Most of my friends laughed when one time after school in third grade, I casually mentioned

that I wanted to be an ice cream man.

I felt embarrassed, but I thought their job was the best.

They would drive around the streets handing delicious treats to the neighborhood kids.

But then, my whole life changed.

My younger sister wanted to ice cream one summer afternoon, but I didn't want to come outside.

I was hooked on a new video game that my dad had bought me, and I think I didn't want

to go because I didn't know how to pause it yet.

I yelled for my sister to grab the dollar bill in the jar by my bed, and to not touch

anything else.

Excitedly, she asked me what I wanted, and if the ice cream man would give her any change,

she didn't know how to count money very well at the time.

I told her that the total would be 50 cents, and to bring the change back.

That it should be 2 quarters.

With a big smile, she ran outside.

I eventually lost at the game I was playing, and put the controller down, and went outside.

The ice cream truck was turning the corner without the music on.

I didn't know that I would be the last person to ever see my sister again.

What followed was a mix of police reports, journalists calling and visiting my mom and

dad, and sad stares of people feeling sorry for me everywhere I went.

The same ice cream man stopped passing by our street and was later caught and interrogated

by the police as a prime suspect.

...