Summers End

On the East Coast, citizens are living the last dregs of summer. I’m in Los Angeles. It’s just past Labor Day and after a week of extreme heat, it rained and the clouds have lingered. I was driving home and I knew it was over. I’m at the end the rollercoaster, whooshing up and up and thru and up, steadying after a quick decline.

It’s familiar to my years of summer camp. Nothing feels real until your trunk is packed and you’re on your way driving out. It’s not over till it’s over, and summer is over now. It doesn’t matter that the heat will continue or that the Autumnal Equinox is not for another twelve days. The safety lever is lifting.

Today was one of my coworker’s last day of work. He was the fun flirt, light crush of the summer. Another ode to overnight camp. Nothing was ever going to happen, but it was a soft thrill to get along.

He threw a party last night. He hugs everyone, and his hugs are disarming. At the end he thanked me for my help. I don’t know how I helped him. He told me to let him know I got home safe. I did even though I usually don’t follow thru on that request. The other week I followed him on Instagram. He didn’t follow me back. Today, right before I left work, I asked “Is this the last time I’m going to see you?” He said “Probably.” He hugged another girl, said they’d see each other soon, then hugged me and again thanked me for my help. He called me a name I actually go by, which has been a hard ask.

But I’m not trying to argue in my favor. Most of the time, I experience life overly literally, and if there ever was a time to blink and process the joke, this isn’t it. Summer is over. The friendship is likely over. Circling back will only ruin the moment. Everything changes, and it’s meant to.