McConnell’s

I’m six years old and I want to go to McConnell’s.

My dad decides to make it a family outing, so we all go – dad, mom, Nathan, and me. I climb into the Barbie car and back it out of the garage. I push the lever to reverse, press onto the pedal and look behind me as the Barbie car inches backward. I shift to D and then I drive forward.

I’m driving down the street at five miles per hour, but it feels like fifty, at least. My brother sits in the passenger seat and my parents walk beside us, hand in hand. It’s a short walk to downtown – seven minutes at most. I know the route by heart. I can follow it with my eyes closed.

I drive through the neighborhood, onto the sidewalk and past the Edwards Cinema. I park outside McConnell’s and the four of us funnel into the ice cream shop. I order vanilla ice cream with marshmallows mixed in. I don’t really like vanilla or marshmallows because the marshmallows freeze up too fast from the cold, but I’ve never ordered anything else before. I feel sick after I finish, but a good kind of sick.

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