every week, his song would dance through the air, soft and sweet, like the desserts he sold. he ran his truck like an ice cream truck, the desserts he sold posted for all to see. he sold everything, from seasonal indulgences to year-round delicacies. anything you thought of, he’d have ready for you even before you made it to the front of the line.
“alinea! wonderful day for a slice of mango cheesecake, isn’t it?” “hey there, alinea! your caramel oreo milkshake is waiting for you!” “and good evening to you, alinea! your rainbow crepes are ready!”
visiting his truck was my solace. his voice was soothing, like the snapping of dark chocolate being broken into two. his eyes changed their color as he spoke, going from candy apple red to chocolate brown as he talked to me. his truck was magical, and so was he. he always knew what to say, and i could tell him anything. his solutions were always perfect, like a popsicle on a hot summer’s day or a cup of hot chocolate in the middle of winter. he was the only certainty in a life full of confusion. from my unhappy home life to not fitting in at school, he was the only one i could count on, his desserts filling my stomach and my soul. he was always there for me.
until he wasn’t.
i started to hear his song less and less. he seemed more tired, and his eyes stayed the same industrial grey. he became more erratic, and he had to go to the back of his truck more and more to make the desserts that, in the past, he’d made so easily. he had lost his magic, it seemed. i couldn’t talk to him anymore. he claimed to be unwell, but i could tell it was more than that.
he came only twice a month, if that. and as his visits grew more rare, i felt myself slipping. i got into more arguments with my parents, and i started to distance myself from my friends. i went back to peeling off my cuticles, and i was collapsing into myself. i felt hollow without him. every week i waited for his song, but it was in vain.
until today, when i hear his song spread over the neighborhood like icing on a cake. i sit up, shocked. it had been five months. why is he here now? i ask alexa the time.
“the time is three thirty-three a.m,” she says.
i don’t stop to think. the time barely registers in my head. i slip out of the house, careful not to wake my parents or my dog, into the dead of night, following his song.
and there he is. his truck glows with golden light, as warm and inviting as ever. i look up at him, and he smiles down at me. his lemon gumdrop eyes twinkle, and all my worry melts, like soft serve on august asphalt.
“alinea, my dearest! i’ve got your white chocolate raspberry cake right here for you.”
he hands me the plate and a fork, and i take a bite. i had no idea that i wanted it, but it’s perfect. he gets out of his truck and with a snap of his fingers, he is sitting at the table he always had ready for me, back when things were normal. i sit down in the seat across from him, ready to tell him everything that had happened in the past months. but before i can, he holds up a finger and my words die in my throat.
“you’re really special, alinea. but tell me, have you ever wondered why i only sit and talk with you?”
i stare at him. where did this come from?
“keep eating your cake, darling. we’re going to be here for a while.”
i slowly pick up my fork and put a bite of cake in my mouth, getting the feeling that this is going to get creepy.
“i’ve taken an interest in you. i know you’re not like everyone else.”
at this, my face burns. sure, i’m not like everyone else. i have problems with making friends and i have terrible depression and social anxiety. i relay my struggles to him every week, but i didn’t think it would stick in his mind. i swallow and take another bite, not making eye contact with him.
“haven’t you wondered how i always know what you want? how i know exactly what to give you to make you happy? you and i, we have a connection. you’re like me! i’ve grown fond of you, alinea. you’re special.”
i recoil.
“mr. robins, i’m not sure what you’re talking about. i’m not as good as you think i am. and what do you mean, ‘i’m special’?”
i force myself to look him in the eyes, my mouth still full of cake. they’ve become the blue found in icees, beautiful and fake.
“alinea, my sweet. self doubt will ruin you. you’re destined for great things.”
he grabs my hand from under the table and squeezes. i try to break free from his grasp to no avail. he squeezes harder. my heart races, looking around for help, but my body betrays me, my head turning to meet his eyes again.
“you don’t know what you’re doing. i know what you’re capable of, and if you’d just let me do what i need to do, you won’t regret it.”
he drags my chair forward without moving a muscle, my face so close to his i can feel his breath. he holds my chin with one hand, and moves closer to me. he travels down my chest with his other hand. i start to freak out. the cake in my mouth goes sour, then turns to ash.
“no! please! you can’t do this to me!” i cry, unable to stop myself from screaming. the cake hits the floor, and in its place, daisies suddenly appear and bloom.
“you’re holding yourself back, sugar. i can help you. i’m your only hope.”
“NO!”
i kick him in his chest, humming with new strength as my fight response kicks in. he falls out of his chair and lands on a rose bush, thick with thorns. i gasp.
“mr. robins!”
i get up and rush over to him. blood covers his shirt.
“mr robins, i’m so sorry! i wasn’t thinking. are you all right?”
he opens his eyes and sits up. the blood disappears, and he looks at me like i’m an angel.
“that rose bush. it wasn’t there before, was it?”
what? i think to myself.
“uhm. i don’t think so?”
“look at its thorns. they’re longer and sharper than typical thorns, yes?”
i stick my hand out to touch the tip of one of the thorns, and break the skin. the blood falls onto the bush, and a rose blooms, full and beautiful.
“i made this?”
“you did. and you can do more. i can feel it. you’ve got magic, same as i. try again.”
“how?”
“breath.”
how helpful. i close my eyes and deeply inhale, then exhale.
and there, before me, is a flower that looks as if it’s made of glass. it twinkles with rainbow light.
maybe i am more than i think.
i look at mr. robins, and he smiles at me. his eyes sparkle, the color of caramel. and before i know what he’s doing, he stabs me with a thorn.
everything goes black.