Summer comes early ’round here. The crickets chirp during the day and the moon washes an eerie glow over the town at night. But those nights, summer nights are the best. Humid, damp and warm, those nights. It’s like a blanket of summer surrounding you. The sounds that come most often that time of year are the screen door slamming shut and the moan of the old oak tree we so often stood under.

But him. I remember him, the new boy. His quiet demur was so appealing, but his wild eyes told another story. Those eyes I had looked into so many times this summer, held secrets. The secrets he would tell me.

The first secret I ever heard from him was quiet and beautiful. Sitting out there, out there in the desert. The moon over head and the dry, cracked ground under our backs. That moment he leaned over and just said, “I got a secret.” I looked into those wild, deep eyes of his and I asked, “Well, what is it?” He just stared at me and softly whispered into my neck, “I like you.”

I remember the storm that year, the crack of the lightin’, the howl of the thunder and the quiet shivering of my toes. I sat by that window and watched the teary streaks of rain fall across my view. The wind whipped across the leaves and instantly soothed me. I stood and I went outside, storms are always better out on the porch. I had been sittin’ awhile when he came by. He didn’t say a word, that new boy. He just sat down next to me and smiled.

My family got a new dog that year; an old, creaky, little dog. He moved like he was carrin’ weights and his sad face looked a little like my old neighbor that had passed. That one day when that slow, little, old dog got out, he ran. He ran right up to that new boy. The boy just picked up that dog and walked him over in his arms. He gave me the dog and told me softly, “Better hold onto him, things like this won’t last forever.”

He took me on a picnic. It was a nice picnic too, before it rained. He made me close my eyes while he set up everything. He said, “Open.” I did as I was told and I saw piles of bread and ham. “Is all you know how to make is sandwiches, boy?” I asked. I told that boy he was foolish but he just smiled. I found out that day that he can make more than sandwiches, he can make me smile.

His voice is as smooth as butterscotch, as sweet as honey and as deep as the ocean. His arms are muscular and soft. His eyes are bluer than the sky and happier than the stars. His hugs are warm and smell of summer. His smile can melt you like a Popsicle on a hot day. Him; he’s sweet. Me; I’m just me. But together were us.

After that summer he left. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going. He cocked his head to the side and told me not to worry ‘bout him. But I wasn’t worried about him, I was worried ‘bout me. Who was going to watch clouds with me? Who was going to give me soft, gentle kisses on my forehead? Summers come and go, but him; I’ll always remember him.