5 stories about summer + a new place vibes

Summer’s almost over and I’m at the part of the year where I’m spending most of my time inside, trying not to get overheated. Luckily we now have a big outdoor yard and, while Cookie won’t poop outside, he will go out and lay in the sun occasionally.

Mostly i haven’t been consuming anything of note. Instead, I’ve been distracting myself and slowly putting together my new place. So far here are my favorite parts of the duplex:

And a picture of Cookie laying out in the sun to cheer you up:

Now onto some super short stories about summer.

Baking

In the summer Laura invited you over on Saturdays to drink and bake bread. The two of you would spend the long daylight hours kneading dough and mulling over everything from men you loved to singers you admired. Lulled by the gentle humming of the air conditioner, you’d meander from topic to topic, occasionally sitting in near silence, listening to anything by Adrianne Lenker, and regretting the choices that led you here.

Laura told you once that the worst thing someone can be is irrelevant, but you always thought that the worst thing someone can be is dead. You had been thinking about death a lot lately: of trees and bugs and habitats and your small dog and his nervous whining. You’d imagine their skeletal forms splayed out and bleached bright white by the Texas sun. Laura knew a lot of things you didn’t and somehow that felt both comforting and frustrating. You always hesitated or qualified your feelings, carefully perching your words against your tongue, hoping nothing slipped out. She said what she thought and didn’t care about the consequences. To not regard another person’s feelings before you had your own seemed unpleasant and rude. But you were depressed and she wasn’t, so who was really winning?

You told Laura you were moving, up north where the heat couldn’t get you and she didn’t talk to you for three weeks. You thought you’d never see her again, but she showed up to help you pack boxes and sort old clothes. You thought then that the worst thing someone could be was alone, but that was ages ago.

Blood pressure

In the summer you started taking blood pressure medicine and tracking your pressure three times a day. You knew it was coming: a cursed genetic thread shared with your mom and twin brother.

You learn new things: how to adjust the cuff and the best times of day to test. You learn box breathing and how to love something other than yourself. Each day you wake your dog up, feed him, and take him on a walk. You let him sleep on you during the day and at night. The warmth feels good. The company enjoyed.

101 degrees for three days in a row and all you do is eat ice cream and track your health. You listen to Building the Ark by Slaughter Beach, Dog, and wonder how long it takes to get a body back on track. Sometime, near the end of the summer, you’ll strip. and be grateful for the simple way each muscle moves and bends. You wish you could be like that: matter-of-fact, simple, straightforward.

Swimming

In the summer Daniel takes you down to the springs. It’s Wednesday and almost everyone is at work except you. You jump in with him, diving deep down and swimming through the reeds, showing off (barely) your high school swim experience.

Daniel asks you what it was like to be gay and on a swim team and you tell him that almost everyone on the swim team was gay, some of them just never came out.

The two of you swim for a while and then decide to give your pruning fingers a rest. You lay out on the grass, letting the patches of sun dry your skin. It feels nice to spend the afternoon together, even though you know he’s leaving soon. You ask him if he’s found a place yet and he tells you all about the apartment him and his husband found.You ask him if he’s nervous and he says, “not really. I’m ready to leave honestly.”

“I’ll miss you,” he says. “But I’m ready to leave.”

You don’t know what he means. You’ve never been ready to leave. You always stay, even though you hate the heat.

Therapy

In the summer you go to therapy and talk about your feelings. You talk about Diving Into The Wreck and The Frog King and Kurt Vonnegut and try and identify what depression feels like to you.

You think you hate it but you keep going anyway. It feels good to do the work even if it feels hard to do the work. You talk about past friends and past wrongs and your therapist asks if you want justice but you hate the word. “I just wanted someone to acknowledge it,” you tell him. “I didn’t need a verdict, I just wanted support.”

You talk about other things too: OCD, self-esteem, writing fiction, and your parents’ roles in your life. You talk about how, now that you’re older, you’re torn between appreciating the love and support they gave you and raging at the irresponsibility of letting you suffer through depression.

You are trying to open yourself up, a noble goal, but one that still feels a little pathetic.

Kyle

In the summer Kyle comes over and the two of you have sex just to pass the time. He tells you about some new boy he’s seeing.

“This weekend,” he says. “We’re driving up to Dallas to meet my parents.”

“Nice,” you say. “So you think it’s getting serious?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think it is.”

“Will you be exclusive with him?”

“I don’t think so.” He says as he slowly puts on his clothes. “We’ve been talking about being open.”

“Nice,” you say, and ask him if he wants to go swimming.

“Nah, not today.” He says. “I’m meeting him later for a date so have to get some things done before then.”

“Cool,” you say, even though you really wanted to go swimming.