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I've had some splendid summers. By the lake in North Jersey. 13 on and 3 days off lifeguarding, never seemed too much. Hot dusty dirt faking at sand and pulling-on-my-arms kids. A beat up planked raft in the middle of all that blue and a rowboat I handled better than any car. I usually covered even on my days off. Who wouldn't.
One of those I met Paul. The first one to also be hung up on stories and sentiment. The night sky on top of you when you lay in the middle of still warm roads that you've driven your entire life. Did everyone have that summer? I was 19. I conveniently forget the diner that November sitting across from him in a silent vinyl booth. Curling the scalloped paper edges of my placemat as I realized he'd never leave that town.
Another I was a counselor. Afterwards there was that lake party in the Poconos, drunk clambering on the roof, promises to be friends forever. Destiny and purpose thrown about that roof like so many cigarettes smoked down and flung off, not caring where they might land. A trip to a grandmother's lake house and an uninterrupted swim. Still hunting that lake.
The one where I fell in love in a stairwell, sweating and surprised.
The ones where I tried to get back to that stairwell over and over.
That great one that was nutty but had rain and a reservoir and a secret.
I'll have some more I think. But sometimes those other ones just kick sand in my face.
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