Summer
Summer – I was four years old. I was playing by myself in the backyard of our row house on third street in northwest Washington D.C. It started to rain, and I was watching the droplets hit the cement and then bounce up into several smaller drops. Then the drops started to get heavier. They stung a bit as they hit me. Ma came to the back door and told me to come in the house quickly because it was starting to hail. I didn’t know what that meant, but I went inside.
Summer – I was seven years old, and it was my birthday. I would have a big party and all of my friends would be there and we would have cake and ice cream and play games, and I would get lots of presents.
Summer – I was nine years old, and Daddy owned a used car lot. He drove home in a late model Cadillac convertible, and we all went out for a ride after dinner. As we drove along with the top down, I looked up at the sky and felt the breeze. I was in love. I was in love with convertibles, and I was in love with summer.
Summer – I was eleven years old, and our whole family was on the way to Atlantic City. We went there in a brand new red and white dodge convertible. A few miles outside of Atlantic City, Daddy pulled off the road and stopped the car. He put the top down, before driving on. As we got closer to the ocean, I could smell the salt air, and feel the breeze. I loved convertibles, and I loved summer.
Summer – I was twelve years old. Ma died last week. It was so sudden – no warning. She was there in the morning and then she just wasn’t. My life would be so different after that. She was only fifty-three.
Summer – I was sixteen years old. My friend Andy and I had enrolled in an acting school in Northwest D.C. called the Washington Theater Club. I began to love acting as an artform, an escape. I began to think it would be my life’s pursuit. But things change, and life doesn’t always work out the way you imagined it would. Acting was the only thing I’ve ever done in my life where I felt comfortable and had a complete sense of belonging.
Summer – I was nineteen years old. I was in the Army and would be for the next four years. Daddy died last month. It was so sudden – no warning. He was there and then he just wasn’t. He was sixty-two. I would be marrying Linda in a few months, and we would have three beautiful children together.
Summer – I was thirty years old, and the kids were growing up. Our townhouse overlooked the swimming pool in our little HOA development. I worked a split schedule, so I was home for three or four hours almost every afternoon, and we spent all of those afternoons at the pool. I loved summer, I loved the water, I loved Linda, and I loved the kids.
Summer – I was turning forty and my marriage to Linda was ending. Marriage can be so wonderful, and yet….
Summer – I was turning sixty now. Cindy and I had been together for some time, and we were both deeply in love with each other. We bought a brand-new Volvo convertible and moved to Goodyear, Arizona. We loved the summers, and we loved the heat. We loved the swimming pool, and in the evening when we put the top down on that Volvo, we were teenagers again. Now it was summer all year round.
Summer – I was seventy years old. Cindy told me that she wanted me to retire and stay home with her. What would I do? Could I really afford to do that? How would I spend my time? Maybe I’d learn to play chess. Maybe I’d join a billiards club. Maybe I’d even become a member of a writers group.
Summer – I’m seventy-seven years old now, and somewhere along the line, I’ve become an old man. It seems to have happened so suddenly – no warning. I was young and then I just wasn’t. I reflect on my life up until now. There were sad times, death, divorce, other health issues, working at jobs that I hated. But then there were the happy times. There were convertibles, and love, and swimming pools, and kids, and grandkids. And, oh yes, there were summers…and summers…and summers.
“The excursion is the same when you go looking for your sorrow as when you go looking for your joy.”
Eudora Welty