Summer Nights

This is the time where evening fades in the wake of a southern summer day and the sky bruises to black while we splash each other and dive off the end of the slide. I thought these days were long gone.

We come and go like the lapping of waves. One minute, intent on splashing the hell out of each other. Drowning each other. Floundering like fish in the water. Leaping from the side onto another’s back. And the next, we’re silent. We watch the sky fade from blue to pink to purple as the hydrangeas hang their heavy heads close to the water's edge. We listen as susurrous darkness settles in and the cicadas raise their open throats to the air. Fireflies dot in and out above our wet heads.

I can remember countless parties here, with music floating down to the pool. I can remember when we’d get back from the lake and jump in, like fish separated too long from their beloved water. I can remember sneaking out and skinny dipping. And now, nearly every evening, I return when I never thought I would. I never thought I’d be back in the Natural State—six years ago, I never wanted to.

Now, I relish it. I cherish every second that I get to have water fights with my brothers, like I’m fifteen again. These sweet summer nights are precious. We fight, we laugh, we do handstands and front flips. This is the sacred time of youth not forgotten but appreciated anew—when one has walked away and come back, still freckle faced, still happy, still yearning for the noise and the quiet that comes and goes with each minute as we swim like we always have: Young, eternized, and so very much alive.