Summer Doesn't Last Forever

by Magdalene G. Jones

  “And I’m leaving at four-ish,” Amias scratches the back of his neck.

  We fall into a heavy silence, and I swallow hard. First to leave. But then, maybe it is better this way. Rip off the bandaid, and say goodbye to everyone at once. That’s better than watching them leave one-by-one. I lean my head on Amias’s shoulder. He strokes my hair but doesn’t say anything.

  “What do we do?” Maya looks around at us. “There are so many people to say goodbye to.”

  “We spend as much time together as we can,” Genevieve tucks her chin. “Between packing, of course.”

  “I’m already packed. I mean, I have to be,” I scratch my arm.

  “I think everyone else still has to work on that,” Abi pushes back from the table.

  “Good,” Amias stands up and offers me his hand. “Tarni and I will be back once you have finished your tasks.”

  I manage a smile, letting him help me to my feet. The others smirk.

  “Is that an excuse for time alone or a motivator for the rest of us?” Genevieve rests her head on her palm.

  “Both,” Amias winks at me.

  I giggle and squeeze his hand. We walk outside, Amias leading the way towards the beach. I gaze at the morning sky, silent. Please, please, please, make this time feel long. We step out onto the sand, surrounded by the ocean breeze.

  “I’m going to miss you. So, so much,” Amias takes both of my hands and faces me.

  “Me too,” I look down.

  “But I am going to come see you. I promise.”

  I smile slightly, “I want to hope, but I live in a crazy place. I doubt your parents would be too happy about it.”

  “My parents like you, Tarni. And . . . I mean, they want to get to know you and your family better. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came too.”

  “I do truly hope so.”

  He strokes my hands with his thumbs, “Things are going to be different after this, Tarni. But I just want to say—because I know your self-doubts will slip back in . . . I’m not going to give up on us unless God tells us it isn’t right anymore.”

  “Really?” Warmth blooms in my heart again.

  “Call me a hopeless romantic.”

  I laugh, and he smiles. He releases one of my hands, brushing my hair out of my face.

  “I care about you,” his smile grows still softer. “More than I can hope to explain. If I were perhaps a little bolder or a little older or a little more sure of myself, I might . . . I might even say I . . . ”

  He licks his lips and looks down, and my breath tightens in my chest. But I reach up and run my hand through his hair. His eyes meet mine again—those bright blue eyes that remind me of the sky from an aeroplane window seat.

  I lean forward. Too terrified for such a little thing, I press my lips to Amias’s cheek. He stiffens in shock. His breathing goes shallow. I grin against his skin and take a step back, my face burning.

  “There. We’re both hopeless romantics.”

  Amias stands there. Stunned. He lifts a hand to his face, staring at me. I burst into nervous laughter. He unfreezes and tugs me into a hug.

  “Golly, Seabird,” he breathes. “Sometimes, you just shock my socks off.”

  “Well, good. At least I’m not boring.”

  “You certainly aren’t,” he rests his cheek against my hair.

  We are silent, still, for a long moment. I beg the sun to freeze. I shut my eyes to avoid seeing it and hold onto Amias. He steps back and takes my hand. I lean against him, and we walk down the beach, sand creeping into our flipflops.

  Too soon, I cannot deny the risen sun. Amias and I walk back into the lounge, where campmates sit around and talk. Including our group of friends. We join them, discussing our favorite T.V. shows, playing four-square, and laughing at our campmates’ dumb antics. We valiantly ignore the steady clock ticking. My roommates and I relive the best memories of camp and congratulate Lena once again on her skit work.

  But summer ends at some point, and my parents tell me to get my things.

  I walk to the bungalow with my roommates, trying to think about what’s not gone or leaving. Genevieve hooks my arm in hers, but none of us speak. We walk along the flower-lined, cobblestones, gazing at the Marathon mountains and away from the sun. A deep sigh aches in my bones, but I hold it in. We step into our bungalow, and I grab my suitcase. I look around our tidied-up room.

  Within a few hours, all trace of us shall disappear. The smells of Abi’s perfume and hairspray will fade. Maya’s pencil drawings on the bunk will be scrubbed off, Genevieve’s fresh flowers will wilt in their vase, and the room will forget the four girls bound by good food, games, and love.

  “I hate this,” I drop my bag back onto the floor.

  “Us too,” Genevieve wraps me in a tight hug.

  “Everyone does,” Maya joins us.

  Then Abi. We don’t move, treasuring our last moments as roommates. I blink at the ceiling as my heart tries to rent in two.

  “I love you, girls,” I whisper. “So, so much.”

  “We love you. We’re proud of you,” Abi pulls back. “And no matter where you are, you’ve got us.”

  “We have your back,” Maya agrees.

  “Thank you,” I sling my bag on my shoulder and force myself to walk outside.

  We trail back to the hotel building. My heart sinks still further, grounding itself in the pavement beneath my feet. I release my suitcase to the bus’s storage compartment and sit on the steps. Waiting with my friends and campmates. I rest my head on Amias’s shoulder. He takes my hand in his. As he always does.

  “We are so happy you could join us, Tarni Bird,” Jeff beams down at me. “And we love you.”

  So many people nod in agreement, I almost start crying then and there. I wipe my eyes.

  “I love you too. You guys have changed my life,” I choke off, looking around the crew of people.

  “Tarni,” my mom calls. “It’s time.”

  I blow out a breath and get to my feet.

  Rachelle rushes over and pulls me into a hug, “So great meeting you! Stay in touch.”

  “You too! And will do,” I turn to Lena, and she hugs me gently.

  The girl with a story awfully like mine, smiles, “It’s a pleasure and an honor to be your friend.”

  “Thank you. For everything,” I whisper back.

  We step away from each other, and some deep hole in my heart seals. I turn to Jeff. And Miss Jan. And dozens of kids who had honored me, or jumped in the cold springs, or cared from a distance.

  Kelly wraps me in a tight hug, and I burst into tears. I can’t even apologize before she’s replaced by Brynn.

  “Don’t you dare cry all over me, Tarni Bird,” Drew threatens in a shaking voice.

  I laugh, but it chokes off as I hug him too, “Thanks for being a wonderful friend.”

  “Right back at you,” he wipes his eyes and moves out of the way.

  Maya pounces on me. Everything freezes again, slicing through my heart, and I can’t make myself move. Her shoulders shake as badly as mine.

  “I love you,” I grab hold of her.

  “Right back at you,” she pulls back.

  Abi grabs me. Her tears run into my shirt. My heart screams within me, and my tears fall faster.

  “Your friendship is such a gift,” she kisses my cheek. “And I refuse to say goodbye.”

  I can’t respond. My throat loses the ability to give words a voice. Just sobs. Just heart-deep weeping. Genevieve holds me close as I squeeze her. She pets my hair and tries to speak, but her tears cut her off.

  “Tarni!” My mom calls again.

  The bus roars to life. Panic sparks through me. I turn to Amias, my vision blurring with tears. He lifts me in his arms and holds me so tightly, my ribs ache. I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing.

  “Shh,” Amias kisses my cheek. “It’s okay. This is not goodbye.”

  But it is a goodbye. And my heart feels like it is drowning. Cut off from oxyg
en. Encased in torturous pressure. I press my face into Amias’s shoulder, trying to cling to every millisecond we are given.

  Gifted.

  For each and every measure of time is meaningful. It is real and present. And as I cling to Amias . . . and then as all my friends give me one last group hug . . . I feel so blessed with the one thing I never seem to have enough of.

  Time.

  At that moment—with pairs of arms holding me—, I have enough. I have plenty. I have an abundance that wells through my body and overflows in tears.

  I climb onto the bus, tears streaming off my face. Amias walks up to the side. He sticks out his hand. I reach mine through the window and clasp his fingers. Our fingertips beg the distance to dissolve.

  “Should I pretend to say I love you?” he asks in a low whisper.

  I release a half-laugh, half-sob, “Maybe I should pretend to say the same.”

  “Maybe.”

  I gaze into his eyes, tangling my fingers in his. Neither of us says a word. And we don’t have to. I look up at the rest of my friends, and the urge to weep grows. I wave wildly. They wave back, trying to smile through their sobs.

  The bus starts creeping forward, and Amias’s hand slips out of mine. His fingers take my heart with him. I press my palms against the window, blinking against the blur of tears.

  Amias.

  Genevieve.

  Abi.

  Maya.

  Drew.

  Brynn.

  Kelly.

  Lena.

  Rachelle.

  And all others I had eaten with.

  Laughed with.

  Cried with

  Worshiped with.

  My family.

  “I’ll call you soon!” Amias promises.

  “Us too!” Genevieve waves.

  “You had better!” I shout back.

  They laugh.

  Amias wipes his eyes, “I miss you already!”

  We wave as the bus pulls out of the parking lot, and tears blur Amias, my roommates, and my camp into a cloud of bright colors. My heart reaches out to them, clinging to the cloud.

  The bus turns and hides them in the trees.

  I collapse into my seat. I bury my face in my hands, and my sobs burst forward like a river rushing through a broken dam. Sorrow crushes me with the strength of falling boulders. Koa pats my shoulder from the seat beside me, but he doesn’t say anything. I can’t even thank him.

  The tears refuse to stop.

  We drive to the airport, and it takes everything in me to get off the bus. I keep my head down as we go through security, praying no one notices my shaking shoulders. Time passes in fading, distracted moments of holding in an ocean. My grandparents shift but don’t talk to me. No one does.

  I have never been more thankful.

  My dad squeezes my shoulder as we board the plane, and Mum offers me a sad smile. I pause at our row to let Koa in. He shakes his head.

  “You can have the window seat, Tarni.”

  A laugh breaks through my tight throat, “Thank you, Koa.”

  I pull him into a quick hug and sit down. A sigh echoes through my chest as I lean against the window.

  The plane takes off. I watch Greece drift away from me in swirls of tears. I shut my eyes, pressing my forehead against the dirty window. My fingers twitch, and I pull my journal out of my backpack. Tears splash onto the page as I write.

  Summer doesn’t last forever.

  But then again, it was never meant to. Sunshine all the time makes a desert, and a thing’s longevity does not equal its goodness. Isn’t that the nature of seasons? Things change. Times shift. The leaves blush and fall. Snow bursts raw cold as it melts on pale cheeks.

  Summer doesn’t last forever.

  I gaze down at fading Greece, far, far below. My tears roll off my nose. I cling to my pen, remembering the way Amias’s eyes lit up when he read my poem. Remembering my roommates’ laughter as we got dressed up. Remembering our group hugs and banter and teasing Abi and Drew.

  I taste the honey-drenched yogurt Genevieve shoveled into my mouth when I had a sore throat. Feel the springs’ cold bite all over again. Hear the ocean and the wind in the palm trees. Smell the poppies, ocean air, and oranges, and watch the sunrise streaming through my window.

  I wipe my eyes and sniff. I look back down at my journal, holding my pen as gently as the memories.

  Summer doesn’t last forever.

  But hey, autumn is beautiful, too.

  Epilogue: A Song of Spring

  “I’m still hurt that you are reuniting with your boyfriend before us.”

  “Yeah, what’s that about, Tarni? Girlfriends before . . . boy . . . friends.”

  “Niiice, Abi.”

  “You’re one to talk, Merka.”

  “Vive. Abi,” I plea at my phone. “Please.”

  I set my hairbrush on my vanity, fighting the urge to wring my hands. I avoid my phone screen where three grinning girls fight giggles.

  Six months have passed since camp—the best and hardest month of my life—ended. I am in my dusty city. But it doesn’t seem as dusty as it used to, nor as hard.

  You know, beauty is everywhere if you remember to look.

  Like cacti. Like the strange flowers that bloom on thorn trees. A toothless smile is as beautiful as the mountains when it is real. And the cracks in the dry ground look purple in the sunset. Each morning, fog lifts with the sun, and I bask in the light.

  No, this city has not changed a bit. It’s wild and disturbing, and its chanting drills into your head. But I have changed.

  My relationships with my family and team are better. I find peace alone but enjoy my friendships. The pictures of my old “friends?” I threw them into a blazing trash heap while my parents and Koa cheered from the sidelines. My mom and I spent a semester redecorating my room in grey and teal. And I keep it clean. I’ve started going to a ladies’ football group. I take care of my hair and let my mom give me layers. I bought new glasses that frame my face and no longer distract from it.

  I have my place, not important or inspiring. Just me, being me, with an army of former roommates and forever best friends at my back.

  Unfortunately, not even they can erase the nervousness of reuniting with your more-than-friend.

  After six months of FaceTime calls, WiFi struggles, lengthy internet conversations, and texts, Amias is arriving. Like, literally. Arriving. I stare in my mirror, bugging my eyes.

  Maya chuckles, pulling her hair into a red scrunchy, “Breathe, Tarni Bird. Breathe. It will be fine.”

  “I know, I know,” I spray on my “summer scented” perfume. “It’ll be great . . . but I am so freakin’ nervous! This is stupid!”

  I inhale the perfume and start coughing.

  “Nah, sweetie,” Abi blows a kiss at her camera.

  “Of course, you’re nervous. And I bet Amias is more nervous than you,” Genevieve winks a green eye.

  “Why do you say that? How can you say that seeing my current state of unease?” I gesture a little too aggressively and knock my hairbrush to the floor.

  “You are in your home where you are comfortable. Yet Amias is not only going to your crazy country but will also be with you. At your house with your family. That boy is probably scared out of his mind.”

  “Ugh, I hope it won’t be weird,” I adjust my hoop earrings.

  “Did you ask Lena and Rachelle?” Abi manages between the freezing screen.

  “Yeah.”

  “And what did they say?” Maya looks up from whatever school project she’s supposed to be doing.

  “The first time is good, but awkward because you are learning how to interact as a ‘couple.’ The second visit is much better,” I look around my room, wishing I’d left something to distract myself with. “I’m just hoping the last week of camp counts as the ‘first visit.’”

  “Well, uncomfortable doesn’t mean bad, Tarni,” Maya wags a finger.

  “But we got past that stage in Greece. Mayb
e it has stuck?”

  “Hmm, I bet it will be weird for about thirty minutes,” Genevieve tapped her chin.

  “No, an hour for sure,” Abi shook her head.

  “I don’t know. Tarni and Amias are friends. Even if they are awkward with . . . anything,” Maya hums. “It depends on how tired he is.”

  I give them sharp looks—which doesn’t amount to much through a screen. Maya smiles unapologetically.

  “Don’t worry, Tarni,” Abi pulls her box braids, newly streaked with purple, out of her face. “You will be fine.”

  “You three aren’t supporting my belief in that,” I grumble.

  “Sorry. How are things with Everly?” Genevieve propped her chin on her hand.

  I smile a little less nervously, “Good! Things are great. We have grown a lot since she lived here, and I am looking forward to seeing her in a few months. Though, I will probably cry.”

  “I’m so glad,” Abi claps her hands together, revealing pink perfect nail polish. “Not about the crying piece, I mean -.”

  I nod, “It’s nice that she and I can be friends, but not each other’s only friends. That extra bit of distance is helpful now.”

  I take a deep, even breath, examining my teal and grey outfit in the mirror. My eyes fall on the picture beside it. Amias and me, standing on the beach after our first date. Arms wrapped around each other, smiling into my mom’s phone camera. Him in his blue collared-tee and me in Rachelle’s white romper. My stomach flips over. All right. All good. All good. All calm -.

  “What’s the bet she’s speaking inner mantras over herself?” Maya pretends to whisper.

  “High,” Genevieve chuckles. “It’s pretty darn high.”

  I glower at them, open my mouth . . . And a car horn sounds outside. My mouth clicks shut, and my eyes bulge.

  “I gotta go. I’ll call you later!” I hang up without waiting for their responses.

  I race downstairs, my heart thundering through my head. What, what, what? My mom winks when I pass her in the hallway. I skid to a stop at the door and peer out. My heart leaps into my brain, buzzing. The car rolls through the gate. What, what, what! I jump up and down, releasing a squeal. My hands shake violently.

  What.

  What.

  What.

  What.

  What!?