Heat

Becki mentioned him in passing when we were talking earlier this week but he’s been creeping into my thoughts lately and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I saw the video for Gwen Stefani’s “Cool” the other day. Maybe it’s because I found one of his old t-shirts buried at the bottom of a drawer last week. Maybe it’s just this time of year. Whatever it is, I keep getting reminders of him. It doesn’t really make me melancholy, it just makes me remember…

I remember that he was wearing a blue and white baseball cap the day we met.
I don’t remember what I was wearing.

I remember his green eyes (I’m a sucker for green eyes) and the way he looked at me just a little too long.
I don’t remember minding his stare.

I remember being four years younger and having him sneak me into bars and clubs.
I don’t remember where I got the fake i.d.

I remember watching him makes steaks on the grill the first time I went to his apartment.
I don’t remember where I found the strawberries for dessert.

I remember him saying that he didn’t want me to fall in love with him.
I don’t remember even thinking about love.

I remember looking at his dimples as he grinned and then leaned in to kiss me for the first time.
I don’t remember our last kiss at all.

I remember taking off his shirt and thinking, “What am I getting myself into?”
I don’t remember where I left my inhibitions.

I remember the heat that summer.
I don’t remember the temps being particularly high, though.

I remember watching the meteor shower and drinking wine at Mt. Falcon.
I don’t remember how many stars we wished on that night.

I remember telling him he was going to miss me when I was gone.
I don’t remember expecting to hear him say, “You’re fucking right I’m going to miss you. I already miss you and you haven’t even left.”

I remember him helping me load the car as I got ready to head back to school.
I don’t remember seeing him slip the note or the cupcakes that I love into the front seat.

I remember him hugging me and whispering an almost inaudible, “I love you”.
I don’t remember saying anything in response except, “I’ll call you when I get there”.

I remember driving across I-80 wondering if it would ever be better than that.
I don’t remember the last time it was that good.

I remember thinking we’d never see each other again.
I don’t remember who called first, but we saw each other again…and again…and again.

It was never really the same. There’s something about a summer romance that just can’t be recaptured. But damn, it was fun trying.