Summer Doesn't Last Forever

by Magdalene G. Jones

  Summer does last forever.

  I gaze beyond the cross at the glowing, curtained window. Hope, my middle name, and a part of me I lost too long ago.

  Tarni Hope Bird. I smile. I smile at the window, my glimpse into an eternal land. You’re found.

  I pull my journal out of my satchel, not bothering to wipe my eyes. And my heart overflowing, I set my pen to the paper.

  6:25 A.M. 25/6/19,

  Home (aka, the dusty floor of this chapel),

  I am home. I have been broken down, let myself fall, and taken a fair share of tumbles to get here. But I’m here, finally.

  And this world has never looked so colorful.

  My pursuit of happiness in other human people? I let it go. My loss and self-doubt? My failures? They aren’t mine anymore. Jesus died for my sins, and he died for Adam’s. He died for Asher’s. He died for Everly’s.

  He died for Luke’s.

  I exhale heavily. A tear traces down the blue ink and yellow page, leaving streaks of green.

  Peace is a hard thing to find in a world like ours. It is an even harder thing to hold onto. Which is why, dear worthy one, you can’t set peace upon anything but that skull hill.

  Worthy one.

  Yes.

  Somehow, I am the most shameful person I know—“the chief of sinners.” And at the same time, I have been made worthy. Through God’s mercy, I am as worthy as every precious person on this earth.

  I was not made to be small. I am bold, loud, overwhelming, and a too-real thing in a world that pretends it can control anything. I have faults—many of them. But I will boast all the more gladly in my weaknesses because, in comparison to my Savior, I am but dust.

  Ransomed, redeemed dust.

  And in his hands, I am stardust.

  I shut my journal and put away my pen. I run a hand through my hair, trapping dust in its strands.

  Healing is a road I have barely begun, but my pain won’t dictate my life anymore. That role belongs to one person and one person alone.

  “‘I will rise. Stand redeemed,’” I sing through the chapel. “‘Heaven open over me. To your name, eternally, endless glory I will praise.’”

  My heart releases a deep exhale. I grab my writing tools again, scribble the date, and begin.

  Dear Everly,

  :•─.•─:•─.•─:•☾☼☽•:─•.─•:─•.─•:

  I step up to my bungalow door and take a deep inhale. Laughter drifts through the door. I had stopped by the dining hall to grab a bit of breakfast and look for my roommates. Lena told me they had come and gone, and I returned to my room. It’s better this way. I clutch my journal. But just as nerve-racking. I open the door.

  Maya, Genevieve, and Abi all jump to their feet.

  “Tarni!” Abi runs forward. “We were worried about you. Where were you?”

  “I’m sorry, Abi. I went for a walk,” I pat her back.

  “Long walk,” Maya crosses her arms.

  “I know. I just . . . ,” I flail my arms, searching for the words to say.

  I have cried and written and cried some more. How is this still so hard to communicate? I fuss with my journal binding.

  “Are you all right?” Genevieve’s forehead furrows.

  “Yes,” I exhale a laugh. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  My friends glance between each other, relief painting their expressions. I lick my lips. I look down at my journal, and my heart quickens.

  “There’s a lot I want to say,” I breathe out a sigh. “And I don’t know where to start.”

  “Then fumble along, dear friend. We will listen anyway,” Abi sits on Genevieve’s bed.

  Genevieve sits on mine and gestures for me to join her. I do, and she puts her arm around me. I clear my throat.

  “First, I’m sorry,” I hold up my hands before they can interrupt me. “I have not been a good friend. I have been fearful, untrusting, closed off. I have ranted about other friends rather than invest in our friendships. I have been . . . so caught up in my struggle, I have neglected to hear yours. Your friendships are some of the greatest blessings God has given to me. I have undervalued them, and I am sorry.”

  Genevieve squeezes me.

  “Thank you, Tarni,” Maya smiles. “And if it makes you feel better, we’ll say we forgive you. Though we don’t think it’s necessary.”

  We chuckle.

  “Next . . . I guess I should tell you about my ‘friends’ from before . . . ,” I lick my lips.

  And from beginning to end, I tell the truth of those “Eternal Summer” days. Abi stares at me, horrified. Maya’s face darkens with each word. Genevieve sniffs in my ear.

  “Everly and Adam broke off our friendships last night, forcing me to process all of this,” I finish. “I think I will respond to Everly and at least try to have a conversation with her. I don’t want us to end things in misunderstanding. But Adam’s friendship, I am happy to let go.”

  “Tarni,” Genevieve hugs me.

  Maya and Abi join us on my bed. We are silent for several moments.

  “‘The truth shall set you free,’” I finally whisper. “It is far better knowing and understanding than being blind.”

  “I know,” Abi rests my head on her shoulder. “But it’s still hard.”

  “Oh, heck yeah. I have tons of healing ahead of me. And more hard conversations,” I smile despite the bleakness of my words.

  “Is this why you have been so . . . hesitant with us?” Maya gestures incoherently.

  “Kinda. The identity these ‘friends’ gave me became my everything, and then they left. That and just being a TCK has given me . . . abandonment issues? For lack of a better phrase? Being abandoned became my biggest fear, and I experienced it over and over again. I didn’t want to come to camp because I knew it was going to end with me crying. Left. Lost. Abandoned,” I fight a shiver.

  “You still fear that?” Genevieve guesses.

  “Is that why you’ve avoided Amias?” Abi asks without the typical tease in her voice.

  I nod to both of them, “But I understand now. And—by grace—I will learn to overcome this fear. Or at least control it, so it no longer dictates my life.”

  “Do you think we will abandon you?” Maya looks me straight in the eye.

  I smile and shake my head, “No, I think I have learned to trust you. And I see your hearts. Even when I can’t trust myself and my overwhelming traits, I do trust you.”

  “You aren’t overwhelming, Tarni,” Genevieve scowls.

  “I have a touch of overwhelmingness to me,” I sigh. “But it’s all right. I will learn to release the pieces of my personality that are bad, and control the good ones.”

  We are silent again. I stare at the light flooding through the window.

  All of our insecurity fears are ‘being’ verbs. Being worthless, being abandoned, being too much, being ugly. It’s like we are holding onto that one little word to give us hope because being *insert whatever insecurity* means we can stop being *insert whatever insecurity.*

  But when will we learn to drop the phrases all together? When we will learn that . . . Well, being can never be worthless, too much, ugly, or forgotten? We are. We exist. That in itself is a miracle, and yet it doesn’t begin to pierce the truth of who we are.

  Isn’t it sad? We are the most complex, beautiful creations on the planet. And we are also the only beings who can feel unworthy. A bird doesn’t question whether the other birds like it. A camel doesn’t worry about the size of its hump or legs. Yet there’s hardly a person on earth who hasn’t felt out of place to the point that they question themselves.

  I’m just one of countless others who have.

  “No,” I whisper. “I know I am not too much. In my head, but my heart still needs to catch up.”

  Maya chuckles, “You and your phrases. I love it.”

  I grin at her. And at Abi. And Genevieve.

  “Be careful with this one, girls,” I gesture to myself. “She’s got a fragile heart. An
d I’m afraid healing will be long and a little dreary.”

  “We don’t mind,” Genevieve beams.

  “Not a bit,” Maya agrees, squeezing my shoulder.

  “Thank you,” I open my journal, take out three pieces of yellow paper, and pass them around, checking the names. “Everything else I’ve wanted to say is in these.”

  They take them, and silence fills the bungalow. I look down at the two other letters still in my journal. Everly. And Amias.

  Abi wipes her eyes. She folds her letter back up and hugs me. A moment later, Genevieve adds her arms to the tangle. Then Maya. We don’t say a word, and we don’t need to. My eyes fall on the last line of Abi’s.

  Soul sisters. Bound by hearts, yes. But bound by faith to something stronger and deeper.

  My home is their home. Their presence is one of the closest connections to our eternal home. And for a weary TCK, that kind of community is incredible.

  We sit up, detangling ourselves and smiling around at each other.

  “So,” Abi points at Amias’s letter in my journal. “Are you going to give that to him?”

  “Yes,” I puff out my cheeks. “And I need my girls to help me plan it.”

  :•─.•─:•─.•─:•☾☼☽•:─•.─•:─•.─•:

  I stare in the vanity mirror, my stomach twisting. Nervous excitement pulses through me, and I fuss with the bottom of my shirt. Genevieve clasps my arms and beams in the mirror.

  “You’ve got this, Tarni Bird,” she sets her chin on my shoulder.

  “You certainly do,” Abi steps over and messes my headband back into place. “You have every reason to be confident.”

  “I look . . . not stunning,” I point at the glass.

  “You aren’t supposed to look stunning,” Maya says from her top bunk, propping her cheek on her palm. “Amias likes you. There’s no need to pretend you have to win him. You only need to be bravely you.”

  I turn and face her, “We don’t know if he likes me.”

  “Tarni,” Abi snorts. “He looks at you like you are the embodiment of summer. He lets you listen to his music when he hides it from everyone else. And when you laugh, he always turns to see why. If he says he doesn’t like you, he’s an emotionally clueless bumpkin or a coward.”

  I puff out my cheeks and look back into the mirror. I look scarily like myself. My hair puffs, my glasses try to slide off my nose, and my eyes and face are as ordinary brown as they’ve always been. I flex my hands.

  I need to do this. I meet my own gaze. Not to prove anything. Not because it’s the “bold” option. But because I refuse to let the fear of abandonment keep trapping me. If Amias does not feel the same, I will be alright. I’m not rendered worthless. If he feels the same, I will not be made worthy.

  “Do you have your notebook?” Abi looks me up and down.

  “When does she not have her notebook?” Maya laughs.

  I ignore her and pull my journal out of my satchel.

  “And do you have lip balm?” Abi points at my bag.

  I frown, “Why would I need lip balm?”

  “You know . . . ,” Maya drawls, staring at my face with rapt attention. “In case he kisses you.”

  Heat floods my face, and I clap a hand over my mouth. The girls laugh, but Genevieve waves at Abi and Maya.

  “Oh, stop. You aren’t helping. Tarni, ignore the children. You are wearing perfume, a headband, and your lucky embroidered jeans. Between you and your poem, you will woo Amias without trouble,” Genevieve gives me a thumbs-up.

  I release a breath, “Thank you, Vive.”

  “Sure thing,” she squeezes my hand. “Now go get ‘im.”

  “What?” My eyes widen. “Now?”

  “Yes. Now. We are creatures of the present, Tarni Bird. Putting off the present is never a good practice.”

  I shake my head, panic reeling through me again. Maya hops off her bunk. She grabs my shoulders and starts pushing me towards the door. Before I can free myself, Abi and Genevieve join her. Three lionesses push their cub up on her legs outside. I scowl at them, fussing with my hair.

  “Just give me a few more minutes -,” I plea.

  “Amias!” Genevieve waves to a figure beyond me.

  Abi smiles and winks as his steps draw nearer. My heart plays yo-yo, bouncing from my throat to the depths of my stomach. Why are feelings so piercing? And why must fear accompany such care? I turn and face Amias.

  “Hey, girls.” He smiles his stomach-flopping smile. “What did Tarni do to get kicked out?”

  “My mothers are concerned about my failure to join the hand-ball games,” I roll my eyes and offer him a grin. “Mind assisting in my escape?”

  Amias chuckles, “My pleasure.”

  “Thank you,” I sniff at my roommates—who all seem to be restraining giggles—and start walking.

  Amias walks at my side. I fuss with my belt loops, my heart bouncing faster. Boom. Down in my stomach, causing dread to overwhelm my senses. Boom. Up in my throat, restricting my breathing as I dare to hope he might care for me as I care for him.

  “Where do you want to go?” Amias asks after several moments of silence.

  “Um . . . the beach?”

  “Sure.”

  Our silence resumes. I swallow hard, unable or willing to start speaking yet.

  We keep walking. My discomfort grows with silence. Amias glances at me with a hint of concern in his bright eyes, but thankfully, he doesn’t force conversation. We walk through the hotel, right up to the water.

  The crashing ocean waves soothes my weary, anxious heart. I take a deep inhale and plop down on the sand. Amias joins me. The sun beams her favor upon us, and the silence continues. Amias looks at me, then back at the water.

  “What is it, Tarni?” He pats my hand.

  I bite my lip and adjust my glasses. Amias’s concerned gaze and nearness slow my bouncing heart.

  “Well . . . ,” I try to find the words. “Well . . . I have been struggling, as you have probably noticed.”

  He nods, “I also noticed everyone else on this resort bugging you about it. So I tried not to pressure you too.”

  “Thank you. I have been a little overwhelmed,” I reach into my purse, fiddling with my pen. “I guess . . . I should start with an apology. My own troubles have gripped me so hard I overlooked our friendship. In some ways.”

  “It’s fine,” Amias promises with a smile.

  “It’s not. I . . . I was so caught up in the past, my fears, and self-doubts that I didn’t invest in our friendship the way I should have. Thankfully, camp isn’t over. So I hope to make that right.”

  Amias doesn’t respond. He keeps smiling gently. I avoid his gaze, scared of the deep care lying there. Scared to hope. I shake myself. Hoping is the reason why you are here.

  “But, I did have good reasons to be distracted,” I begin my tale again.

  I start with Asher and Adam’s bullying, talk about Luke, and end with my foolishness through camp and the last few months. Amias’s eyebrows draw closer and closer together with concern, but he doesn’t say a word. I am grateful. My hands shake, and so does my voice. But each time I tell the story, it’s like drawing poison out of my heart.

  “So, yeah,” I look down at my hands. “I have been a real mess. But in some ways less than I thought I was. All the same, thanks for putting up with me -.”

  “Tarni,” Amias chuckles and pulls me into a hug.

  I stiffen in surprise for point-two seconds before releasing a sigh. I squeeze him back.

  “I’m so so sorry you had to go through that. Thank you for telling me,” Amias’s breath tickles my hair.

  “Of course,” my insides melt a little.

  He pulls back, touching a strand of my hair, “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “The first step to healing is accepting you need it. Second is learning to forgive those who hurt you. And third is processing,” I shrug, unable to hold in a small smile. “I am healing. It will take time, but I
’m healing.”

  “I understand. Do your parents know yet?”

  “I want to tell them when they come to pick me up from camp. I don’t think it’s fair to tell them over the phone. It’s hard enough to talk about in person.”

  “Sounds good. And you can talk to me whenever you need,” Amias stares straight into my eyes.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, gazing back.

  We don’t move for several moments, looking at each other. My heart swells as I search out the depths of his beautiful blue eyes. My care for Amias frightens me. Yes, because my fears of abandonment still linger over me, but it’s more than that. Relationships are scary.

  But they are beautiful because there is hardship, fear, and heartache. Because through those realities, clinging to something deeper than our circumstances . . .

  There is love.

  Drew said we are too young to understand love. And I said love isn’t about understanding. And in a culture where love is a word thrown around like it’s nothing and simultaneously kept close until we feel it is “appropriate,” the two teenagers are correct.

  Love is done. Felt. Given away. It is patient. Kind. Self-sacrificing.

  Have I fallen in love with Amias?

  Well, I love Genevieve, Drew, Maya, and Abi. I love Koa, my parents, and worship songs. I love raspberry gelato, swimming, walking on the beach, and laughing at dumb things that make the world feel smaller.

  I love Amias as my dear, dear friend. And my love for him is growing and becoming richer.

  I stare into Amias’s blue, blue eyes. And my heart stops bouncing. For a moment, I want to laugh. Here we are, two scared broken kids sitting on a beach in Greece, staring at each other like we can discover a thousand mysteries within our irises.

  Amias opens his mouth, but I turn away and pull my journal out of my bag.

  “I-uh-wrote something for you,” my face heats.

  Amias raises his eyebrows. I take a deep breath, paging through the journal. Scared to believe he could care for me—even now—, I trust God to handle it and pass Amias the yellow journal.

  “Read it. Out loud,” I whisper the last two words.

  He takes it and runs his hand over the paper. He clears his throat.