My summer crush was fourteen. I was old enough to drive. Our swimmer’s hair, like shining metal, laid against the back of bronze necks. A pair of young, toned bodies, lithe and smooth, we slipped through water like eels. Sometimes we swam close enough to touch, and tossed a yellow ball, each palming it after the other.
We never spoke about it, didn’t have to, my green eyes revealing a summer crush reflected in his warm gaze. It was our secret. We held hands when no one was watching, stole kisses in the trees. I never told him that I loved him, but perhaps I did. Perhaps he felt the same. I'll likely never know.
We gave each other gifts of toys and jokes and knowing smiles. He was smart, talented. I was confident, funny and artistic. We made a nice pair, I thought.
Some nights—now and again—I still dream of my summer crush, and it feels exactly the same—the fondness, the want. I wonder if he dreams it, too. But then I wake up to sadness and loss. I realize my Calvin will never be a boy like that, never be a boy who dives with such grace through an imaginary hoop in the water, never be a boy who has a secret love, never be a boy who feels the rush of young desire like a quick and exciting summer squall.
So much time has passed, but I'll never forget those summers when I was a youth.
These days, though, I feel that same, unmistakable kind of forever crush every time I look into my my husband’s eyes, which are bright and blue as a lovely august sky.
We never spoke about it, didn’t have to, my green eyes revealing a summer crush reflected in his warm gaze. It was our secret. We held hands when no one was watching, stole kisses in the trees. I never told him that I loved him, but perhaps I did. Perhaps he felt the same. I'll likely never know.
We gave each other gifts of toys and jokes and knowing smiles. He was smart, talented. I was confident, funny and artistic. We made a nice pair, I thought.
Some nights—now and again—I still dream of my summer crush, and it feels exactly the same—the fondness, the want. I wonder if he dreams it, too. But then I wake up to sadness and loss. I realize my Calvin will never be a boy like that, never be a boy who dives with such grace through an imaginary hoop in the water, never be a boy who has a secret love, never be a boy who feels the rush of young desire like a quick and exciting summer squall.
So much time has passed, but I'll never forget those summers when I was a youth.
These days, though, I feel that same, unmistakable kind of forever crush every time I look into my my husband’s eyes, which are bright and blue as a lovely august sky.
 |
| photo by Michael Kolster |
Perhaps those dreams are you yearning for and grieving, a bit, that lost you.
ReplyDelete