The skeletal pattern of a leaf, it’s faded reds, it’s dusty yellows, and it’s worn-out greens. Its cracked, old face, still smiling. Its motion, elegant and clean. It’s finally fall! But I’ve never seen the leaves of fall. I live in Los Angeles, California, and here, the leaves are forever a young, vibrant green, swaying above the rough bark of the palm tree right outside of Baskin Robbins.

I had turned four only a month ago, but I was a very articulate child. My mom had promised me ice cream, which was a very special treat. I did not get to have this chilled, mouth-watering iced good very often, as anything with a significant amount of sugar was a rarity. We got out of the car, a faint bit of exhaust blowing out from the engine as my little feet stumbled across the cracked, braking concrete path. I spotted little pieces of grass reaching up from beneath the cement sidewalk cracks, doing all they could to live in their surroundings, trying their best to feel the warmth of the life-giving sun.

I made sure not to step on them as I made my way to the door. We entered the store, my greedy eyes wandering across all the different flavor options as I walked past them. I couldn’t read what they were, but nevertheless they looked like heaven. We joined the line of about six or seven people. My eyes grew wide as my mom read through the flavors, each shining brilliantly through the glass, where the remains of small faint handprints were imprinted from the children who had pressed their hands against the glass, eyeing the flavors as I was.

“...strawberry, chocolate chip cookie dough, lemon, mango, vanilla, chocolate, cookies and cream, mint chocolate ch-” My mom was abruptly cut off. “I want mint chocolate chip! It has a pretty color!” I exclaimed, my flowing hair getting caught in my mouth.

As the young man in the front of the line walked off with his already melting ice cream,  my tiny little shoes echoed across the old, stained tile floor while we moved up a spot on line. An elderly lady in front of us turned and smiled at me. She had stark white, but still lightly blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that was so welcoming I forgot about the whole “stranger danger” rule. Her hands lay hanging by her sides, slowly swinging.

“Mint chocolate chip is my favorite flavor as well!” She claimed in a surprisingly young voice.

I giggled, and crossed my feet over one another. My red stockings lightly brushed together, and the woman looked down at them.

“Those are such pretty stockings!” She exclaimed cheerily. My mom smiled and thanked the lady, but I could sense her nervousness. Why was she so flustered? I thought to myself. The lady was very kind, what was there to be anxious about?

The lady and I  talked for a bit about ice cream; the flavors we like, our favorite ice cream toppings, all kinds of ice cream related things. Eventually, it was the lady’s turn, and she ordered a small mint chocolate chip cup. After about a minute, she walked off, ice cream in hand. She turned back to me, smiled, and told my mom I was “adorable”.

7 years later I learned that lady was comedy legend Betty White, and she had called me adorable.