I can still hear the slow jam jingle
of the ice cream truck
gliding along
past our yellow house
like it was riding on rails

Our yellow house
that was found
sitting casually one day
combing her hair with French-braids
and neon bangles
hanging from her wrists
so bashfully

that she hadn’t learned yet
to call it– waiting

My father ran to his bedroom
on those afternoons
to scoop up quarters that he had saved
from the tops of dresser drawers
undoubtedly for this exact moment

He was scattered about most things,
but organized about love

The music was a signal
It cued families that the world could stop.
We all abandoned our lives when we heard it
in the middle of our chores
We would toss aside whatever was in our hands
and strip-search our coin purses,
check inside the crevices of couches
as well as our parents eyes
all the while searching
for hope

We saved up for the Ice Cream Man Redemption Song
We saved up for it like saving up secrets for Confession
We waited for it like some people wait for a cosmic sign
We waited for catechisms
in the shape of ice cream cones

My father would gather the quarters in his hand
that he stock-piled away
for the Family Salvation fund
the one reserved
for orange popsicles and candy-striped megaphones
announcing to all the families in the neighborhood:

“It’s okay. You can stop and heal.”

That truck bought us some time
It bought my father some time, too
Clutching the quarters in his hands,
he’d make a mad dash to the side of the street
like he was waving down a cab
on a busy Metropolitan street
and had to beat the swarms of people
except there were no people

He ran through our yard like a father hitchhiker
flagging down opportunities and college entrance exams
for his children
He tried to unlock doors, open up new worlds
except there were no exams and the new worlds
didn’t get along with neighborhoods like ours

He purchased time with that ice cream truck
It’s what we could afford with the loose change
from the bottoms of our purses
We stalled with it
I ran alongside it trying to keep up the speed
so that I wouldn’t lose them,
and so that my father would have more time to keep on searching
on top of dressers

I got a second wind from that chase down our street.
It enlivened me
It made me hungry for the world
I made fresh starts with it
and each day I learned something new
about the human spirit
every time that he uncurled his fingers
to reveal the quarters
that were really just prayers

I learned to trust the world a little
I learned to trust myself more
See, I knew I could do things like keep up
with ice cream trucks
They were as close to God as anything as far as I knew
With them, families could have fresh starts, second chances
We could feel the rising hopefulness that came
with each new dash to the door that he would swing open
his arms open wide yelling, “Wait! We have enough!”
My father sprinting outside trying to catch up to me,
“I’m on my way! We have dreams!
My family has dreams!”

It was a quiet street, and we were quiet people
but we dealt out big love
We dealt out quarters that said,
“The chocolate ice cream bar
for my daughter, please,”
or “The chocolate sprinkles, please,
for the one I love!”

It wasn’t easy always trying to be ready
for the ice cream truck.
You see, we never knew exactly when he was coming
My father felt like he always had to be ready
and lots of times the towers of quarters
would get scattered everywhere
and I have these memories of my father
crawling on the floor
Searching underneath dressers
frantically
trying to find the loose change that would buy us a future
That he was so sure
was there the last time he had looked

There was a yellow fire hydrant in the front of our house
and I have no idea why but whenever I got made fun of at school
and came home and cried
I would always do it in front of the yellow fire hydrant
It made sense to stand next to bright yellow statues
in my school-uniform dress
as though the fire hydrant could announce to the world for me,
“Take cover!” or “Somebody got hurt!
Look out!”

And I don’t know if the whole world could hear it
from our quiet, painfully shy but beautifully resilient and
“she’s actually really intelligent, she’s really really smart,
she just has a hard time with mainstream schooling
because she’s so sensitive” street corner
but I know that my dad could hear it
I know that he heard the sirens that the
yellow fire hydrant sent out for me
because it wasn’t long before he came out
on those afternoons
bending down on one knee
his arms enveloping me in my self-made
street-side-yellow-fire-hydrant-vigil
and said things like, “They’re mean to you, Ana,

because they’re jealous,”

and some other beautiful lies that never really feel like lies
if the one who is saying them to you
is somebody who you love very much

He wiped my tears with his sleeve
He sat with me next to the yellow fire hydrant
and listened to the warning-bells that they sent out
and from our driveway my father
made promises he couldn’t keep
but it didn’t mean that he didn’t mean them

and when the rescue team and ambulance arrived
he told them that we were okay for now,
that they were free to go,
that he would look after things today
and then he went back inside our house
and crawled underneath the dresser where he vanished
to search for more quarters

~
Bio: Ana Marie Boyd is a poet, writer, and educator who lives in Eugene Oregon. A graduate of the University of Oregon, she studied English literature, psychology, and World Religions. Raised in a multiracial and multigenerational home, her writing seeks to explore themes around heritage, spirituality, and reckoning.