Ice Cream At Noon

Ice Cream At Noon
By Damian C. Sanders


“Maybe today one of these crazies will put a bullet in my chest and end my misery,” David kicked a half used cigarette into the street. He cracked his knuckles and reached his arms to the sky.
“I hate it when you talk like that,” Julie said. “Come on, let’s go.”
The sign company where the pair worked had been a staple in the city for nearly a century. It started with less than ten employees and a building that barely occupied a corner in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city. Despite two fires, periods of economic depression, and an earthquake, the fledgling family business grew into a major power within its industry. Due to growth, a new building was required at its twenty fifth anniversary and an even larger building was needed at its fiftieth. It just so happened that an imposing building became available at just the right moment. A dark castle like structure, an institution of psychological rehabilitation that once housed one hundred of society's castaways; those poor souls whose minds would not allow them to lead naturally productive lives. The irony of the building’s past was not lost on the sign company’s employees.
The pair, we would not call them a couple, even as office rumors had questioned their status, walked from the shadow of the building into the bright sunlight. Not a cloud was in the early summer sky and the woman placed sunglasses on the bridge of her sharp nose. At first glance, they were an odd team. She was of average height and he was slightly shorter. She walked with a quiet confidence, one bread from natural and conservative elegance and beauty. Her laugh, although charming and pleasant, was like the troubled melody of an obscure musician on an independant record label. He, we have established his lack of height, was ten feet tall in personality. He spoke with his hands, and his eyes conveyed a rainbow of emotions with every syllable that he spoke. He walked with the gait of an ex athlete, or a man who spent his youth running to and from danger. But the most obvious difference between the two employees, sharing a daily walk at noon, was the hulky elephant in a room full of expensive china. She had the charming fair skin found in quiet suburbs. His had the charismatic hue born and raised in the city.
“Tough customer this morning?” Julie asked.
“You could say that,” David snapped his fingers and kicked another cigarette on the sidewalk. “You ever have one of those days where you can’t do anything right?”
She gave him knowing look and frowned. “Seriously, do you have to ask?”
“Stupid question. I know where you work.” He put a hand on her shoulder to restrain her steps. “Look.”
Julie found a blood stained hypodermic needle in her path. She shook her head, smiled, and hopped over the needle as if she was a schoolgirl playing hopscotch. This was a common occurrence on their daily walks. He would notice danger, sometimes a block away, and subtly alert his friend. Usually he would switch positions, placing himself closest to the unrest. It could be a slow driving car occupied by hoodlums, a whistling or grabby construction worker, or the stray hypodermic needle. In truth, she had learned to be more aware than her friend realized; Julie had seen the needle before David had noticed. But she liked to let him play the role of hero because she knew it was a part of his identity. And at least twice a week, they ran into an unfortunate transient. He was dark skinned, broken, and affectionately nicknamed The General.
“You need to die, Snowflake!”, The General said. He pointed a crooked finger in her direction. He was slow and his threats were those of a shell of a warrior, too past his prime. But David, ever the protective one, took offense.
“Show some respect!” he fired back as the pair walked.
“You are a terrible black man,” shouted The General. “Always protecting the master’s daughter.”
David resisted the urge to put a fist to the man’s face. There was no need to become violent with a person who may have once been a tenant of the building where the pair now worked. So they walked on. “I am getting tired of this routine.”
“I know,” Julie placed a gentle arm on his shoulder. “But hey, we are having ice cream. And i am paying.”
“No you are not. You know i can’t let you do that.”
“Dude, come on. I’ve seen your numbers. I am the one getting a commision check this month.” She unsuccessfully tried to arrest a melodic giggle.
“Oh, it is like that,” David laughed.
“Indeed it is.”

There was always something magical about enjoying a scoop or two of ice cream. The cold treat could take an old man, hardened by life and all its disappointments, back to his youthful days. Each sweet spoonful was like flipping through the pages of a picture album, bringing smiles to the face. And our friends, the bonded pair from the stamp company, enjoyed such magic as they sat on bar stools and watched people pass by the large window.
The neighborhood could be charming. There was a large park with basketball hoops, skateboard ramps, ballfields, and a area for young children to play. Imagine that! Young innocent children kicking balls and frolicing among drug dealers and drug addicts and the mentally ill. Students from the small college paced to and from classes and sat on park benches as they chatted or studied. Men in dresses and dark clothed women with tattooes and combat boots stormed and strolled about. All was available to see as the pair enjoyed their ice cream. Julie enjoyed her boring two scoops, one vanilla and one chocolate. David enjoyed his slightly less boring same two flavors with added sprinkles.
“Kyle is aggravating me again,” Julie said with a mouth half full of ice cream.
“What’s he doing now?”
“It’s the way he looks at me and talks to me. He’s fishing for compliments and wants me to admit he is the lord above’s fantastic gift to women. It makes me nauseous.”
Knowing enough about his friend, David could tell that she was leaving something out. Her tone of voice and the way she nervously leaned on two elbows betrayed her. “And?”
“I don’t think i should tell you,” she downed two large spoonfuls. “Promise you won’t get mad?”
“It is me you are talking about,” David grinned.
“Today he tried to grab my, well you know. But he missed. Who does that? and he is married.”
“I’m going to beat his ass. That is not cool!”
“No you are not,” Julie placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “You are not going to lose your job or go to jail over that goofy gorilla. Promise you won’t touch him.”
“I promise I won’t touch him. But i am going to have a chitty chat chat with him. There will be no more bugging you! I’ll make him understand.”
“Like only you can!” At that very moment Julie noticed the office gossip standing in front of the window; her eyes surveying the pair, the cups of ice cream, and Julie’s hand on David’s arm. “And that is how rumors get started.”
“I can’t stand that woman,” David said. He scooped a bit of desert and offered it to his friend. “Let’s get our money’s worth, darling.”
Julie, with both hands on his arm now, accepted the treat and smiled. The gossip, as expected, turned and bounced down the street with a wonderful story to tell. “Awesome, we had better get back too.”
The friendly pair made their way back to the dreary castle of a building, wading through the sea of neighborhood characters. The early afternoon sun’s heat brought the masses to the streets and park. David and Julie walked as if they wanted to soak up every bit of the nice day before returning to the windowless tomb where they would spend the rest of their afternoon. An afternoon complete with mundane tasks, paperwork, and squashing fantastic rumors. And as usual, almost as if scripted by the neighborhood play write, The General stepped in their path.
He walked with his usual characteristics; his once a warrior persona and a crooked finger pointed in Julie’s direction. But was unusual, was the gun he now had within his possession. “You need to die, Snowflake!”
His aim was near true and Julie would have caught the bullet in her chest. But, David moved on heroic instinct and stepped in front of his beloved friend. He fell back into her arms, his weight carrying both of them to the ground.
David, his head in his friends lap, looked into her eyes and saw the shock she could not hide. He mustered as much strength as he could and whispered, “Run.”
Julie shook her head, placed her hands on the bloody wound in his chest, and whispered, “No.”

The following days would come and go and the neighborhood usuals would go about their daily tasks but there were three noticeable absences. The spooky old transient with a crooked finger was no longer a threat to the streets. The police had relocated him to a correctional facility after finding him sitting in a tree and barking commands to a flock of pigeons.
Julie did not bother with her noon walks for ice cream, even though many men in the office seemed up to the chore of taking her fallen friend’s place. She kept to herself, working diligently and quietly even through breaks. The place just was not the same without her friend. For what is a pair when one is missing? Her co workers found her detached and introverted and wondered about her well being. She rarely smiled, so they thought. Julie actually smiled a lot in those days. But only after work, while sitting on the corner of a hospital bed, and enjoying two scoops of chocolate and vanilla ice cream in a cup. She would chat about her day while her friend enjoyed a cup with two boring scoops of his own, decorated with a touch of