Page 9 of Be My Summer

“What did you learn?”

“That you prefer slowness. Quietude. Experiences. Deeper connections, understanding, and meanings. It’s likely you rest more than you rush on vacation. You don’t do quick turnarounds–not with anything in life.

“You cherish time. It’s precious. So is your energy. You value them both the same. You are studious. Always looking for your next lesson in life, no matter how small or how grandiose.”

Summer said nothing. She peered into the openness. She placed both hands behind her, propping her body up. Just like that, we remained until her arms gave out and she lay flat against the blanket. She finished her nectarine. She finished her wine.

We poured another glass.

Then another.

Her book was back in her hands, and my body was resting beside hers before long. We weren’t in a hurry to speak or to move. It felt like time was moving like light.

“I have to leave, now, Saul.”

“Time passes us by so hastily.”

“It guts me to consider it.” She sighed, lifting her body from the blanket.

“It’s been a pleasure, Summer.”

“Yes– yes it has been.”

“Seven?”

“Seven,” she responded. “I’ll be there.”

I rose from the blanket and extended my hand. She took it into hers and stood on her feet. She leaned forward, attempting to collect her things.

“Don’t do that, Summer.”

She paused, taking a look at me. My frame was longer than hers. We were a perfect match.

“Don’t do what exactly?”

“Use your two hands to do anything my two hands are capable of while I’m around.”

Her eyebrows rose, trying their hardest to meet the small, slick pieces of hair that lined her forehead. They softened her appearance and made a liar of her birth year.

Without a fuss, Summer took two steps backward. I nodded toward the bench a few feet away.

“Catch some shade. I’ll bring your basket when I’m finished.”

I gathered our things as she buried her face in her book. When her things were tucked neatly in her picnic basket, I started in her direction.

This isn’t her first time in the park.

I’m hoping it’s her last time alone… unless she prefers it that way.

“Your things.”

Summer lowered the book and took her basket.

“If you’re parked near, I can carry it–”

“That’s my ride over there,” she said, pointing toward the rack full of bikes. “I’ll be fine.”

“I can carry it ov–”