Ice Cream

They were beautiful. Roland was small and sad, Betty was always brimming, her hair always smushed in the back as if she had been lying down all afternoon in bed reading or making love. One of her shirt-tails lay untucked like a flag beneath the sweater on her thigh. He hitched his pants nervously.
“Do you want some ice cream?” he asked, glancing at the cardboard tubs like frozen mouths. She wanted ice cream.
“No thank you: she replied.
“Are you sure? My treat!”
“No, I’m not hungry.”
“You don’t have to be hungry to eat ice cream” said the tall man behind the counter. He was grave and dimpled and his apron was too short.
“You’re right” he said, considering him seriously. He only waited patiently, the ice cream scoop stood in creamy cold water, waiting. Sunset brushed through the windows of the tiny shop, across brown tiles and tables that didn’t appreciate the light run clear from the mountains to close down the day. Spilled salt and pepper, ketchup bottles in cheerless wicker baskets, spring-loaded napkin holders. Waiting.
“But I don’t want ice cream” she declared, meaning she didn’t want ice cream tonight, her stomach hurt, but she wanted to come back and let him pay for two scoops from that tall man, wanted him to count out his nickels and watch her lick the cone down to the last corrugated bite. She would wait.
They left, the door tinkling shut, struck the sidewalk with her bag hanging empty from her shoulder.
“I hate going in without buying anything” Roland said, his hands patting hungrily at his pockets. They extracted a cigarette, and as he lit the paper stick looked guiltiy as three children skipped by, breathing clean air.
“I do it all the time,” Betty replied. She had no money.
“I always buy something” He compared, reconciled.
“You just wanted to buy me ice cream to assuage your guilt” she accused. Her feet accused the sidewalk, trying not to stomp, to pout.
“It’s true. I felt bad because I filled your bed with octopus.”

He had. It had been a laborious task, it had been the sun rising and bison birthing and a hundred trips with heavy plastic buckets, but her bed was full of octopi. Now the surprise was ruined.