“It was really hot that summer, so it worked out. That was the same summer that…” Derick’s voice trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish for me to know what he’s thinking about. That summer.Oursummer.
“I know,” I say quietly, and we both let the memories fall away.
One at a time, we hop the chain-link fence at the back of the lot, the most direct route to my backyard play set. The house is dark, the windows lifeless. Everyone is asleep, and I tell him we need to keep quiet. If my family knew I was out here, they’d insist I stay the night. Something I don’t want to do.
Life is easier when you cut off childhood like an annoying tag on your favorite sweater. At the apartment, I’m an adult with a chosen family and a laundry list that includesDo your own laundry, you procrastinator. At home, I’m a kid with a biological family of four and a hamper that never stays filled thanks to Mom’s love of her water-saving, top-loading washing machine.
I’ve got to hold tight to my independence.
The swings are creaky and the flags have all since blown away in various storms. When Claire and I grew out of it, my parents decided it wasn’t worth the upkeep. We tried to sell it on Facebook Marketplace when I left for college, but the damage to the wood was too great, and even lugging it off for free wasn’t worth the time or energy needed to break it all down.
Maybe Derick and I, with our pending power-tool know-how, could make this our next improvement project. I can picture us in tool belts with hard hats, sanders, and hammers. Labor doesn’t seem so languishing when I’m with him. Even tonight, I was surprised how effortless it felt in the snack shack. We were slammed with customers, but he kept me laughing, smiling, light on my feet. The time flew by.
Derick and I settle into those weathered blue-and-red swings. We face away from the house, looking back into the lot. The physical distance from our hectic pace of work is soothing. The wrapping on my ice cream skins off easily. I cloak four napkins around the wooden stick, covering the tips of my hands so melty goop won’t get all over me. Derick doesn’t comment this time. Kindness incarnate.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. The night is filled with a surging sense of chance and the discordant song of male cicadas, out on a hot night, making noise to find a mate. If only humans did that. I know we’re attracted to voices and pheromones and a plethora of other biological phenomena completely out of our control, but wouldn’t it be nice if we heard a 90-decibel noise once and knew we were matched for life?
“It’s gorgeous out,” Derick says between licks. It may not be 90 decibels, but, damn, that voice could do it for me.
Fuck.
This sort of thing is not my forte, so I don’t know what to do with this information other than lock it away in the attic of my heart. No sense drudging out old feelings just to play dress up in my hurt. We’re friends now.
“Thanks for all your help tonight. Actually your help, period. You’ve been there for me. I really appreciate it,” I say.
“No worries.” He pops a gumball into his mouth. He chews loudly and slowly, cow-like but still charming. “I hope Mateo’s okay.”
“Same.” I sent two texts to him earlier, both read and unanswered.
“You don’t have to keep thanking me, by the way. I like what we’re doing. My family moved out to our Myrtle Beach house pretty permanently for the summer last week, and being stuck here doesn’t sting so hard when we’re together.”
Together.What a dreamy word.
I start pumping my legs, setting the swing into motion, allowing myself to slice through the air. Derick joins me, keeping tempo.
I change the subject so he doesn’t have to doggy paddle in his pain. “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be? You know, if you weren’t interning at Wiley’s and money wasn’t an obstacle…” I pause. “I mean, I know money isn’t really an obstacle for your family, but you’re not making much this summer.”
“I’m making memories. That’s currency too.” It’s oddly profound. “Can you go first? I need a minute. I want to hear your answer.”
“Walt Disney World.”
“Really? Walt Disney World? You could go to Europe or Asia or Canada…”
“You can go toallof those places at the World Showcase at Epcot.” He opens and closes his mouth quickly, knowing his rebuttal won’t weaken my argument. “Though, to be fair, Disney did me dirty when they closed the Great Movie Ride, so I’m not sure I’m willing to shell out that kind of money for a company that slighted me so.”
“Slighted you so, huh? Sounds serious. But, uh, what’s the Great Movie Ride?”
I let my legs go limp. My swing stills as I dig my heels into the wood chips. “Are you serious? Have you never been to Disney before? It’s only the greatest ride ever invented. Hence the ‘great’ in its name.”
“I went a few times when I was young, but unless it was a ride where I could raise my arms up at the big drop or shoot stuff with a laser gun, I wasn’t really interested.” That checks out. Judging by his car, his love ofThe Fast and the Furious, and his willingness to work with power tools he’s never touched before, he’s something of an adrenaline junkie.
“Come on.” I stand and offer him my hand. He takes it, no questions asked. There’s even a gentle squeeze that makes my heart skitter. “Be quiet and take off your shoes.”
I lead him through the sliding glass door into the kitchen of my childhood home. We traipse through the hallway with our shoes in hand, our socked feet slipping only slightly on the hardwood floor. I open the door down to the basement slowly so the hinges don’t screech the way they usually do and turn the lights on in the lounge. It’s not fully finished or furnished, but one corner of the basement has carpeting, a love seat, and a TV.
Derick makes himself comfortable on the couch. I open the YouTube app on my TV and launch a search for the Great Movie Ride POV. It’s weird, I know, but it’s one of the many ways I de-stress. Watching videos others take while riding rides at theme parks I love or dream of exploring one day is like therapy to me. I mean, therapy is therapy to me, and I do that too, with Dr. Hatcher. Mostly virtually. But I’m never calmer than when I’m getting lost in the wonders of what an Imagineer can make.
“Are we about to watch someone else ride a ride?”
