Thessaly and Levi walk along the
crowded sidewalk as a couple completely in sync. It’s a comfortable gait for
both, moving to the sounds of the City while dissolving into the blanket of
humidity. At the next block, Levi pulls Thessaly in the direction of a shaved
ice truck and laughs.
“What would happen if we ask for
every flavor of syrup?”
“Other than it probably being brown
in color? We would experience the tastiest shaved ice on the planet!” she
chirps.
Joining the long line, Thessaly
shifts her weight every few minutes, smiling through the pain of blisters
forming from her unforgiving pumps. “We’re next,” she says in relief.
“Do you like shuffleboard?” Levi
asks randomly.
Moving to the counter to order,
Thessaly glances at Levi’s profile – watching as he tightens his lips and rubs
his chin. “Sure,” she replies.
Ringing a bell, the young man in the
shaved ice truck asks, “What’ll you have?”
Levi places his arm on the counter
of the truck and replies, “You have quite the creative menu. Although, the
oatmeal chai surprise sounds a little scary.” Tapping the stainless steel
counter, Levi demands, “Here’s what we want – orange, strawberry, lemon, peach,
pineapple, and cherry.”
“So you want all the flavors? That’s
our clusterfuck.”
“Right, but what if we don’t want
the blue raspberry?” Levi leans into Thessaly and whispers, “If the shaved ice
ends up being the color of your dress, then you have to kiss me.”
Laughing, Thessaly agrees. “Can we
add cream? And gummi worms?”
“Now you’re livin’, Tess.” Slapping
the counter to the beat of the churning ice machine, Levi beckons, “Dude, add
some cream. And gummi worms. And two umbrella straws.”
The young man in the food truck
shakes his head and rolls his eyes, clearly at his daily limit with the random
demands of the Seaport yuccies (young urban creatives.) Before buying a used
food truck, Kirk Diamond was a bartender. Not a very good one – often dropping
bottles of top shelf tequila while performing the iconic scene from Cocktail.
When he stumbled upon a funky truck at a decent price, he cashed in his savings
and set up seasonal rotations in the Seaport. Summer is Kirk’s biggest season,
followed by the hard cider frozen treats during the fall.
As Kirk packs the massive mound of
delicate ice into a Chinese food container, people in line start to clap –
prompting him to do a few tricks. He drizzles every hue of red, orange, and
yellow syrup over the ice while busting a few dance moves from the nineties.
The addition of the cream comes last – the grand finale. Kirk cups his hand to
his ear, begging for more applause. Once he’s satisfied with the gratitude, he
flips the plastic bottle of cream syrup in the air, spins around in a full
rotation, and then catches the bottle behind his back.
The line forming at the truck goes
wild and demands more. Kirk simply smiles and places a huge tip jar on the
counter. Returning to the icy clusterfuck, Kirk adds the final garnishes – a
wedge of pineapple, two gummi worms, two umbrellas, one straw, and one spoon.
“Ten bucks,” Kirk announces.
With a cocky smile and the
expression of a victor, Levi takes the carton and passes it to Thessaly. He
gives Kirk a ten, and then drops a five in the jar of singles. “Thanks, man.”
As Levi and Thessaly walk off in the
other direction, Levi grabs her waist and spins her in front of him. “Lemme
see,” he demands.
“See what?” she asks.
Using the plastic spoon, Thessaly
scoops the delicate yellow-orange ice into a small bite. She slowly brings the
spoon toward Levi, watching as he licks his lips and opens his mouth. Levi
leans forward and eats from the spoon, allowing the ice to melt on his tongue
while the drops of orange sugar dissolve inside his mouth. “I’d say the color
is your perfect match,” Levi whispers.
“Oh really?” Thessaly teases,
parting her lips for a kiss.
Raising his eyebrows, Levi leans in
and kisses Thessaly’s cheek. He takes the carton of ice and moves ahead of
Thessaly, dangling a gummi worm above his mouth before ripping it from his
fingers.
Trailing behind him with an annoyed
grin, Thessaly shouts, “Hey, Jones, I don’t normally like to follow!”
Slowing his pace with his elbows out
and his chest puffed, Levi smirks. “Oh?” He stops abruptly and pulls Thessaly
close to him, one hand on her waist and the other hand holding the carton of
shaved ice above her head.
She smiles and asks, “Can I have
some?”
Nodding his head, Levi lowers the
carton to feed Thessaly the wedge of fresh pineapple. He places the yellow tip
between her parted lips, quietly groaning as her red mouth pinches the fruity
flesh. Staring into each other’s eyes while crowds of people move around them,
they smile – a secret smile dedicated to the sensual foreplay of sweet, juicy
fruit.
As they continue their stroll along
Front Street, the conversation spans from a television series on Netflix, to
the recipe of Ikea Swedish meatballs. There’s no stammering or awkward silence
– the dialogue seems to flow as if it were written just for them. Thunder
rumbles over the river, and the humidity spikes uncomfortably, but the two are
so engaged in each other that they fail to realize the scene is changing.
Because Thessaly and Levi are simply characters within the bigger story –
passing figures on crowded streets, assimilated residents of a vibrant city,
and specks of color on a gray canvas.
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