Missed Connections

It was Friday around 3PM, I was working the counter at the Baskin Robbins on Northern Boulevard and you floated in with two friends. The others knew exactly what they wanted and hurried to the bathroom together after they ordered. We usually don’t allow more than one person at a time, but I pretended not to notice so we could linger a little longer. You stood there at the counter, taking in all of your flavor options as I took you in—each of us methodically.

I offered you unlimited samples and you accepted. Butter pecan, mint chocolate chip, rum raisin, and I forget the fourth. I made a joke about you and my grandmother having the same taste in ice cream, but my voice was shaking and I don’t think you heard it.

I told you this was just my summer job and that I was going to move to the city in September. I didn’t say why, but I’m going to study music composition. My parents want me to be a doctor, but I feel like I need to give this a shot. When I finally stood up to them, they told me they wouldn’t help pay for an insecure future—hence the ice cream scooping summer job, and the sweet serendipity of meeting you.

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