that was another season
June 13, 2001 02:27 PM

Summer, sometimes. Heat and humidity of an interstate drive. [Commute to work, think my car is broken, shop, must negotiate time and logistics] Stirs memory of nights and days.

Car broke down. We couldn't reach you. Twenty-four hour golf and games. Played air hockey waiting for his flop-haired former boy to rescue us. How relaxed we were, how unusual. A handful of times that were just two.

Drive in. Pick up. The late night Dairy Queen. That could have been you. I wince now, even, imagining you-then incensed if I spoke that. But those childish sensitivities are outgrown and given away. Not tax-deductible, alas.

Miss that boundless enthusiasm. Thinking you all arms and legs, froggish. And the feeling of lake swimming. Diving in shoes on.

A blessing of my youth. Town that lays awake, restless, windows open on hot summer nights. I mean, go-carts. I'm talking about two a.m. bumper boats. Indelible.

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