hands on her hips—she was glaring at me. At that moment some urgent primal knowledge of infanticide bid me to flee, but I did not, because I had the cash and a cone for her too.
We all blurted out our confused and excited explanations about how we came to have these extravagances. Exalted, I gave mom her own cone and the coins too.
The four of us sat on the dusty laundromat steps savoring the sweet flavor of free ice cream.
Jay Reuker is an Army Brat turned high school teacher and recent memoirist. His nonfiction is published in The Untold Narratives and the Potato Soup Journal. His work will be featured soon in the Fall Equinox Anthology and the Quillkeeper’s Press Harvest Anthology.