Since this week was the official beginning of summer, I thought that should probably be the our theme this week. Summer.

Summer of 1978

It’s too hot to move, too hot to breath. We can’t go swimming, we’re banned from the pool. The popsicle man’s already been by, we don’t have a/c, there’s only one way to stay cool. We’re going to have to go watch “Grease” again.

Summer of 1984

Arms wrapped around her legs, cheek resting on her knees, she sits on the grassy ledge, under the olive tree, and watches her little brother run up and down the sidewalk. Closing her eyes, she wonders where the button is. The button you push to get your real life started.

Summer of 1986

In a few hours, when the sun comes up, she is leaving this place forever. Leaving her home, her family, all of her friends and even her dog – she is taking the cat with her. So why was she in a darkened supply closet, kissing him? For the first time.

Summer of 1991

“So, you are leaving work early, to drive through the night, to get to San Francisco by 6am?”

“Right.”

“And you are spending Sunday driving back?”

“Yup.”

“And you are doing this why? It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not a boy!”

It was definitely a boy.

Summer of 1995

She cocked her head to the side, watching him speak, the words so much nonsense now. Excuses for the lies and betrayal, her fault for not living up to his ideal. Why did she ever think he was worth it? There’s a good chance he’s insane. Good riddance.

Summer of 2000

In a backroom, somewhere in Berkeley, she sat on a stool. It only hurt for a second, just like they said it would. The sharp pain that made her eyes water. Then it was over. Except his rubber clad finger which was still up her nose, inserting her new stud.

Summer of 2004

She wore next to nothing, she couldn’t stand to in this heat. Upper 90’s outside, it was in the 100’s in her easy bake apartment. She raised the bottle of water over her head and poured. Steam rose from her skin. It was time to move.