Eternal Spring YA short story collection

Picture Not Perfect by Lois Lavrisa

Picture Not Perfect

By

Lois Lavrisa

Being a seventeen-year-old guy without a car sucks big time. The possibility of not being able to afford to go senior prom with your girlfriend blows too. However, working at an ice cream shop and having to wear a dorky paper cap is by far the worst.

“Can you work late and close up by yourself?” Mike, my manager, asked me.

“Yeah.” Wiping down the black marble countertop, I glanced up at the clock. It was 9:00 p.m., an hour left before we closed.

“Have you asked Gabrielle to prom yet?” Mike asked. He took off his paper cap and ran a hand through his thick brown hair.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I kind of want to make sure I have the cash first. This week’s paycheck should be enough, I hope.” I grabbed a bottle of blue glass cleaner and made my way to the front window to scrub off the sticky fingerprints.

“It’d really suck if she said yes and you couldn’t afford to go,” Mike said.

“Yeah, sure would,” I replied. “Then again, it would suck if she said no.”

“No kidding.” I watched a blue drop of cleaner slide down the glass, the smell of ammonia mixed with the sweet smell of waffle cones.

“Isn’t prom, like, this weekend?”

“Saturday night.” Today was Thursday.

“Glad you gave yourself plenty of time,” Mike crumpled his paper hat and threw it at me.

I caught it, then lined up my shot and tossed it in the trash. “Two points.”

“Good shot. I’m heading out. Thanks for taking over.” Mike untied the white apron from his waist and tossed it over his shoulder. As he exited, the bells on the door jingled.

A woman with a huge multi colored purse slung over her shoulder walked in as Mike left.

“Good evening and welcome to Leonardo’s. Savannah’s most famous ice cream parlor, established in 1919. The city’s best ice cream and sandwiches. My name is Tim,” I greeted her with our standard spiel.

“Your hat says Tim ICG, what does ICG mean?”

“Ice Cream Guy,” I replied.

“Creative.” She smiled.

“I try to come up with something different every time,” I said. Each shift we got a new paper hat. We took a crayon and wrote our name on it. Some employees drew pictures on their hats as well. “What can I get for you?”

She looked through the glass display case. “There are so many choices here.”

“Forty three flavors, all made fresh right here,” I said, motioning toward the back room. “In our kitchen.”

“You sure have a lot of Hollywood memorabilia,” she said as she pointed at the wall.

“The owner is a movie producer and this is stuff he’s collected over the years. Plus, there are a lot of original pictures and things from the three original owners.”

While she walked over to a wall adjacent to the ice cream display case, I noticed she stood about five and a half feet tall, half a foot shorter than me. Her short red hair poked out from under a straw hat. Her pale skin had a few slight wrinkles. I guessed her around my mom’s age, maybe late thirties.