I licked on my 21 love. It was my favorite ice cream flavor from Nirula’s, the ice cream parlor that my family liked going to during family outings. We sat at a booth near the window of Nirula’s. Outside I could see the cars with their sunset tinged roofs going up and down on Durbarmarg.

I had successfully finished class 4. And my parents had brought me to Nirula’s to celebrate.

Out of nowhere, a small hand came right up to my face. My ice cream almost toppled off of my ice cream cone and unto my lap. It was a little hand that smeared its dirty finger prints across my face unto the window that separated its world from mine. His brown finger paint left smudges. The tiny dark eyes looked at me shyly and smiled. I blinked.

Looking into those dark eyes that dared me to enter into its world, for a moment, I almost forgot that I had an ice cream cone in my hands. I felt a cold drip ache unto my hand. I looked down to see a creamy white thick blot on my thumb. I licked it off, keeping one eye steadily on the eyes that teased me across the other side of the window.

A sad pair of eyes looked at me. Sadness at my misfortune in being stuck in an ice cream parlor not knowing the freedom of being able to stick my hand in any stranger’s face that I chose. He seemed to say, wouldn’t you rather come out and play with me? Run with me? Be free like me?

I looked at my parents. They were busy in conversation. I didn’t want to be in the streets. To have my parents desert me like that was unthinkable.

He had laced his fingers together and had made a small window where only his one eye could see. He eyed me through his window pane. His brown shirt that must have once been closer to white whipped in the wind like a torn Buddhist flag in a long abandoned monastery.

My ice cream was tasting bitter. It was melting faster. And the chocolate tasted muddier. My head turned to see where the Nirula’s guard was that generally shooed away these kids. He wasn’t at his post.

The eyes seemed to follow my gesture and movement and became slint-eyed in fear. He seemed to know what I was looking for and what I wanted to do. He seemed hurt. I had broken our friendship. He had this look that seemed to say, “You’re like every other well-to-do kid that doesn’t see the real me. Aren’t you?”

I didn’t care.  I didn’t want to see him. No. I didn’t need to see him. I just wanted to enjoy my ice cream.

Somewhere in me arose a quiet self-affirmation that I was the one poking the chocolate cubes out of my ice cream with my tongue. And he was not. No, he was looking at me doing it. I licked my ice cream. But this time I deliberately elongated my tongue out so that I made a solid dent in one side of the ball of white ice cream dotted with chocolate. It felt like I was sticking my tongue out at him.

He looked at me. It was a look of slight disgust. It was like he was commenting on my manners. Or there lack of. Right then I realized that these were not the eyes of a child. They were the eyes of a hardened adult in a child’s face. The eyes rebuked me for my softness. For being pampered. For not knowing the harshness of life. Suddenly me finishing class 4 successfully didn't seem like that big of a deal.

This was too much for me. All I wanted to do was just enjoy my ice cream. I looked away and took a moment. I deliberately licked my ice cream. I savored the taste. I waited for a long while without moving. Then I licked my ice cream again. I bit a piece of chocolate. It tasted good. And slowly, once I was sure that he must have left, I looked up. But no, he was still there. He had a look of defiant satisfaction. My heart sank. My ice cream felt soft and frail and melty and mushy in my hands. It kind of felt like how I did, in the lime light of his hard eyed stare. I blinked. He didn’t.

Kiddo,

I wrote it...is that what you're asking?