The Ice cream Truck Man

Chapter 01

Jaron had a sad life.

And all he wanted was a creamy spongebob shaped ice cream with chewy gumball eyes.

But life didn't particularly like Jaron all that much.

With him being the youngest of 15 children, he was neglected by his rich father who was a mailman that inherited all of his money from Jaron's mom who had been run over by a high speed vehicle.

The money had originally been left to their family dog but he too passed away.

Unfortunately.
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"Okay class, you are all dismissed for recess. Do your homework or you're all gonna end up as failures in life!" Came the high pitched voice of Mr. Callahan who had a very, very serious balding problem that everyone thought was skin cancer.

I cracked my knuckles, listening to the satisfying crunch of bone before standing up, not bothering to push my chair in. I lifted my chin, puffing my chest out like a peacock or maybe an ostrich as I attempted to stand tall.

Life was tough as a 5 year old. This is where you either make it or break it. If only my somewhat witty jokes could take me through all of elementary school.

I watched everyone as they collected their lunch boxes from their brightly colored cubbies. This is where you decide what kind of person you're going to be. Will you be funny? smart? mysterious? popular? The possibilities are endless.

So, as a 5 year old, I decided to start building up my looks now. I did fifty push-ups and sit-ups a day with the occasional pull up or two.

I flashed my jawline and winked at a cute brunette with bangs as I walked by who giggled in response, showing off two holes in her mouth where her front teeth were supposed to be.

I ran a hand through my hair, slicking it back. I don't understand why every 5 year old doesn't wear hair gel. It's amazingly thick and very long lasting.

I slung my Diego the Explorer lunchbox over my shoulder, tucking one hand into the pocket of my black, tight fitted jeans that I had paired with a black leather jacket and a white tee as I strolled past the teacher's desk.

"Jaron, could you come here for a moment?" Mr. Callahan chirped out.

I sighed dramatically and shook my head as I stared up at the fluorescent lighting, hoping that if I ignored him long enough he would go away. He was taking quality time out of my recess.

"I don't wanna!" I protested in a thick British accent. That's right. I'm British. Don't be too surprised. I'm a foreign exchange student from England, I transferred halfway through kindergarten to be with Americans which I personally think was a mistake. A big, big mistake.

"Come on now, Jaron. Don't make me come over there." Mr. Callahan threatened.

"Like you could even get out of that chair without all that fat dragging you down." I snorted.

I could hear the giggles of my classmates by the door as they watched the exchange.

I heard a gasp and then the squeaking of Mr. Callahan's chair as he attempted to squeeze out of it. What a shame that it seemed stuck to him.

I couldn't help glancing over my shoulder to see a very red faced, double chined Mr. Callahan who had beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead and he swung his short, stubby legs back and forth in a failed attempt to get out of his chair.

I stifled a smile and winked at my classmates by the door before facing the teacher who seemed to be in quite the predicament.

"Well, have a splendid day then Mr. Callahan!" I sang out, giving a two finger salute before gliding out the door as fast as my 5 year old legs could carry me. Which wasn't very fast.

The favorite part of being a kindergartner is typically nap time. But mine is the playground, it's like a kingdom and I'm the king.

I walked outside through the large double doors and stared down the playground, trying to figure out the most impressive way to get the top of the slide with lunchbox in hand. I have a reputation to build.

The easy way up the miniature rock wall was too basic, too predictable, too simple. That wouldn't get me any playground cred.

Just as I was watching a kid dressed in high waisted pants and suspenders fail at the monkey bars, an idea went off in my head.

I cleared my throat loudly, gesturing with my hands as I gathered everyone's attention. 20 pairs of eyes were all on me. I wanted to prove myself superior over them and I would. I would become their hero. They would all adored me. Worship me. I would not let them down.

I glanced at all of my idiotic fellow peers who watched me eagerly, my eyes falling on one in particular. Susan. She was the only non brain dead one in this bunch. Besides me, of course.

I got down on one knee besides Susan, her luscious blond hair tumbling down her shoulders in gentle waves. Her chocolate colored eyes stared down at me, cherry colored lips turned up into a sweet smile. Every king needed a queen and she was my queen.

"If I don't make it out alive, you can have my last apple juice box." I whispered, pressing my lips delicately on the soft skin of her hand before straightening up, rolling my shoulders.

I placed the handle of the lunchbox in my mouth, tasting the sharp sting of metallic as it sunk into my tongue. I inhaled deeply and ran at full speed towards the slide. I catapulted myself onto the middle of it and desperately began clawing my way to the top.

I could hear the gasps of my audience, the worried cries of my beloved Susan as she watched my underdeveloped child muscles contract and extend.

I could nearly see it. The yellow curve of the slide that led to the top was right in front of me, taunting me, teasing me, telling me I couldn't make it. But I would. Oh, I would make it.

Just as I was about to steady myself, my lunchbox jerked opened suddenly, sending my peanut butter and jelly sandwich on lightly toasted whole wheat, organic bread with sesame seeds plummeting to the ground.

"No!" I screamed, reaching out with one hand to catch the delicious goodness.

I felt my grasp on the slide loosen as I began falling with my sandwich.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Me. The sandwich. The 20 pairs of eyes that stared in suspense.

Then a shock went through me and I lay motionless next to my sandwich, all the air knocked out of my lungs. I gasped, desperately trying to fill my lungs with air as I rocked back and forth, knowing I probably resembled a dying fish.

Sweet, fresh air suddenly began to fill my lungs and I closed my eyes in bliss, only to open them up and find Mr. Callahan leaning over me. I might as well have gone blind.

I crinkled my nose in disgust and stood up, ignoring his concerned questions. I grabbed my sandwich and stared at it intensely. It was ruined. Jelly was leaking out of the sides, thick peanut butter smeared all over and the bread flattened pathetically.

I sighed and looked off into the distance, hoping for some miracle that would save me from the depressing pain of my ruined peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

That's when I heard it. The ice cream truck.
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