Death of a Popsicle

As I held up my right arm, I gasped in disbelief, as my red cherry pop fury popsicle melted under the sweltering July sun. I felt a burning sensation wash over my face. In the in the corner of my left eye, a single tear began to trickle down my cheek. I slowly turned away from my whining ex-boyfriend as if I were Scarlet O Hara in “Gone with the Wind.” My long brown tresses blew in the hot wind. I went from being shocked, to utter despair as the red liquid began oozing down my hand, then my arm. Not only was the manufacture planning to discontinue my favorite popsicle I enjoyed every summer since college, but I had purchased the FINAL red cherry pop fury popsicle from the ice cream truck. As my ex continued to badger me about the downfall of our three year no engagement relationship, I looked down at the wooden popsicle stick before my mind went dark.

Kara could no longer articulate what her ex was saying. She put both of her arms down in defeat. “Kara, Kara?” Her ex cried out. Kara stared off into space. She reminisced how she left work early and canceled an important lunch meeting with a potential philanthropist who wished to donate to her inner city after school program she started two years ago. She had taken the time off work to walk alone at her favorite lake, read a book, write in her journal, then enjoy her favorite popsicle treat for the last time. Tuning Brad out, she pondered on all the effort she put in to secure her guilty pleasure. She thought about how swiftly and strategically she had to maneuver her car to cut off three dirty little boys, who looked about ten, as they chased the ice cream truck on their bikes. To her embarrassment, one of the kids was a student in her after school program last year.

 Just as she began to relax with her treat, her ex-boyfriend, who happened to be in the same area, insisted they talked in a nearby park by the lake right away to see if their relationship was salvageable. Kara tilted her head and wondered why she felt more sad about the discontinuation of her popsicle than her break up with Brad. Maybe it was because she saw their break up coming.

Her ex threw both of his hands up in the air in frustration. While she was in and out of consciousness, she heard him call her selfish, and childish. She looked down at her right hand, still clinging to the popsicle stick. “For heaven’s sake Kara will ya get rid of that nasty looking thing! You look like a horror show. A real menacing horror movie, like Carrie. Kara slowly looked up at him, as he towered over her 5-foot 7-inch slender frame. His perfectly trimmed blonde hair glistened in the sun. He was wearing his favorite yellow polo shirt his mother purchased for him last summer. His khaki shorts were starched to perfection, fresh out of the dry cleaners. Before she knew it, Kara held up her popsicle stick and hit her ex with it repeatedly as if he were a misbehaving student from Catholic School.

Bewildered by the sudden attack, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. She smeared the melted popsicle all over him. A passerby screamed in horror, “Oh no! She’s’ killing him! She’s’ kiiiiiiilling him!” Another shrill female voice declared, “Somebody call the police!” Brad held up his arms in disbelief trying to restrain her, “Kara have you lost your mind! What is gotten into you?? You know this is my favorite polo and mom’s having me over for a tennis match with the Vanburens’ today!” He stood up, covered in splattered red juice. A crowd of people gathered around the two of them screaming and pointing at them in sheer panic. Kara looked around at the growing crowd of soccer moms and a group of elderly fitness enthusiast. She stared wide eyed at Brad, shocked by her own behavior. She had never hit anyone in her whole entire life. He looked like he was just clawed by Freddy Kruegar himself. “Its not what it looks like. Look!” She raised her popsicle stick in the air. The crowd began screaming again. “She’s got a knife!” A feeble, elderly gentlemen cried out as he pointed a shaky finger in her direction. Kara looked back to Brad for him to intervene. Brad put his arms in the air and tried to assure the crowd he was not harmed. They continued to shout out accusations at Kara until the loud sound of a police cruiser pierced through the excitement.

A young, rookie officer stepped out of the passenger side of the vehicle and strutted across the park to investigate the ongoing park dramedy. “What seems to be the proble….” Before he could finish his sentence, he caught sight of the red ooze all over Brad’s shirt. He quickly gasped while covering his mouth. By that time, an older officer stepped out of the cruiser and stood beside the younger officer. His partner bellowed over in agony. “Bill, you alri….” Suddenly, the young officer vomited all over his partner’s shoes. “Son of a gun!” The older officer exclaimed. He looked at his shoes in disgust, then He began sniffing the air, “I knew it was you Bill. You ate my tacos in the breakroom. Well this oughtta teach ya to leave stuff alone that ain’t yours. Rookie.” He took a towel from behind his back pocket, wiped the vomit from his shoes, then tossed the towel on the ground. The people stood around in confusion watching the display between him and his partner. “What? You ain’t never seen someone litter before,” he sneered. Everyone remained frozen in place, afraid to respond to the gruff officer. He walked over to Kara, who put her hands up in surrender, letting go of her popsicle stick. He began to read her Miranda rights until she fainted in Brad’s arms.

When she had come to, she learned she had been in the hospital for three days. A man and a woman, both dressed in black suits, holding small note pads were standing nearby her bedside. When they told her where she was and why, she explained to them the whole incident that started because of her red cherry fury popsicle being discontinued. They both listened with empathy, and a little humor. They assured her she will not go to jail and Brad refused to press charges on her. They talked with her a little longer, than left her room. Kara looked around and noticed three dozen yellow roses, which were her favorite by her bedside. When she tried to sit up, she noticed an I.V. attached to her arm. She laid back down in defeat, until she noticed a huge balloon shaped like a diamond on a table next to a big window. Her mouth flew opened in disbelief. She grabbed a card from her bundle of roses and read a small letter tucked in between the roses. She squinted her eyes, then rolled them. That’s Brad’s horrible writing alright, she thought to herself. Out of curiosity, she began reading the letter.

My dearest Kara,

I see how much you love me now. For the first time ever, I saw you cry over the thought of loosing the love we share. That meant the world to me because we both know how unemotional you can be. But now I know the truth. With all that went on today, I realize we are destined to be together. When my mother yanked our family lawyer off the golf course to demand your arrest, I stood up to her and declared my love for you, and you alone. I may be disowned after this altercation, but I do not care about my family’s wealth and power. All I care about it this wild, crazy in love woman who spanked some sense in me today with a popsicle stick! I am forever yours, for richer or poorer…

P.S. Do not laugh at me for being lame. I am just a fool in love. Three dozen roses for the three years I failed to propose to you.

Love,

Your forever Brad…

Kara blinked. Did she just get a low-key proposal after nearly being arrested for domestic battery? How can she ever face Brad’s family again? Is he crazy?? Is she crazy?? She thought long and hard to herself. “Shoot, I really need to get a new favorite popsicle flavor again.”