Ice cream.
She had one single thought – ice cream. She would follow her parents through castle and churches, over bridges and through tunnels if she only had a cone of some sweet, cold, sticky ice cream in her hand. For that matter it could be anything cold and sweet and melting – gelato, sherbet, shaved ice, frozen yogurt – her mind went blank when her stomach was filled with a frozen treat. They had bartered doctor’s appointments and shopping trips and she came away smiling and no memory of anything but the final stop at the little shop with the freezers. She went blank when ice cream was involved.
The proof had been they had been in Italy for two weeks already and she couldn’t remember anything except all those brightly colored little plastic bowls and spoons that she had gone through. She would never remember the canals in Venice or the tower in Pisa, but she would remember the chocolate gelato she had all along the way.
Memories….
Verona, Italy
StoriesFromASnapshot 