A Playlist Called Summer

A playlist called Summer glares at me from the passenger seat of my car. She’s been waiting for weeks now. I’ve stood her up. I’ve been ignoring her calls. She reminds me, time is running out.

“I’m one of those playlists, remember?”

Right. The time-sensitive ones.

My tongue curls into itself. I want to tell her that I’m sorry.

I want to say that I don’t know what to say.

I waffle on about writer’s block and dayjobs.

She shakes her head, “Don’t worry about that.”

She sighs, “Let me take care of it.”

When I press play she starts to dance.

"Electric Dream" by Bien

Sun shines from her skin. The car's fake leather seat, sweats against the back of my legs. Wind dances to the beat of Summer's body, as she sways out the open window. When she leans forward, the echoes of ink roadmaps line her thighs.

Summer is singing in the front seat of my car.

And all I can do for now is witness the moment.

The road curves with her direction.

Trees become smudges of emerald watercolor against swimming skies, as heavy clouds begin to open up.

Summer's bones sink into music, air, and stormy threats.

Summer smirks.

She opens her mouth wide to let the laughter out, to take the water in.

Asphalt turns into gravel; gravel turns into sand.

We stop in front of the storm.

That place where water, air, and electricity meet.

Summer smiles, “Here.”

She goes, “This is where we start.”

"Waves" by Miguel (Tame Impala Remix)

Suddenly, I am eight years old. My parents have hauled me into the backseat of our car. Lightning drags its nail across the sky. The only sound is thunder.

Raindrops burst against our windows on impact.

The sky explodes in white light.

Then, nothing.

At that moment, I think about Discovery Kids. The television channel. I think about cartoon people holding bright red umbrellas as they fry in rainstorms. I think about 2-D caricatures being turned into bacon.

At that moment, I think about lightning, and the lifeguard from our community pool. When the sky starts to blink, she yells at us to get out of the water. She tells us we'll be electrocuted.

At that moment, I watch my dad drive our family into the storm.

He tells me I have nothing to fear. He says that we are safe. He explains, "Because of the rubber tires."

My stomach clenches and I nod like I remember something from science class.

(I never remember science class.)

My father turns off the engine in the middle of an open field.

We watch the sky duke it out. Safe in our cage of metal and rubber.

"Opal Angel" by Luna Li

Summer unclicks my seatbelt.

I am a 25-year-old stone in the driver's seat of my beat-up car.

Summer rolls me from the door. She says, "Get out of the vehicle."

Each drop of rain becomes a goosebump. Summer leans down and kisses them away; her fingers tug at the hem of my shirt until it is a bright island against the dark wood of a rainsoaked dock.

Summer's lips leave blossoms under my skin. The warmth of her palms protect me from the cold of the rain.

The dock sways.

Thunder growls.

Summer's hands are the last sunshine on my shoulders before she pushes me in, and the shock of cold water devours my body.

"What We've Got" by Manatee Commune

For an instant, I am a singular clenched muscle.

For an instant, I am submerged in everything I cannot physically stand.

My skin crawls.

My lungs ache like they are both too large and too weak for my body. There is nothing but dark coldness, an abyss so cold it becomes its own color.

For an instant, I am my still, stopped heart.

Until that first gasping breath.

I look up and Summer is there, warm and teasing against the backdrop of a twilight horizon. The rain has slowed, and the lightning has finally finished its outburst. The sky lingers between storm and sunset. Somehow, the faint glow of Summer's voice is even sweeter in the dark.

She smiles, "You know what happens when you push me away."

I laugh and pull her in to the water.

.

A siren reclaiming her song.