Golden Hour
Memories of a fleeting of summer - a reckless teenager, newly fallen in love
My flip flops smack the concrete floor as I walk the aisles of Walmart with no reason other than to feel the freedom of driving somewhere alone.
My golden Kia rolls up to the volleyball nets at Burmill Park. Nine teenagers squished into seven seats. We make up our own rules and play until the sun has disappeared and everyone slowly loses their coordination.
My legs squeak as I slide into the booth. The waitress gives us menus, and we peruse the various combinations of toast, eggs, and bacon. It’s past 10 pm, and dinner is a distant memory. I’m wearing Minnie Mouse ears, and no one questions it.
My morning shift ends at 12. Someone suggests driving to the mountains. Two hours later, I’m standing under a waterfall in a sports bra and shorts, squealing as the icy liquid leaves me covered in goosebumps.
A boy taps on my window after dark. I carefully push the pane up so he can slip in. In the morning, he hides in my closet with a magazine until my dad leaves for work.
My apartment complex keeps the lights on at night, turning the pool's blue chlorine water golden. Somehow, my fob still works this late. We jump hand in hand. Our limbs tangle in the water.
It’s midnight. He shows up at my door and asks if I want to hang out. I wake my dad, who, in a sleepy stupor, tells me to be back by two. We walk through quiet neighborhoods, laughing at each other’s stupid jokes.
The first CD I ever bought, Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange, blasts from the speakers in my car. We sing along, bellowing every word we learned from our summer break escapades.
I weep along when we are no longer a “we”. Tears blur my vision, yet the words still flow from my mouth - muscle memory. I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still? Do ya, do ya?