Melting Ice Cream Cones: a Short Story

TWO: Manong Julio's Strawberry Ice Cream

Theo Asher Isaac.

Where do I begin to describe Theo Asher Isaac?

Theo Asher Isaac the amputee missing half of his arm.

Theo Asher Isaac the car crash survivor suffering from depression and PTSD.

Theo Asher Isaac the 16-year-old taking Prozac with every meal who flashes a wide smile that curled up to his cheeks and retired his eyes.

Theo was different. He understood me and I understood him. We talked for hours and hours on end for days. This was better than therapy, I thought. Finally, someone going through what I'm going through. I confided in him and he soothed me. He confided in me and I soothed him. It was on that random chance meeting on the train when I trusted him. It felt like fiction. You couldn't trust a stranger in an instant, could you? But Theo Asher Isaac was different. It wasn't just a trustworthy presence. It was as if you could feel his embrace just by being there. He talked of his battles and listened to your battles like he knew you. And when I felt like I had his mutual trust as well, we became friends. It started with texts, then calls, until we started to hangout.

We ate at cheap restaurants, sipped coffee at mediocre street cafes, went on walks along the bay, and had book picnics at the park. He was the only friend I had in years. I shut down people in fits of rage and cut ties with old acquaintances. I was self-destructive. And besides, people at school looked at me badly from all these scars and the way that I act. I quit school for myself and chose homeschool, via a private tutor. But Theo Asher Isaac made me feel normal. We took our medications together with every date and he would treat me to ice cream every time. Theo was a self-proclaimed ice-cream connoisseur.

"Hey Isa! Okay so you've heard of ice cream in tin cans and plastic tubs, right? The expensive bit you buy at grocery stores and convenience stores?" he asked me once.

"Of course. My mom used to buy me those on my sad days."

"Yeah well, newsflash, they suck. It's bullshit! It's a corporate scandal! You pay more for less flavor and they're bland."

"Harsh."

"Sorry, but it's true! You know what the best kind of ice cream is?"

"Well certainly not one of those expensive imported European ones huh?"

"Nah man. I admit some imported exotic brands can be quite palatable but they all cower to the SUPERIOR one!" Theo's eyes widen while he maniacally chuckles. He furrows his brows as if about to charge in battle, tilts his head down, and points his finger in the distance.

"That."

Underneath the shade of an acacia tree, on the emerald green glow of the grass lawn, stood an old, creased-face man in aging casual clothes and a straw hat. The sound of his bells rejoiced with the natural sounds of the park and the children. In front of him is what seems to be a cart with bright yellow paint and artistic squiggles adorned with cartoonish images of balloons and fruits. In big decorative handwriting, it read: Julio's Ice Cream & Monay.

"Don't they call them dirty ice cream?" I ask.

"Those city moms don't know any better! In fact, they're better than any of those grocery store ice creams. You get ripe, tangy mango; rich, milky cheese and vanilla; creamy, thick chocolate; and—my personal favorite—sweet, milky, strawberry! All for Php20."

"Wow. You really know your ice cream game, huh?"
"Well, strawberry is really only good in ice cream form anyway. Let's go buy some—my treat."