She started making snow cones with the blender when, on a lark, she bought a cherry Torani soda flavoring. She piled the paper cups full of the crystal ice flakes and then poured the red sweet water over it until the heap was a melting ruby of tasty wonder.
I could not say when she became a legend in our neighborhood among the few kids who shared the bus stop with G in the morning. But her status as a God could not have been clearer the day one of them stood on the stoop of our door and peered hopefully over our shoulders trying to fish an invitation to the world within by just blinking his dark eyes.
“I think I can smell a snow cone,” he said and looked away like someone caught.
Who could avoid smiling and saying “Me, too!”
