Sunday morning 9a.m.

When I need to get away, I sit in my car and smoke a clove.  I think of many things.  This morning I have company.  It is a beautiful shiny black raven.  My noisy friend's head bobs as it bellows out a "Caw-caw-caw."  From where it is perched, at least three blocks can be seen-maybe more.  I caw back and we have a conversation.  I'm not sure what I'm saying but I decide to listen for awhile so that I can say it better. <smile>

Suddenly the raven starts a procession of long drawn out caws and when it finally stops, I hear a raven a few blocks away.  They jibe back and forth for a little bit, these guardians of our neighborhood. They go quiet.  I hear the annoying tinkling of the icecream truck as it rounds our corner.  Icecream at 9a.m.?  It makes it's noisy retreat down and around onto the next block.  The raven leaves me.

Out of the recess of my mind comes some thoughts I'm unable to shake off.  One thought was about the men driving those trucks possibly being terrorists, or those passing messages along to those involved in terrorism.  They say terrorists are amongst us and they live in every ghetto as well as subdivision.  Could that be true?  I tell myself, that this is a crazy thought with absolutely no merit.  Then I ask myself as I try to drum up shame, "What do you have against Icecream men?"

The future answers back, "Yes, messages can be transferred via men in icecream trucks and never be noticed."

I respond, "That is an unreasonable notion."

My past argues on behalf of the future, "Remember Mr. Jolly that icecream man back in San Pablo?"

I'm transported back to 1964-65is to a time when I played with a gal named Wanda Clark. Mr. Jolly rented the small house in their backyard and had an icecream truck. He would always come to Davis Park where we played with hundreds of other kids.  We had rules at Davis Park.  If you were on the merry-go-round,  you had to push it for the next riders.  That way everyone who rode had to push too.

Just as it was my turn, all those who were supposed to push went running to Jolly's truck which had just pulled up.  Only they took a long time while the rest of us were waiting to be pushed. I went to see why they weren't coming back.  As I approached the crowd of little girls gathered around I saw the sign that said Not In Service.  I asked them what they were doing?  I was shushed as a little girl explained that Mr. Jolly had a pet mouse that if we made noise, it would disappear.  She said everyone was waiting their turn to pet it.

I pushed my way through and stood on the first step.  One little girl jumped off Mr. Jolly's lap quickly and it was Wanda's turn. I watched as Wanda reached into the baby blanket on Mr. Jolly's lap so she could pet his mouse.  Mr. Jolly kept cooing, "That's nice.  He likes that. Yes."  Then he told her she could jump up and the mouse would tickle her.  Wanda asked if that wouldn't hurt the mouse and Mr. Jolly explained that mouses like warm places that they miss their moms. I watched her dress fly up as she sat on his lap.  She felt it and wiggled and giggled some too.Mr. Jolly said, "The mouse especially likes you, Wanda.  You are special. Oh yes."

Wanda said, "The mouse wants to get inside me."

Mr. Jolly said, "Its Ok.  The mouse likes your warmth because he misses his mommy very much.  He likes you best of all, Wanda.  Does this feel good?"

She said, "It feels kind of funny.  Yeah, it feels good too."  She giggled and said the mouse was really tickling her. She was on his lap for a very long time and was bouncing.  I was getting impatient and told her we had a turn coming that it was her turn to push.  She said, "Oh, all right."  When she jumped down, I saw that Mr. Jolly didn't have a mouse, it was more like a snake.  He smiled at me and asked me to pet his mouse.  I felt sick, but wasn't sure why.  I explained that I had to go home.  I ran home and told my babysitter about Mr. Jolly's mouse in his lap that was really a snake and that he had been tricking the girls with it.  They all thought they were really petting a mouse.  My babysitter got angry and called some parents then ran next door to her house and spoke to her mother.  Next thing we knew Mr. Jolly was taken away. 

A few days later we all went to help Wanda's mom clean Mr. Jolly's house and we found so many newspapers with pictures of men and girls and men and boys and some painted women doing terrible things.  Turns out Mr. Jolly was a pediophile (sp).  Pediophiles are terrorists, right?

I never have cared for Icecream Men in trucks since that date.  Their songs announcing sweet treats are more of an evil invitation.