The Summer That Never Came

Standard

It was the summer that never came. September sneaked in and store racks preached the hour of hoodies and leather, but the Earth had skipped a beat. The summer had never come.

“Can you find the goodness in all beings? Find the goodness in all beings, you can.” Wisdom spoken in her head in the grocery store.

Two blocks away a man stood peeing on the sidewalk.

Did he ever have a summer?

“I didn’t have a summer either,” the crystal healer said to the over-analyzer in the supermarket. “Nobody had a summer. It went too fast this time.”

But it wasn’t a matter of speed. And it wasn’t because they hadn’t gone swimming or earned sunburns. Not for lack of hallucinogens or 3 p.m. techno mosh pits.

They’d soared in jets, skinny dipped in rivers, bought and broken sunglasses.

Lathered glitter on their backs, sung Paul Simon.

But the summer had never come.

“That’s stupid,” the peeing man would have said had he heard them. “Sounds like summer to me.”

But they never arrived, never gasped into the fresh bright sweat-air afire with shock and desire. The people-sea was not pregnant with tasty heavens or blunders.

They moved, but because they should, because that’s simply what they were to do.

Because that’s what they’d done last summer.

It’s true, the peeing man would have said, I piss here because I’ve pissed here before. This corner, by this coffee shop. This is what I do.

Summertime is just a few months of warm weather. So the supermarket pair picked up and headed south.

Switch hemispheres. Try again.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s