The Island Storyteller and the ice cream cone (short story) by Leanne Dyck

 How does a writer order an ice cream cone?

                                                                photo by ldyck

Sunny Mayne Island Bakery is full of muffins, cookies, tarts in glass display cases in the front part of the store. During the summer, in the back, there's an ice cream parlour. Rocky Road is like Cookie Dough but has brown crunches instead of black. Some of the tubs are marked blah, blah 'ice cream'. Other tubs blah, blah 'frozen yogurt'.

"What will you have?" you ask loudly stressing each word like I didn't hear you the first couple of times.

Standing there, looking at all the flavours reminds me of the story I'd just written, earlier that morning, "Hey, would you like to hear a story?" Of course, you do. I pull a piece of paper out of my purse and read...

Rainbow Ice Cream

(Please click the link to listen to me read the short story)

I fold the page and return it to my purse.

"We don't have Rainbow." You sigh.

"A scoop of Strawberry Shortcake."

"Waffle or plain?"

"I don't want a waffle. I want an ice cream cone."

"Yes, I know but what kind of cone--waffle or plain?"

"Which is cheaper?"

"Plain."

"Plain, please."

Your next customer treats you like a machine--orders two scoops of chocolate, says, "waffle" without being asked, and pays. No imagination. No exchange of pleasantries, beyond thanks. How rude.

I listened to...

Colleen Story

What To Do When You're A Discouraged Writer 

I'm listening to...

CBC radio

Here are the winners of the 2020 Governor General Literary Awards

Next on this blog...

Wednesday, June 9

Author Reading Podcast

Is She Me?

An anthem for women of a certain age

Written and read by Leanne Dyck

Sunday, June 13

The Magic Carpet

short story/children's fiction

by Leanne Dyck

Rainbow Ice Cream (short story) by Leanne Dyck

A childhood memory of crossing the street to buy rainbow ice cream with a handful of coins--pennies, nickels, dimes, and a quarter. A childhood memory of a very special woman. 

(I was always a wanderer)

My mom let me go. I'm not sure I would have had I been the mother. I was so young crossing that road--a major highway, semis sped down. But Mom let me go knowing it was a child's rite of passage. I never remember her taking me. I do remember her calling, "Be careful crossing the road."

I headed to a white building with a sign that read:  'Hav-A-Keen Lunch'. Keen was like cool, back then. The business--a mom and pop truck stop--was shared by the Havards and the Keens, hence the name.

A bell rang when the screen door slammed shut behind me.

Sometimes she popped out of the back, where she lived. Sometimes she was wiping the counter. She always greeted me with a smile.

"Hi, Mrs. Havakeen."

Maybe she tried to correct me. Maybe she said, "Just call me Mrs. Keen." Maybe she added a dear to show me she wasn't mad. I don't remember. I do remember her asking, "What'll you have?"

I dumped a handful of coins on the counter--pennies, dimes, nickels, and a quarter. "What will this buy?"

"A chocolate bar, pop, an ice cream cone..."

"A rainbow ice cream cone, please," I said spring, summer, fall--never winter, the road was too slippery.

Mrs. Keen dipped the spoon in a bucket of water and then into the pail. A large box with a child holding a triple scoop cone hung on the wall. She pulled a cone from the box, filled it with ice cream and handed it to me.

Rainbow ice cream:  swirls of chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and mint. Why choose one favour when you can have them all? Rainbow. It was like eating a better tomorrow.

I always made it home safe and sound. Sometimes with rainbow ice cream dripping down my arm--melting under the hot sun.

Did Mrs. Keen know how important she was to me? Did she know how special she made me feel? I like to think she did.


This short story was inspired by something my husband found. Here's what my husband found:  link

Next post:  Published on Sunday, November 26th at approximately 5 PM
Interview with children's picture book author Maxine Sylvester