A Summer Ago

I remember water so cold it rushed through my ears and pierced the inside of my skull. The warm sweat that had licked our ankles minutes before was gone, replaced with bubbles on fingertips, drops on cheeks. I remember the way Jack’s hair looked when it was wet. He looked like a labrador. 

He looked like a lover.

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Suhani is my best friend, but when I tell people  I spent my last summer with my best friends I never talk about my sister. I remember the way her face would fall, her pajamas just small enough to show the bareness of her feet and the anklet I helped her make from the thread of our old comforter. She’s tall like me, like our mom. I remember sprawling with her on the bed and playing with chalk in our driveway and that pretty color her room would get just before nightfall, the pink curtains casting the room in a peaceful glow. I remember making her lunch and then spending hours on Grace’s couch. I remember dropping her to swim and spending nights on Megan’s porch. I remember waving her goodbye and spending entire days in the park where I grew up, nestled in Jack’s lap. I remember come home soon and how I never came home soon. 

I remember writing Jack a letter the night before we broke up and asking him if he would remember me.

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I remember the reflection of the tire pressure light in Megan’s sunglasses as she told me we were going to be late and I asked her if I have ever once cared about being late and she told me the clock in her car is nine minutes fast and I asked her if she really thought that I hadn’t picked up on that after four years and she told me that even so, we were likely going to be late.  I remember playing soccer at the park where I grew up – no shoes, grass blades, hot sun. I remember banging through garage doors three minutes after curfew and where the hell have you been, Deeya? and the top that Grace wore when we went to the movies at 2 pm on a Tuesday just because we could. I remember sunlight like a dance partner, catching me when I fell, grasping my waist, smiling in encouragement.

I remember telling Megan that if she ever forgot me I’d kill her. I remember her telling me to shut up and go back to my alcohol safety modules.

I remember 3 more months of loving you, Deeya.

He had his hand on my knee and we sat outside, and May had just coughed up one of those days that felt like September. I remember feeling anxious and I remember he felt sad and torn up and like he was making the biggest mistake of his life. I remember what he said to me. I remember agreeing. For the best, right? 

We have time.

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I remember the smell of turmeric and jeera dusting the 8 suitcases that rolled around our foyer when everyone arrived at home. I remember orange slice smiles and puri laughs because when Masi was in town, everyone was happy. Nana Ji still joked about aloo beans. Siddanth and Aakarsh still liked cricket. But Mausaji made big money now. Nani Ma wore jeans instead of a salwaar. They spent 2 months with us, and I remember yearning for more. Suhani was happy when they left. She got her room back.

I remember movie night and tv show night and let’s paint each other's nails and reminisce on senior year night at Grace’s house. I remember writing her a letter the day before she left. I remember kissing her in the dim light of my basement because we were both drunk and college-bound and unable to tell one another I’m going to miss you. I remember playing soccer with her and everyone else outside in the park where I grew up and diving into Megan’s pool after, soothed by the violence of the cold waters. 

Week after week until she and everyone else and then I left home.

I remember lazing on Megan’s porch and late night Graeter's runs. She would get black raspberry. I would too. I remember staining the driveway with gossip, painting it in meaningless information about meaningless people and their meaningless lives. I remember the way the summer sun used to hold her shoulders. 

I remember that I didn’t write Megan a letter because I didn’t need to.

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I remember dating Jack, the relationship ironed and pressed onto this page because the snags and wrinkles are too much effort to put down. I remember laced fingers on rainy days and laying in the park where I grew up and asking him if he believed in God. I remember him brushing the hair from my cheek and reading my work and staring at me like I was the sun. He knew he would go blind, and for that, I shined brighter.

I remember the way my sister cried when I said goodbye. I wish I didn’t, but I do. 

I remember telling her I’ll be home soon.