The Price of Summer
In my last post, Projects, I mentioned that there are a handful of personal items that are tying my hands up for the rest of the year. Clearly, it very much has but such is life. Rather than drone on about my latest tangent, I’d like to tell you the story of the night I learned about the price of summer.
It was late August 2021. Some might say that 2021 was just yesterday, but, for me, it was a lifetime ago. I drove to one of my best friend’s places in the suburb we grew up in. My friend, Angie, so graciously offered to host our friends at their home for a dinner party. It was a hot, sticky summer evening but the excitement (and hunger) grew within me. Once I arrived, Nicole, one of Angie’s friends, had already arrived, and soon after we were joined by Sara, Hana, and Matt. The room filled with chatter and laughter while we sipped on something only 22-year-olds could stomach. As I told Matt and Hana about my new “adult” job, I could hear Angie bustling away in the kitchen. I breathed in the gratitude I felt to be surrounded by old friends. Then, we all heard it.
Ding.
“Dinner time!”, Angie yelled out as the oven began to signal that the deliciousness being baked was ready. As quickly as the conversations started, they screeched to a halt as we shuffled our way to the dining room. As soon as we were settled in our seats, we couldn't help but giggle at the thought that a "normal" suburban family would probably say grace right about now. We served ourselves and chatted about whatever came to mind. Frankly, I wish I could say I remember each moment of that conversation. Even though I don’t, there’s a piece of me that knows it was as nourishing as the food I had enjoyed.
A symphony of chairs creaking began. Dinner was over.
We sauntered towards the backyard. Matt grabbed his guitar and someone lit the bonfire. I neglected to put my shoes on but I invited the cool feeling of the grass against my feet. Instantly, the backyard was filled with the sound of strumming and carefree conversation. I lay in the grass looking up at the trees billowing against the sky. Slowly, the loud banter became soft whispers and the guitar pervaded the backyard. Mild irritation spread through me as the mosquitos attacked me but I pulled myself onto my feet. If you don’t think you’re itchy, then you won’t be, right? I found my way to a seat around the bonfire and I let the fire fill my body with warmth. Sara and I chuckled over some bonfire jokes that fall into the “if you know you know” category. The clouds above started to rumble, but, at the time, I hardly noticed. I simply shut my eyes as I listened to the sounds of the guitar.
Crack.
My eyes fluttered open as I looked above me. A thunderstorm is afoot - great. Now that I understood the incoming climate we were about to face, I found myself paying attention to the thick humidity surrounding me. Worse than that, there was a swarm of mosquitos surrounding us. Like the pests they are, they braved the bonfire’s smoke so they could get a taste of that good stuff - our blood. I started to feel the serenity that was with me moments ago begin to fade as I swatted at the little bloodsuckers. Then, I heard it: Hana chuckling at my weak attempt to keep my skin unbitten. She just smiled at me and told me about a sentiment I still remember: “Oh, I wouldn’t be too bothered by it. That’s just the price of summer”.
Summer storms that harsh a pleasant evening. Irritating blood-sucking bugs. Humidity that I could cut with a knife. Frizzy hair and armpit stains from the endless sweating. All of these and more are far less annoying these days. I just remind myself, as Hana did then, that it’s just the price of summer.
Sincerely,
Shresta
