Friday, March 25, 2011

Banana Splits

The display case is filled with beautiful goodies; miniature tarts stuffed with glossy fruit, tall cakes decorated with tiny flowers, thick donuts covered in colorful icing and over-sized cookies littered with giant chocolate chunks.

Grandma orders her sundae and looks back at me.

You ready, babe?

I leave the case and join my grandmother at the ice cream counter.  

Can I have a banana split?

Her wide grin spreads slowly across her soft cheeks. Well, it is your birthday, so I guess you can have whatever you want.

The excitement rises in my cheeks.  Mom never lets me get banana splits.

One banana split for my oldest granddaughter.  She winks at me, pays the cashier and leads me to the small table along the wall.   We sit and wait for our gooey treats talking about my new shoes, Sunday school, Grandma's garden, baking pies, little siblings, anything that comes to mind really.

I love my Grandmother.  She always listens to my stories but never makes me feel silly or babyish.  Today is always our special day.  Every year, near my birthday, I get to spend one day all by myself with her.  That's not easy with so many cousins and siblings.  Seems there's always some other little kid around.  We shop for brand new shoes and get ice cream.  She does it with all her other grandchildren, but i just know she loves my day best.  I can feel it.

The man working at the shop delivers our ice cream.  My banana split is huge, I've never seen so much ice cream.

I thought maybe you were going to get that pink donut?

I shake my head.  No way.  It's too hot outside.  Ice cream is perfect.

She nods in agreement.

I take bite after bite, watching the ice cream begin to melt.  The three colored sauces swirling around one another, turning from their distinct hues to a brownish gray.  

Grandma finishes her sundae, How you doing?

I sigh, Getting really full.  But I keep eating.  Wasting food is not allowed, especially when I've chosen so extravegantly.

Babe, you don't have to finish it.  Just eat what you want.

I smile and put my spoon down.  Grandma really is the best.

This piece was written in response to a prompt at the Red Dress Club: write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, inspired by the delicious shot. Word limit is 600.


Like I said yesterday, I'm having trouble organizing my thoughts into stories lately.  As soon as I saw this picture, I knew what I wanted to write about, but I'm just not sure the story came across the way I wanted it to.  Constructive criticism welcome...

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