This story is based on part of the book “Dandelion Wine” by Ray Bradbury. It meant so much to me, and I just want to share it with you all.

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He walked into the icecream shop after a sweltering afternoon. Plopping down on his usual swivel chair, he glanced left and right at the usual choice of flavors. Then something caught his eye. Alone on the counter, stood a lone flavor. Lime-Vanilla. Heck, why not? He sat there with a cup of the strangest icecream he had ever seen. He scooped up the light green frozen cream, and lightly placed it inside his mouth, the flavors tingling his tastebuds. He sighed as his body instantly cooled down. Looking around, he spotted an elderly lady, not less than 85, sitting three chairs away from him, enjoying the same delight he was.

“Young man, you are the most unique and brave individual i have ever met. Who else would venture into the unknown known as lime-vanilla. Just the name suggests an oxymoron.” She paused for a moment, studying his face. Shaking a bony finger at him, she said, “I know you, you write for the daily paper of our little town. I prefer the “Times” magazine, but your writing is decent.”

“And I know you. I have a picture of you from when you were twenty-two.” He replied, then added with a stutter, “I-I was o-once in l-love with you…”

“Now isn’t that something. I would sure like to hear why, but not now. An icecream shop on the corner is not nearly the right place for that type of talk. How about this, you come to my house tomorrow afternoon, and since you’re a reporter, I’ll tell you of this towns past, or any other town, and you tell me why you had feelings for me. Deal?” She said.

He nodded his head.

The next day, he pulled up to her three story victorian styled house. As he got out of the car, he thought he saw a ghost, white, and drifting in the wind. As he walked closer, he saw that it was her, in a white gown, sitting on the patio and having a cup of tea.

“Come, sit,” she said. He walked towards her and pulled up a chair as she poured him a cup of tea. “Now,” she said, what would you like to hear? The battles of the civil war? The sands of sunny morocco? Paris the city of lights? Or how about I tell you about the glorious pyramids of Cairo? What shall it be young man? What will satisfy your sense of adventure?

“Anything would be fine,” he replied. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, pulled out his pipe, sprinkled some leafy tobacco in it, lit it, and let out a puff. He eased down and closed his eyes.

”Cairo it is then.” Immedietely, he was swept off into the sandy deserts of the Sahara. The sun shown golden on the hot yellow sands, and the Nile sparkled like jewels in a dark cave. He was on the enormous pyramids of giza. He looked down to see a young, pretty lady, her white dress fluttering in the wind, climbing up after him. He was swept away again to the great Sphinx. he could hear the bangs of hammers of thousands of ancient workers, erecting these historical monuments. It was so peaceful…

An hour passed, and he was back in his little town. He opened his eyes to meet her. He felt somehow as if he had known her for a long time. Their adventure together had come to an end. The biscuits were all dried up in the sun, and the tea cooled by the wind.

“I’ve never felt so good in my whole entire life,” he whispered. “Sorry for keeping you here, I should have left hours ago.”
“I love it when i remember. It makes me feel an incomprehensible bliss. I forget everything, but remember everything. Um, what are u doing?” He was staring into his eyes. She shifted her weight uncomfortably. His eyes did not move.

Suddenly, he cried out.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I can see you, that picture of when you were twenty two. I can see her inside of you.”
“Yes, but she ‘s been gone for a very long time.The swan has been devoured by the tiger. Although I think the swan is still there, only the old, ugly tiger remains showing.” she sighed, a sense of sadness clouded her face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Don’t be. I’m glad you made me think. Please come back tomorrow, there is much I would still like to tell you.”
He stood up and walked back across the garden into his car, not daring to look back.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into a month. The two sat in the garden for thirty-odd days traveling from London to New York, from Beijing to Bombay.

“People are talking,” he said, “About how a middle-aged man is going to visit the oldest lady in town.”
“Ah yes, gossip. I thought I escaped it when I passed the age of 80, but it seems a woman cannot rid herself as a target of rumors…”
“Uh, I could stop coming,” he suggested.
“No, that is completely unnecessary. I enjoy so much these talks we have. I don’t care what people say about me,” she stared off into the distance, “Anyways, where were we, ah yes, where would you like to visit next?”
“I was thinking about Paris.”

She smiled, and started the adventure. He saw himself on the banks of the crystal clear Seine River. She was swimming gracefully inside the water, laughing happily. He was swept away into the honorable Versailles, the marble walls shining in the lights. They were swept away to the Eiffel Tower. It was night, but didn’t look like it. Lights glimmered everywhere as the city came to life. Ah yes, the city of lights. They climbed the tower, straight to the top. What a sight! He gazed around at the massive amounts of lights glittering in the night. He could not tell where the lights stopped and the stars began. He felt the cool air ruffle his hair and pass into his nose, refreshing him. He opened his eyes. They were back in his town.

One afternoon, she started.
“Do you know, that you have come to see me almost every day for the three and a half weeks?”
“Impossible!” he replied, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”
She put a hand up to stop him. “It’s ok. I’ve enjoyed it so much. I have never felt this good in many, many years. Now, since you are here again, I have been wondering. Remember that first day where you walked into the icecream shop? Remember when we first met? Remember what you told me? Well, I want to know now, why you had a certain affection for me.”

He glanced around nervously, as if looking for eavesdroppers. “Well, that is a little embarrasing…”
“If I have told you everything about my life, then you will tell me this one little thing.”
He hesitated, then began. “I saw your picture once, the one taken when you were still young. It was on a flier for the annual ball. Once I saw your face, I knew I was in love with you. I had to find you. So, I was on my way to the ball, when someone told me that the woman in the picture has grown old now. The picture was taken more than fifty years ago. It was futile to keep looking for you…” He ended.

There was silence between them for a good few minutes.

“Thank you,” she suddenly said.
“For what?” he asked.
“For wanting to find me.”
“You’re welcome…”

The next afternoon, he found her writing a letter. When he stepped forward toward her, she quickly sealed the letter in a light blue envelope.
“What was that?” he asked.
She paused for a moment, then started to speak. “This letter is addressed to you. When you recieve it, you will know I am dead.
“Now then, that’s no way to talk now is it?”
“Listen to me, in a few days, I will die. I know it. I do no fear it, for if you live as long as I have, you lose your fear of death. It is a natural thing, just another path, a path that we must all take. After today, you will not see me anymore. You listen to me. You are to find a good woman to be your bride. You must have children, and you must die sooner than me. My life has been too long. I have experienced pains that I would not want you to go through. I daresay that I should have died thirty years ago. So do me a favor, and die young.” She paused for a bit, looking into his tearing eyes. “Don’t don’t look at me that way. I despise it when people cry. You’re life will go on, with me or without. You have so much to see and to do.” She sighed, briefly handing him a tissue. He dabbed at his eyes, the cloth soaking in his wet, salty tears. “Now,” she said, “Where have we not been to?”

He looked into her eyes, and answered with one word, “Home.”

He opened his eyes and saw her running down the grassy, sunflower-filled fields. The scent of the flowers drifted into his nose. He grinned a little. The two of them were swept away to the lake, where they both jumped in, hand in hand, the swan and the reporter. The water was amazingly cool to the touch. Such a pleasure it was to feel it flow against your face and cover your entire body. He smiled a little wider. He was now swept away into the town itself. The doors started opening, and the air rang with the laughter of children, fresh out of bed. They dashed through the streets, playing tag and whatnot. He watched as their fathers got into their cars, kissed their wives goodbye, and drove off to work. The time flew by, and dawn became dusk. He heard the quiet yells for dinner, and one by one, the lights turned off in the houses. It became quite silent. He opened his eyes for the last time.

A few days later, he was sitting at his office writing a column, when a knock at his door surprised him. It was mail call. The letterman came in with a lone, light blue letter. He knew. He did not open the letter, for he knew what was already inside. He left his office and walked downtown. A bell jingled. He walked into the icecream shop, and sat in his chair. The air was filled with the chatters of children and women. He looked on the counter and saw it again. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Slowly, the words worked their way out of his mouth. “One dish of Lime-Vanilla…”