Once upon a time–or, really, about twelve years, twenty pounds, and a box of hair dye ago–I worked at an ice cream shoppe.
I took a certain pride in my important, dessert-based work.
Candy combinations. Cream in the hopper. Icing perfectly dolloped.
I was good at it.
And even though it was “just a job”, it got me through college.
It was, in a lot of ways, my home.
I spent hours with those people. Laughing. Discussing life in all its uncertainty. And I will never see them again. It’s most unlikely, anyway. That, or we would simply fail to recognize each other.
And it’s funny: more than a decade later–two degrees, a teaching career, a marriage, dozens of plane rides, and a beautiful son later–I’m a stone’s throw from that same ice cream shoppe.
And when I hear certain albums (namely, Boxer by The National) I’m suddenly back in my Corsica, driving to work. Pulling my almost-black hair into a ponytail, and treating myself to a cold brownie slice as I set up business for the day. Feeling both the thrill and anxiety of my 20s, weaved together in a sort of oddly-comforting blanket.
Little did she know.
Yes, my friend.
For maybe the best is yet to be. *
. . .
SnapDragon is an educator, artist, and homemaker who enjoys life in the slow lane.
*Quote by Robert Browning