Summer for Two

This is Summer.

It's intertwined fingers and shared lemonade,
The weeds and wildflowers of an impromptu bouquet.
And showers of rain on the most cloudless day.

It's fingers stained purple from blackberry treats,
And lips kissed the same color, both sour and sweet.
It's sharing your headphones; dancing to the beat.

It's talking past midnight, with nary a care,
Smelling a hint of the sea in the air.
It's realizing that you do have time to spare.

It's ice cream that melts and drips down your arm.
It's old movie marathons, full of wit, grace, and charm.
It's wading in fountains when it gets too warm.

This is Summer.

One Summer's Evening

Pinks, purples and oranges mix on the horizon as the sun begins to set, looking more brilliant than a master painting. The two race to the car and she wins, effectively calling dibs on driving. The key is turned in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life. Peeling out of the parking lot, she laughs and rolls down the windows, euphoric. In the passenger seat, he simply smiles his calm smile and turns on the radio.

She opts to take the back roads instead of the interstate, their desertedness encouragement to accelerate. The wind whips her long hair about her face, but she takes no heed, devoting her energy to belting along with the music blaring from the stereo. Their glances meet and her contagious grin prompts him to add his tenor with equal enthusiasm.

No feeling can quite match it. They are on top of the world, just the two of them. Cool wind blows in their faces, scented with honeysuckle and the promise of rain. It doesn't even matter what's on the radio; they sing with zeal, whether they know the words or not, making up lyrics when necessary.

It's grown quite dark now and as they pass a vast pasture, she stops, suddenly, and kills the engine. Only by the glow of the almost-full moon can he see her raise her arm and point. All across the field, tiny pinpricks of light fade in and out. Thousands upon thousands of fireflies illuminate the night, more beautiful than the most extravagant Christmas displays. It's like magic and a nostalgia for childhood fairy-tales sweeps over them both. Thunder rolls in the distance, but neither makes a movement to leave.

In the silence, her hand finds his and when their fingers twine together, they know contentment. And in the moment that he pulls her out to dance in the field of fireflies, they know joy.

An Epic

Sunken treasures, lost legends, secret passages.
Daring rescues, narrow escapes, life-alerting moments.
Distant planets, dimensions, kingdoms.
These are adventures. These are the experiences of heroes and heroines.

People who start out ordinary but inevitably end up becoming...more.
A boy who just wants to get through middle school, a girl who was only playing a game of hide-and-seek, a young man who is satisfied to sit at home and watch the clouds float by.
Somehow, they all overcome their fears and doubts to do great things.

They're all stories, but there's an inherent truth about them.
Something that keeps them alive and fresh for generations of audiences.
And I wonder for a moment.
Maybe there is a talking frog in my backyard.

All that I know for certain is that I crave it.
I need it like the moon needs the sun.
Wanderlust rises in my heart and I'm off.
Forgetting, for a while, reality that lurks nearby.

Why can't life be more like an adventure?
An epic tale rather than a ho-hum day to day existence.
Why can't I ride a dragon, talk to a lion or face an evil villain?
Why can't I become the hero that the books are written about?

Dive

Standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering with indecision.
Far below, waves crash and churn, anything but inviting.
An icy wind cuts through bare skin and a faraway gull laments.
It's time to choose:
Leap or Run, take a chance or play it safe.
Pulse thrumming, mind racing, rise up on tiptoes.
Eyes squeezed closed in fear of what's to come.
One last inhalation before giving over to gravity.
Cold air whips past on a never-ceasing downward race.
Hair flies wild and eyes open for a peek with one psuedo-comforting thought:
This is a decision that could end in disaster or serendipity.

Keyboard Shield

Had it been two weeks ago, the silence wouldn't have been strange. I wouldn't have been distracted and the Tetris blocks would have fallen as they should. But it's anything but two weeks ago and the blocks pile haphazardly to a Game Over while I stare at the little green dot in the corner of the screen.

The worst part, perhaps is the sinking feeling, the one even I didn't see coming and the unnecessary disappointment. It's not exactly like you're breaking tradition or any such thing. But when our brains shoot into overdrive, it's not often that we get to steer. I have a very vivid imagination. And such mercurial behavior makes me wonder...

When is the world going to grow up and realize we have to face our problems and people face-to-face and not hide behind the anonymity of a glowing screen and hypertext? I'm just as guilty as the rest. Colon parentheses--and I'm not obligated to actually say the words on my mind. Some nonsensical acronym and we're done conversing. Behind our keyboards, we're comfortable and safe and we can say anything without consequence.

It's so much worse to over-analyze black and white text and emoticons than the beautiful subtleties of the human face, human hands. Your gaze, your grasp, your tone and timbre.

Don't you just want to look into someone's eyes and say what needs to be said?

Conversations

They face off from opposite sides of the room, she perched on top of the table and he leaning against the door, clearly ill at ease. Suddenly the statement that "you could cut the tension with a knife" makes sense. It's almost hard to breathe. He runs a hand through his hair and looks heavenward. She uncrosses her legs and lets one dangle down towards the floor, swinging nervously.

For what seems like the hundredth time, she wishes awkward conversations could be scripted, like in Grey's Anatomy or something. There are never million year-long silences in an awkward-serious Grey's Anatomy conversations. Everything comes out right away, and even if the characters are scared of what their words might do, they say them without hesitation. Why can't life be like that?

He opens his mouth, blinks and closes it again. A soft sigh escapes his lips. Hers is louder and more intentional, an expression of frustration and confusion. For a split-second, his lips twitch, but then his expression is neutral again and she swings her leg anxiously.

After another long moment, he looks up and their eyes meet. Panic floods her system and she drops her gaze to the floor. Eye contact is just as awkward as the not-talking that they are becoming very good at. Oh, if this were television, it would all be so much easier. Maybe she should start scripting all of her conversations.

The silence is finally broken by the trill of a cell phone and she wrenches her eyes away from the linoleum, surprised into staring again. He reads his text message and then straightens up.

"I have to go." They're the first four words spoken in what seems like hours and she bites her lip at how unaffected they are. He breezes past her so quickly, she doesn't even realize that he's deposited a paper napkin in her lap. The door closes behind him with an obscenely loud bang and she flinches, fingers closing reflexively around the napkin.

It's several minutes before she can unfold it, fingers shaking and mind racing. Scrawled hastily in blue pen are the three words that were so hard to say out loud.

She smiles and crumples up the napkin, shoving it into her pocket. Maybe this scripting conversations idea is not so bad after all.

The Dance

Sometimes it's a waltz.

Steady and flowing,

Measured in beats;

Nothing new happens, everything repeats.

Occasionally it's salsa:

Upbeat and fun.

Infused and electric,

Moving as one.

Or when it's swing,

Flying and teasing.

Laughter abounds

But rarely does reason.

Usually it's ballet

Subtle and smooth,

Darting away from you

As in a chess-move.

It's silly to think this way

I'm well aware,

But I wish you'd just dance with me.

Dance and not care.