Gail Brooks

Out Cold

We live in an upper flat in a wood-frame home in the inner city of Detroit.  There are two indicators of summertime in the 40s: polio and the ice cream truck. In the oppressive heat, the fire department opens the hydrants to offer some relief, but I never can participate.  “It’s polio season,” mom says, “You have to stay out of the water.” There is no air conditioning.

But . . . there is the ice cream truck.  Announcing itself with circus music, it stops only when someone waves it down.  It costs ten cents, a lot in our working-class neighborhood.  I love the Creamsicle and the Chocolate-Covered Ice Cream Bar on a stick.  Ten cents in hand, I run down the stairs to the first floor, trip on the porch, and fly over the seven steps to the cement walk. It’s the only time I’ve ever knocked myself unconscious.  Dad carries me up the stairs.   No ice cream that day, but 75 years later, I still have the scar on my arm.

loving too much
caution be damned
I run
headstrong and foolish
into a doomed marriage

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About the Author

Gail Brooks is a retired university executive originally from Detroit, Michigan now living in beautiful Laguna Beach, CA.  With an undergraduate degree in English and degrees in labor relations and law, she enjoys new ways of expression.  Inspiration comes first from family and friends and then from the wonders of travel and the world around her.