The sun blazed overhead in the cloudless sky. It was late August and the temperature was a sweltering 92 degrees. I was sitting in my backyard under the gracious shade of a tree. A single leaf fluttered down in front of my eyes. My tiny dog lay beside me. His silky hair rustled in the slight breeze. I reached out to pet him gently. In my other hand was a cone of strawberry ice cream. I chewed a chunk of frozen strawberry and licked off the rapidly melting ice cream before it dripped onto my fingers. Smiling and shaking my head at the thought, my mind back-tracked to another day of ice cream.

 

One morning, at about four am, I woke up with rays of sunshine dancing across my face. I was six years old. A mischievous smile spread across my face. I quietly slid out of my bed and tiptoed across the room, the early dawn light was dim. Stealthily, I crept down the carpeted stairs. The house was still. Light filtered in through the curtains, lighting my path.

 

I went to the kitchen and opened the freezer. Inside, lay my treasure. An evil grin lit my face. Tubs of strawberry, chocolate, and mint ice cream lay practically screaming temptations. I should have mentioned, my sweet tooth is my Achilles heel. I nervously checked the clock and strained my ears for any sounds of my parents or brother waking up. Nothing. I rushed to grab a spoon and hurriedly shoveled ice cream into my mouth. Cramming it into my mouth, I struggled to swallow. The ice cream tasted so good. It was creamy, sweet cold. I threw my spoon into the sink and thrust the tubs into the freezer, slamming the it closed. My heart was beating a little bit faster. I wasn’t supposed to eat ice cream before breakfast.

 

I raced up the stairs and sank into bed, pulling the covers over my head. My heart pounded in my chest. My childish actions were bound to have a consequence. Fear paralyzed my every bone and chilled my veins. I took deep breaths, listening carefully for any movements besides my own. I was safe. After my heartbeat slowed, I fell asleep.

 

8 am

Mom walked into my room. “Good morning, Mackenzie,” she said, giving me a hug. My stomach squirmed with guilt.

 

“Good morning, Mom,” I said. She looked at my face and laughed. “What?” I asked. I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Ice cream was smeared about my mouth. My hand flew up to my face and my fingers felt the sticky grasp of sugar. Oops.

 

“What’s on your face?” my mom asked, smiling. “What?” I said, feigning ignorance. I stuttered, trying to brainstorm all the feasible excuses.

 

“I.. uhh… I got an allergic reaction.” I blurted out, my face flushing crimson. My mom cocked an eyebrow skeptically. The weight of my sins was weighing down on me too heavily. I could not bear it anymore. Ashamed, I confessed humbly. My eyes averted my mom’s steady gaze and I stared at my feet. “I went downstairs and ate ice cream,” I mumbled sheepishly, “I’m sorry.”

 

She chuckled. “It’s okay,” she said, giving me a warm hug. I felt like a huge weight was off my shoulders. I didn’t have to lie. My parents accepted the truth with more grace than a lie. That day I learned that it is always better to tell the truth than lie and lose someone’s trust.

“I’ll eat lots of fruits!” I exclaimed, eagerly to atone for my transgressions. She nodded and led me to the bathroom. I stared at my reflection. Pink and green smudges around my mouth gave my crime away. My mom helped me scrub at my face, wiping away the sticky mess on my face. Finally, both my face and my conscience were clean.