September

Elsewhere
2017-08-13 18:13:50 (UTC)

Camping.

Picture if you will, a navy blue lake. It's man-made and we're in the south so there are weed spurts springing from the sand, but it's fine. The green wisp-like foliage doesn't disrupt the yellow sand; in fact, against our moon's luminescence the night is wondrous; magical even. The heat from the afternoon sun lingers on your brow, but the blackness of the sky has singed its quake. We are content and everything is alike.
And then....
There's a boy. Oh, how there's always a boy. He sits next to you in a ragged cloth folding chair. Time has passed since you've recalled this specific memory, but you can still see it. You relive his blue iris's and how they caught on your smile. Revive his ebony curls who've frizzed over from the day's humidity. And do you remember what he does next? Remember?
Remember how he watched you guzzle that grape soda and burp so hard your nose started to run and your eyes watered; remember how you were slightly embarrassed, but that all stopped when he clung to your hand as he laughed. Do you remember his laugh? How it sounded complemented with your chuckles of protest. Do you remember how he didn't let go after you'd both stopped laughing? Do you remember his smile; that freckled, crooked smile mirroring your own.
You two talked some through the fireworks, but mostly you smiled.
And then.... do you remember what happens next? ... come on...
...
.....
It's the reason you always smile when you think about camping.
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