Captain Dusty’s

An Ice Cream Cone, A Stage, A Bravo

The stone-faced customers lined up outside of the ice cream shack.

Even the children looked serious in their football jerseys. Maybe they’d lost.

A seagull looked on, standing on the seawall just before the dappled waters.

The shop clerk looked barely 16, wearing a musical theater t-shirt.

“Can I help you?” she asked the patron.

He stared at her, then began in a faulty, off-key tenor.

“I would love to have a medium soft serve with rainbow sprinkles.”

The attendant turned stone-faced just for a moment, then began cracking up.

She proceeded to put more soft serve ice cream swirls of vanilla on the cone than the patron had ever seen.

She laughed, he laughed, the whole shop laughed.

The other patrons with their stone faces even broke character. Their jaws dropped.

“What, what, what size is that?” asked a blonde with tattoos in a tank top.

“A medium,” replied the clerk.

“I’ve hit the jackpot. This is the best ice cream cone I’ve ever had,” declared the patron.

The clerk smiled, carefully handing him the cone.

“Are you an actor?” asked the patron to the clerk.

“Yes, I am,” she said confidently with great pride.

The patron, holding the largest ice cream cone of his life, looked back directly into her black eyes.

“Bravo,” he replied before taking his first lick.

A story by Pemba Umoja