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Early Spring

Dad had strong hands. His palms and fingertips were scratchy, his fingers fat and round like breakfast sausages.

I remember going to Dairy Queen one day with dad. It was one of those early Iowa spring days where it had been snowing the week before, and then it was suddenly sunny and 70 degrees and all the snow instantly turned to a mucky filth. Even though it felt like spring, it was only early March so there was still the threat that winter could return and make any vernal celebration premature.

Inside the parlor I was mesmerized by the pictures of the banana split sundaes with their tantalizing colors. Dad said I could have a chocolate dipped cone. I pleaded for one of the treats plastered in living color on the board, but there was no arguing with dad.

The girl at the cash register smiled at me as dad gave her our order. Her lips were red and her eyes were blue, and I thought I had never before seen anyone so beautiful. Her eyes were so blue they were like the sky, and they reminded me of mom's eyes. She was chewing gum, and her lips smacked together. I had a funny feeling like I had to pee, but different. I didn't want to look at her, but at the same time I couldn't stop. I wanted so badly to kiss her lips. They looked delicious. I kissed mom's lips, but not because they were delicious. The girl's lips looked like they would taste like the cherries on top of the banana split sundaes on the board. The ones dad wouldn't let me have.

When she handed me the ice cream, her hand brushed against my hand. I was so distracted by her touch that I lost hold of the cone. The girl grabbed a towel. Dad was cleaning the cone off the floor. She squatted down to help me. She smelled exotic, like freshly picked peaches on grandmother's farm. She wiped the ice cream off my pants, and the peeing sensation was almost unbearable. As she leaned in close her v-neck uniform fell open, and I could see where her tanned skin turned pale and formed large curves. She had something red beneath her uniform that I hadn't seen when she was standing up. It had a strange texture.

She had been talking but then stopped. Dad asked what was going on. The girl stepped away from me, her face red. She said, "It's okay. It doesn't bother me at all. It's cute." Dad grabbed me by the neck, his gristly fingertips scratching my skin. I started crying and his grip tightened, and then I wailed hysterically and he picked me up with one arm. We rode home in silence, and dad ate his ice cream. When we got home, I went to my room and cried on my bed. Only later that evening did I realize I had lost my ice cream. I didn't even care.

Matt Alberhasky lives in Des Moines, Iowa. He teaches writing and literature at a local community college. His fiction has been published or is forthcoming in The Furnace Review and Dark Sky Magazine.

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