Ten Years in Ithaca by Stephen K. Kim

When I consider moving, I think how I can always take a quick detour to gaze upon a body of water. If I’m feeling contemplative, there’s a small creek that runs through the neighborhood. I gaze over the railing to watch dragonflies and listen to the murmuring of running water. If I’m lucky, I’m joined by a few sunbathing cats. When I want more of a disruption, I walk towards the intersection of Lake and Lincoln. Especially after a big rainstorm, I can hear a dull roar as I approach, a sound incongruous with the lazy row of quaint homes. But cross the street, turn the corner, and there’s a thundering waterfall. In the winter, it’s even more majestic because it becomes a tower of tumbling icicles. I thought I would get used to it, but even after a decade, it still makes my breath hitch and the commentary in my head go silent.

Maybe I should eat more ice cream before I move. I never craved it growing up, but Sweet Melissa’s has the best soft serve I’ve ever had. They only take cash, so I hoard all my change for late spring when they open. My cone of choice is the two-berry twist, blackberry frozen yogurt with red raspberry sherbet. The texture is smooth, no lingering chalkiness. The flavor, just on the pleasant side of sour, fruit juice tempering sugar. But, two blocks down the street is Cayuga Lake Creamery and their salted caramel ice cream, churned rich like custard. Even before you can taste the caramel, the salt, mined from the bottom of Seneca Lake, blooms across your tongue.

I’ll miss how I can stroll west and get to the farmer’s market, bustling with tourists and locals. When I’m feeling indulgent, I head to the stall for Wide Awake Bakery. Instead of a morning bun or croissant, I buy a hearty round of sourdough that crackles when I tear off a hunk. I must look like a man in rapture as I chew because often people behind me add a round to their hauls. Here, I learned peaches grew in upstate New York. I remember biting into one for the first time, the floral scent as I brought it to my mouth, its fuzzy texture giving way to tartness melded with a sweetness reminiscent of honey, nectar running down my chin and fingers.

Stephen K. Kim (he/him) is a queer Korean American writer and educator in upstate New York. He enjoys spending time with his husband and his cat. His prose appears in the Lit Nerds, AC|DC Literary Journal, the Palisades Review, and elsewhere. He can be found online @skimperil.