With Hints of Nostalgia.

“Close your eyes.”

I obey and the world blinks out. Anticipation jolts through me as I fight to be still, to be patient.

I feel everything.

I press my palms to the blanket beside my folded legs, still warm from the day-long beating issued by the Florida summer sun. I let the heat bleed into my hands, enjoying the dry warmth now that the relentless sun has set beyond the horizon. We were lucky today— no uninvited tantrums from the sky. Only fairytale, cerulean blue skies greeted by rolling clouds that barely gave respite from the sun. I breathe in the bearable humidity with a sigh of relief.

A plastic bag rustles as I picture your hand digging. A twig snaps. Insects sound.

Fidgeting, my fingers sweep to the edge of the blanket and find the freshly mowed grass. Bouncing the resilient blades once, twice.

I slide the pads of my fingers up a velvety blade then pinch the end. Testing its strength, I pull as it wrestles to stay rooted. Snap.

A bird whistles. The radio crones. Children giggle.

An involuntary smile finds my lips as I hear our families, surrounding us, playing and enjoying the fading summer evening. Making the most of the short twilight hours before the balmy night herds us inside.

A mosquito buzzes past my ear. I wait for the sting. The wind caresses my cheek.

Forever drawn to your orbit, my mind drifts back to you. Your movements, your scent, your sounds. My lungs release, relaxing as my body recognizes you draw near.

The rustle of your jeans as you scoot closer. The scuff of your boot on the earth. Your soothing existence radiates past my skin and takes residence in my bones. It bathes me. I’d happily drown if you'll allow it.

I taste the sweet citrus IPA on your breath and smell the sunscreen on your skin.

A trickle of sweat slides down the slope of my spine and makes home in the waistband of my jean shorts.

“Open up,” your voice floats around me. My mouth opens with a pop and your deep chuckle heats through my chest.

Rough fingertips brush my lower lip as you shove the food into my mouth and withdraw.

I press my lips together and feel the rigged cracker on my tongue. Salt flakes make my mouth water. My jaw works once, hesitantly tasting the mystery concoction. A soft, fluffy cheese hits my tongue, tart and mixed with an herb I can’t place.

This is what perfection tastes like— tangy, cream that kisses your taste buds.

Must be goat cheese.

A groan of pleasure. A crunch of food. A whisper of jeans.

The second chew brings an onslaught of new flavors. The rush of sweet honey, combatting the bitter cheese. They tangle together, merging into one.

A burst of juice as my teeth crush the single raspberry, perfectly ripe. Cold and crisp, its sweet surprise catches me off guard. Happily blind, I’m swept away with sensation.

This here— this meal, while breathing in the Florida air— is summer. Our small ritual that I never valued enough. Appreciation tastes sweeter.

Reluctantly, I savor the notes before swallowing.

My mouth pops open, demanding more.

The wind combs the leaves. Insects sound. Hands reach, grabbing air.

I open my eyes to the fading light and an empty lawn.

The porch swing croaks.

On a plain wooden board, my favorite feast rests at my knees. One more.

A knife clacks. A plastic bag rustles. The honey squirts.

The raspberry trembles as it reaches my lips, almost falling off. I press my lips together and feel the rigged cracker on my tongue. I feel everything.

I chew the food. I taste nothing.

Perhaps you took the flavor with you.