Member-only story
Heatwaves
Lover, you had me.
The beach house is still a bright spot as I pull the car in for another June to August jaunt with my family. I smile at the memories of days in the past when I ran along the sands with my town friends who lived here during the off-seasons. They’re all gone now — off to other parts of the country — but I came back just for old times’ sake.
But one thing won’t change. You’re not here anymore. I can close my lids and picture your green eyes, gem-bright, while your face crinkled with a smile just for me.
Yes. Long-ago days now.
I don’t even know where you are anymore.
But back then — what feels like a short time ago — we were inseparable. We caught fireflies in jars and collected seashells, but then we grew into other things. You strummed your brother’s old guitar and sang in a warbly voice on the verge of cracking. I laughed and clapped my hands along with the dissonant melody and pretended like I wasn’t head over heels in love with you. Anyone else wouldn’t have suffered through those horrible impromptu performances around the smoke pit.
And then there were other moments — brushes of our hands against each other, fleeting glimpses stolen at sunset, our gazes hungering after each other long before our lips had the chance to do so. We played at the games kids do, and we…
