Banana Popsicles

Banana Laffy Taffy sticks to her molars. Roxy flicks her foot against the cold water. Winces. “Still cold.” The words sneak out past the taffy glue.

We’re trying to acclimate to the still cool water. Early July. Sweltering before the sun is done rising. Amazingly frigid water. Us, swishing feet in hope and anticipation.

“There’s only banana ones in there?”

“Yes. I picked them all out. They’re the only ones I like.”

“Of course you did.”

“I don’t like banana anything else, but these…”

Faint morning birds. The hum of the neighborhood waking. Her Laffy Taffy dissertation. Chaos was our game when we were younger and mornings used to morph into noon before you’d see us awake.

“What about banana popsicles? Remember those?”

Her whole body jolts. “Oh my gosh YES!” Her voice bounces off the water. Long before the neighbors’ music, or the sound of lawnmowers revving up. We laugh.

Kidd’s gone to The Pig. Sunscreen. Beer. Lunch for later. He’s planning on grilling something—whatever they have that’s fresh is waiting for his careful selection.

“You should text him,” she says. “Banana popsicles.”

“I don’t think they make those anymore.”

“If they do, he’ll find them.”

That part is true.

Twenty minutes later, we hear the screen door snap shut. He bounds down the stairs with grocery bags cutting into his fingers. Sunscreen spilling out. Pool toys—the grocery store kind. A case of beer tucked under his arm. He unloads it all onto the picnic table.

Ripe tomatoes. Oversized portobellos. Some kind of grilling meat for boys and meat-eaters. Limes. More beer.

And then—

The yellow box.

We squeal. Clap our hands. Jump to our feet.

“No way!” We both yell, showering him hugs and kisses while he pretends to hate it. He unwraps the popsicles, folding the paper around the stick so we don’t drip.

We sit back down. Test the water. Still freezing. We swish our feet until we get used to it again. Giggling, we inch in a little deeper.

The rest of the day waits. Banana sugar drips onto our bathing suits. Ice crystals freeze our smiles.

Five years old again.

Here’s the mixtape.

Saturday Sun — Vance Joy
Honeysuckle Blue — Drivin N Cryin
Banana Pancakes — Jack Johnson
You and I — Wilco
Hold On — Alabama Shakes
It’s Saturday — Marcy Playground