Short Story Collection

Endless Summer

It has been years since I last saw him, but there he is, sitting on the railing of my neighbor's front porch like he's never been gone. Eyes and smile still exactly the same, but now with a smoldering cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, his face illuminated by the orange glow of the flames in the fire basket. He looks so bright; brighter than the sun, painful to look at. Over the fire, he suddenly meets my eyes and his expression turns shocked. A flame leaps higher than the rest, takes me out of his sight. I escape before the fire returns to normal.

///

Pressed against a wall, his body close to mine, he asks me: "Why did you run that night?"

I can't respond to a question I don't know the answer to, so I just kiss him instead. It feels like fire does when you're so close to it that it almost burns you. It feels dangerous and delightful, and then his hands are on my hips, fingers digging into my skin, and I close my eyes and brace for the impact.

///

The impact comes to weeks later, when he's raging against his father. I'm there for the whole thing, wishing I'm not and realizing that this is why I ran. His anger is like a wildfire, starting out small but quickly turning destructive to everything in the vicinity. The flames of his fury leap around and lash out at anything or anyone that agitates him in the moment, regardless of whether or not it's something to get mad at. He can't possibly be contained, and I worry about anyone who would try to do so.

///

If his anger is a wildfire, his pain is like a dying candle. It comes slow and unevenly, like the flickering of the small flame before it chokes, and faster and faster. It starts with a hitched breath here and there, but they become more frequent and soon he's sobbing in my arms, the contact between our skin still burning like that first kiss. I kiss his hair, tell him it's okay and pray it's enough to light up his flame again.

///

He's as electric as the neon lights above us when he plays his guitar: alive and bright and fascinating and beautiful in a way that's hard to understand when you're not seeing it. Under the chameleon lights, the sweat gleams on his forehead and neck, and his eyes are sparkling, their color intensified when blue light sweeps over them. He's smiling, his chest rising and falling quickly, and I know where his joy will lead us later in the night. But for now, I'm content watching him make his music and entertain his crowd. I love seeing him like this.

///

Making love to him is like coming home to a burning fireplace in the dead of winter. It's warm and welcoming and comfortable, and when I first feel that warmth, I'm breathless. His touch still burns, and I don't stop to wonder when that tingling feeling had become familiar and pleasant: I just know that it is, and that I will never stop loving the way it seems to set my nerve endings alight until each one is a flickering candle of its own.

///

When he's fighting with someone, physical or verbal, he's like lightning. He strikes fast and hard, and he strikes first. It hurts to watch, but closing my eyes doesn't help because just like the bright flash of a lightning bolt, I keep seeing it on my eyelids. He picks a lot of fights, and half the time he probably doesn't even know why. It's as if he can't control himself. As if the wildfire of anger that lives inside him, is too much for even him to contain.

///

Fighting with him is a series of explosions. It's loud and ugly and devastating and the aftermath can last for days –or until neither of us can remember what we were fighting about and we decide we were just being stupid. I know that isn't a good solution because we keep fighting, but I can only stay away from him for so long. If he's fire, then I'm a pyromaniac: inexplicably drawn to the flames, no matter how many times I get burned.

///

One fight is like a supernova. I can't remember what it's about, but we were both screaming and crying and at some point he pushed me into a wall like he had that night. I want to kiss him again, because it'll stop the fighting, but he's shaking and staring at me as if I just burned him. He draws back suddenly, letting go of my wrists where he had them pinned by my sides. The skin there is an angry red, almost like an actual burn. He sees it too; he must have, because he stumbled back, whispering sorry over and over again. I try to go after him, to reassure him, but he's faster. God, he runs out of the house with the speed of light.

///

The next time I see him, he looks different. His brightness looks more like the dim glow of a lightbulb, but this is somehow even more painful to look at than when it resembled the sun because this isn't him. He's supposed to be bright and full of fire and fight. He looks extinguished.

///

He leaves my life like a meteor. I'm lucky I even catch him before he's gone, but through the window, I see him walk towards a car with a duffel bag and someone's hand on his shoulder, and I run outside and call his name. He stops, slowly turning towards me and stumbling when I throw my arms around his neck. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't push me away either. Not immediately anyway. Eventually, he gently lowers me to the ground and kisses me, quick and swift and the complete opposite of our first kiss. Then he picks up his bag from where he dropped it and continues towards the car.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

He looks so tired and sad, but he manages smile and it's like a watery winter sun breaking through the clouds and fog. "I was only here for the summer."

With that, he closes the car door and the car speeds off towards the sunset. 

///

Song: Endless Summer by The Jezabels (go check it out: it's awesome)