SASS - It Feels Like Summer

This story is odd. It is fiction, yet it is also nonfiction. This character does not exist, yet I have stood in his shoes and done his same deeds.

This story is odd. Though I speak of summer, I speak not with the joy others associate with the word. I write not of the season, but of the event that has occurred countless times in my life, always during summer.

This story is odd. For once, I chose to write on a subject painful to me. For once, I chose to be truthful about how I really feel through a work of fiction.

I currently regard this story as incomplete and not matching my standards of quality. I feel as though there is more I could do to make it better, but some part of me wishes to leave it as it is. It was written during a rare, fleeting moment of passion and sorrow. I do not wish to taint the beauty of truth with cold, logical revision and analysis.

Who knows? Maybe a month from now I'll revise this. It's entirely possible that I'll have free time to kill later, as I'm already starting to feel the summer...

It all began and ended with summer.




"It feels like summer," my friend said.

"Hmm?" I looked over lazily from my seat on the bench next to him.

"Feels like summer," he said again.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "A warm breeze? Just hanging out with friends? A lot of stuff, I guess."

I snorted. "You have no clue what you're talking about."

"I do!" he indignantly exclaimed. "Summer is just... a feeling of stuff."

"Uh-huh, sure," I said as dryly as possible.

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, smart guy. Since you're clearly a master on the subject, what does summer feel like, oh great and wise one?"

For a moment, I hesitated. The words rested just on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to say them. Instead, I swallowed the bitter words and simply shrugged as though I was indifferent. He grinned at my reaction.

"See? You don't know either."

Again, I said nothing.

"So..." he dragged the word out, as though bracing himself for the next topic of discussion. "When do you... y'know."

Ah. That.

"Next week," I replied. "Why do you keep asking?"

"A week," he muttered under his breath. "It's just hard to believe."

We sat in silence for a while.

"It's never enough time, is it?"

I shrugged. "You can do a lot in a year. It's a decent amount of time. You meet a lot of people and learn a lot of cool things. I'm not upset."

Silence again.

Then, whispered to me, "You were always bad at lying to me."

I didn't reply.

He helped me load the last box into the back of the truck.

"Whew!" he exclaimed, wiping away the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. "That was a ton of boxes! Just how much stuff is in all of these?"

"Literally all of my stuff," I retorted, shooting him a snarky grin.

He snorted, but didn't remark further. Instead, he tossed me a cold soda out of a cooler and then grabbed one for himself.

"Here's to a hard day's work," he said, raising the can of soda.

I chuckled, raising mine as well. After a moment, we both popped the tab and took a sip of the refreshingly cold drink.

"This is the last day."

I had been hoping to put off talking about that. Then again, it had to come up eventually.

"Yeah, It is," I replied.

We sat without speaking for a while, neither of us willing to break the calm silence. Eventually, I had to ruin the moment.

"I'm running a bit late already. It's time for me to go."

"We might see each other again someday," he said.

It's a lie. We both know it.

"Yeah. That'd be nice," I say.

My departure was uneventful from there. We shook hands, said "seeyah," and I got in the truck. From the windows, I could see him waving as I started the engine and drove away.

Leaving behind my only friend hurts. It feels bitter and cold. It feels like a gaping emptiness eating through my heart. It feels like an unhappiness that will never go away. It feels more lonely than anything I've ever felt before.




It feels like summer.