SUMMER FEVER

15 | NOW

SUMMER VAN DOREN

I awaken amidst the silent guardians of my past, nestled between the moss-covered stones that mark the resting places of my mother and father.

The mist hangs low, casting a spectral haze over the cemetery, while the remnants of last night's revelries linger like a heavy fog in my mind.

How did I end up here, in the grass of the cemetery, instead of in the warmth of my own bed? It seems like I must have gone straight to the grave instead of straight to the bed.

Perhaps I needed to reconnect with nature after what ensued last night.

Skin against skin. Loud moans and pearls of sweat. His tongue with mine and his lips traveling along my jaw. The memory floods my mind like a virus. My dress, rumpled and disheveled, bears witness to the intensity of our night.

I reach out, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it between my fingers. "I remember how you always told me to find peace in the simple things, Dad. Well, the little things don't seem to matter until they're gone. Then you realize nothing mattered more."

The sky is a brilliant blue, the sun just beginning to rise, casting long shadows across the tombstones. I take a deep breath, savoring the earthy scent of nature mingled with the faint fragrance of flowers. I feel a strange sense of peace here, as if the presence of my parents still lingers, watching over me.

I roll onto my side, facing their graves. "Mom, Dad," I say, my voice soft. "I know it's been a while since I visited. Life's been...complicated."I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the sun seep into my skin. "I might have disappointed you yesterday," I admit. "Okay, let's be honest. I really did. It wasn't my finest moment. But you know me," I continue, opening my eyes and staring up at the sky. "I'm a mess, but I'm your mess. And I promise I'll try to do better. I just...I need to figure things out."

A gust of wind blows through the cemetery, rustling the leaves and making the grass sway. I take it as a sign, a gentle reminder that they're still with me, guiding me in their own way. I sit up, brushing the dirt and grass from my clothes.

"Thanks for listening," I say, patting the ground as if patting their hands. "I don't have all the answers, but I'm working on it. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get it right someday."

I crunch a leaf between my fingertips. As I sit beside my mother's grave, the autumn wind carries with it the rustle of leaves, a melancholic symphony that seems to echo the emptiness within me. Gazing at the swirling foliage, memories of conversations with my mother flood my mind like a tidal wave, each one a reminder of the bond we shared.

"Do you remember when you used to say the leaves were dancing, mom?" I whisper, the words hanging heavy in the air. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the distant call of a solitary bird.

I can almost picture her sitting beside me, her gentle smile illuminating her face. "They're not just leaves, darling, you would say, your voice a soft melody in the breeze. They're fairies, putting on a show just for us."

I exhaled.

"I'd scoff at your words, my skepticism as tangible as the earth beneath me. Leaves can't dance, mom, I protest. But you only laughed."

Now, as I trace the letters of her name etched into the cold stone before me, I feel a pang of regret wash over me like a tidal wave. How I long to hear her laughter once more, to feel the comforting embrace of her presence.

"I hate how much I need to pretend here, Mom," I confess, my voice hardly more than a whisper. "Pretend that everything's okay, that you're still with me. But it's not okay, and you're not here. And no matter how hard I try, I can't make believe anymore."