She wandered down the hall when she left me. If there was anger, I didn’t see it. Her hand gently ran along the wall on her way to her bedroom. She never looked back my way.
Was it her indifference I wanted to fight with? Was it her dismissal of me that caused my anger? I watched her final steps, until the closed door signaled her solitude in the bedroom. And just like that, I remain with my unsettled emotions left to solve themselves.
The kitchen became my refuge, my outlet. I looked through cupboards, peering at boxes wondering which would fill my gap, my pain. The nothingness of the shelves led me to the cool comfort of the refrigerator. I roamed through the items, sorting through them and reorganizing as I went along. Nothing, until I opened the deep door of the freezer. Of course, the ice cream. Why is it always ice cream?
My impulsive decision didn’t end there; it had to be the right place, the right room to bask in its creamy delight. After all it takes concentrated techniques and efforts to chisel out the chunks of chocolate, making them the main goal of deep dive ice cream eating.
It wasn’t until I reached the overstuffed living room chair with its ability to shelter me from all the words of this morning that I finally pressed the spoon into the caramel base, knowing the sweet salty flavor would soon pass my lips into my readied mouth.
And it did not disappoint. In all relationships, mine with ice cream has never disappointed or proven to be the wrong path to take. I relished the feel, the satisfaction which passes over my body. Nothing in the world could come close to the comfort I found, the security I have felt and the gratefulness for a relief from all the stresses of the world.
Eyes closed I relished the first bite, my tense body relaxing as deep breaths helped to take in the whole experience. I don’t need her I tell myself, or her smug words or attitude. I am perfectly content to find what I need in the next delightful taste. I smile when I think this. Smile and laugh like I couldn’t do this morning in the long hallway. Maybe she can cope tucked away in the hallowed walls of her bedroom. But I could indulge. I could labor little and get such a delight that it would end all the hostility I ever felt.
One bite leads to another, and then another. I marvel how well it all goes down and then an idea strikes me. Turning myself around I throw my feet up on the upper shoulder of the chair. I lower my head off the chair’s ottoman looking at the world from an upside down position. I force a bite into my mouth and make myself feel the coolness of the ice cream has it passes onto the walls of my throat. Such a challenge to experience the ice cream with my world upside down, with laughter stuck in my throat at the exact same time the ice cream passes by. The laughter starts a gurgling sound, like a baby delighted with the first taste of something pleasurable.
“What are you doing?” comes both a curious and demanding voice.
I catch her face from my upside down, ice cream induced position. I find it hard now to have the rage and hurt I had just a while ago.
She comes closer to me, with a less demanding stance than before.
“Let me try,” she offers with a bit of excitement in her voice.
“Why not?” I counter, scooting my body over for her to lie next to me. Feet up, head down she gets ready to take her first initial bite.
“The trick is not to freeze your brain,” I offer from my moments of experience.
“Ah, Mom,” she adds. “I think I can figure that out!”
And so it seems, even with upside down ice cream eating, my wise advice just isn’t appreciated!