Summer

I cannot express how much I wish it were summer right now, but I'll try anyway.

I long for the ability to step outside in minimal clothing-- no ten buttons to clasp, scarves to wrap, bundle, bundle, bundle. No searching for viable socks in the laundry basket; just throw on some flip flops and run out the door.

No dreading going outside every day, the short trek from the porch to the car enough to make me want to go back to bed. The coldness of the steering wheel, like gripping a block of ice and the heat never kicking in until I reach my destination.

No facing the on-coming bitter wind running from building to building. By the time feeling returns to all my appendages, it's time to once more brave the outdoors.

This dramatic account is product of a winter already too long.

I long for lazy evenings spend swimming laps in the pool, then laying beside it, soaking in Jane Austen and the sun, eventually falling asleep and being awoken by a curious cat's pokey paw.

For the piling into the van, both dreading and anticipating the long journey to a land unknown. For the vacation-y feel of a different surrounding, the exciting and unfamiliar buzz in the air, telling you something great is about to happen.

For the feeling of coastal breezes sweeping across my slightly burnt skin as I sit in my favorite dolphins-in-sunglasses beach chair at the edge of the swirling waves. Fish nipping at my toes, avoiding the family with the nets just up the beach. My brother joyously getting knocked down by wave after wave, returning to the dry sand bruised, scratched, beaten, and smiling. Tossing that nameless beach game with the scoopers and wiffle ball back and forth with my dad, him ridiculing my inability to catch five in a row. Abandoning the plastic game for the nerf football, and dad once more ridiculing my inability to catch but complimenting the inexplicable spiral I somehow acquired the ability to throw.

For the obligatory trip to our favorite little amusement park, where we always ride the same rides in the same order. Spinning around and around, laughing the entire time, on the Scrambler, begging Dad to ride until he finally gives in. Handing the camera to Mom, he hops in the cart like the eleven-year-old he thinks he is, but by the end declares "I'm getting to old for this" but smiles anyway.

For sitting on the balcony late at night, watching amateurs shoot off illegal fireworks much too close to the building, applauding the exceptional ones and booing when the law rides by to shut them down.

For the summer trips to my uncle's house, always dreaded but never as bad as you think it's going to be. For exchanging glances when their family launches into an epic power struggle, for being grateful I was born to the brother I was. For riding on their boat, being pulled by the mighty forces and thrown off into the lake at speeds that makes Mom cringe, and watching their little dog wish he was anywhere but in the middle of the lake.

For the summer days when you finally reconnect with a friend you haven't seen since school, being free to talk about things outside of homework and ho-hum.

For laying sprawled on the concrete while Steve Perry sings in the background, looking up at the stars with slightly intoxicated parents as they recount the meanings the dulcet tones have to their lives. For looking up at the stars and laughing slightly at the Mike's Hard influenced interpretation of the constellations and not minding when ants launch World War 3 against my calves.

Maybe it's wrong to wish months of my life away, but oh how I long for summer.