text: Nobody was safe from the sun. Today was no exception. It shot rays of heat down to the small town of Brinaville. In a small shop full of sweating customers, it melted a fresh scoop of strawberry ice cream almost immediately as it touched the cone. A red stream dripped down Cliffords glove. He tried his hardest to lick it up, but the ice cream only redirected down his chin and into his shirt. “No refunds,” the cashier muffled behind his mask, pointing to the sign on the wall behind him. “Really? But, you saw what happened,” argued Clifford. The cashier stood with his finger pointing to the sign, his eyes glaring at him from behind his worn goggles. “Next,” he said, shrugging Clifford away with a glance. Clifford walked out of the shop. A cloud of dust blew by, covering every piece of exposed cone in his hand. Clifford lowered his head, crushing the cone in his hand and throwing it to the ground. He had traveled far for this, only to have it end up covered in dust, just like everything else. “Hey! No littering!” Shouted a small voice. A very angry little girl ran up to him, two women standing on either side of her. Based on her height she looked no older than 11. Her mask was green with a pattern of ducks on it. She wore a vest that looked like it was from an old costume shop, with a worn badge on it that he could barely make out as the word: SHERIFF. “Are you going to just stand there or pick this up?” she snapped. She stood toe to toe with him, looking up with a sharp stare. “Sorry, ma’am.” Clifford dusted off the cone and picked up the pieces, throwing them in a nearby trash can while the girl and the two women followed him closely. “I’m going to guess that you’re new here, so you won’t get arrested this time. But if you plan on staying in my town then you better keep it clean, got it?” She pointed a finger up at him, her hand resting on her belt. A broken water gun was stuffed in the holster. “Got it.” Said Clifford. “This...is your town?” “Yes sir, it is. I’m Sheriff Brina, you can call me Sheriff Brina. Welcome to Brinaville.” He couldn’t see her face, but can tell that she was smiling behind her mask, very pleased with the name of her town. She held out her hand, and he shook it politely. "Nice to meet you, Sheriff. I'm Cliff." “May I ask what brings you here?” “Ice cream. I came here for ice cream.” “That’s it?” She laughed. “Yeah. That’s it,” he said. The end of his sentence trailing off in almost a whisper. The sheriff noticed the dry ice cream on his glove and glanced at the cone in the trash can. “I’m guessing the first scoop didn’t work out?” “No ma’am, it didn’t. The sun ate it before I could, and I’m afraid I have no more coins for another. So I’ll have to get going.” “Sorry about that. We have plenty of jobs around here if you want to earn more and get another scoop. Ms. Loretta at the salon could use a hand if you’re good with scissors. I’m sure she’ll throw in a haircut, which it looks like you could use.” Clifford ran a hand over his greasy hair. He hadn’t seen his reflection in a long time and forgot how long it had become. “Or, if--judging by your age--you’re an educated man, the kids at the school can always use more teachers. We can’t find many books in good condition anymore. And not many people come through here who remember the knowledge of the old world. Would be nice to teach them more than just colors and the names of animals.” Clifford remembered being a kid and having his nose deep in a textbook while his mother tried her hardest to teach him math. “No, Cliff. Try again. You have 7 and a half apples. I give you 5 and a half. How many do you have now?” His poor mom would buy so many apples to help him learn. But, they would all go bad before he could figure out the correct answer. He used to stress out so much about homework, what he was wearing to school, whether his haircut was cool or not, what he’d grow up to be... and at night he complained if it was too hot or too cold. His mom would always oblige his every need. She was a good mom. Now it was hot every moment of every day. And he ate whatever was there. You’d be lucky if you got your hands on an apple, depending which part of the world you’re in. He thought about the sheriff’s proposition, glancing around at the town. The people looked happy enough. There were only a handful who looked like they were his age. “Who makes the ice cream?” he asked. “Oh, that’d be Ms. Belle and her cow, Ms. Blue. She makes that ice cream from scratch. But since there’s only one cow in town, she only makes a new batch every few months or so.” “Does she need an extra hand?” “I can ask, if you’re interested,” she giggled. “You really like ice cream, huh?” “Yeah.” Clifford spent the next few months working with Ms. Belle to keep the barn clean and the animals fed. She let him keep his horse in the barn, next to Blue, so long as Clifford promised to do at least one lesson a week at the school for the kids. He agreed. The kids all loved Clifford. They loved his funny little stories of the old world. Stories about motion pictures, snacks, air conditioning, pools, theme parks, and grocery stores full of food. He told them about his school, and played games with them just like the ones he grew up playing. He watched as the mothers and fathers of the kids would pick them up from school. He thought about his own mom again. One of the fondest memories he had of her was years ago when they were camping in an old cave. Cliff was crying, saying he was tired of camping and wanted to go home. His mom said, “Cliff, I’m sorry, but this is how it’s going to be from now on. I know it’s hard. I know it’s different. But, I promise you that you’ll find something about the world to love again.” “What do you love about it?” he asked. “Ice cream,” he remembers her saying with a blank stare. “I want to have just one last scoop of strawberry ice cream again before I die. In a cone. Wouldn’t that be nice?” He remembers her staring blankly at her hand as she talked about it, as if she was picturing herself holding the cone. A tear ran down her cheek. He rubbed it from her cheek and gave her a hug. “I promise I’ll find some ice cream for you, mom.” At the time it felt like an easy promise to fulfill. At the time he was still optimistic that one day things would return back to normal. Schools and ice cream shops would open again. The fires will stop, the air will be clean again, and the government will rebuild the cities and restock the shelves of the grocery stores. But he’d find out soon enough that there was no vaccine or government powerful enough to right this wrong. And so he hugged his mom will full confidence in his promise. “Thanks, kiddo,” she said with a smile, hugging him back. She never got her ice cream. It was cooler today in Brinaville. Clifford was going about his usual day, tending to the cow and the other animals. Ms. Belle called him inside. “Everything alright, Ms. Belle?” “Everything’s fine, Cliff. I just wanted to see if you could taste this for me and let me know if it’s alright to send out to the shop?” She held out a cone with two scoops of strawberry ice cream in it. He paused, ,waiting for the sun to strike it down like a bad dream. But it didn’t. He patted his chest pocket where a picture peeked out. He closed his eyes as he reached out, grabbing the cone and feeling it in his hands. Ms. Belle couldn’t see his face under the mask, but could tell that he was smiling. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a hug.