That Summer Night
There was a night one summer that stands out vividly against the blur of all the rest. I was listening to Peggy Lee sing "Blues in the Night," over and over and thinking about you.
My bedroom windows were open and I could feel the dew sink in and settle down beneath the fog. The water in the swimming pool was warm and danced its silver reflections across my ceiling. The scent of dried roses on my desk mingled with the scent of the fresh laundry that had come off the line that evening.
I think I may have stayed up all night, but got up at dawn to see the first rays of sunlight burn the haze from the morning air. In the car, the cassette player held Celine Dion, raspy and crackling. "Because you loved me," I think.
We went to school to see you because I thought I might explode if I didn't. I don't know why it gets like that.
Something about that day reminds me of the smell of new tennis balls and my new shoes tied around my tennis racket. It reminds me of how blackberry Clearly Canadian used to taste as it hit my lips from the curved glass bottle.
Everything was surreal then, and I thought I'd never forget any of it. The crush of emotions so intense I swore I could never forget. But there's little of it I remember now, save the occasional flashback brought on by a scent or old friends reminiscing.
Perhaps I'll gather those fleeting memories here as they come and go, and be able to look back on them one day grateful that the wounds of those years have healed shut.
Posted by Amanda at March 02, 2003 01:32 AM
