“She stood there, drowning in summer woes.”
She could have gone outside, but she wouldn’t.
She had spent the winter months thinking about the forthcoming days of summer, waiting in anticipation, longing for the days of nonchalance and daydreaming of white cotton dresses, but now, all she did was frown and pace in the summer house, feeling distant from the other tourists frolicking on the beach.
No summer did pass without her family spending at least a month in this house, with large windows that overlooked the beach, walls recounting the memories of this family that had remained intact throughout the years, and not much else. Her father had been the last one to stop begging her to come to the beach with the rest of them, leaving her beside the large window.
The bareness of the room, the lack of curtains, and the absence of her family intensified her dejection while the unbearable heat reminded her she was far from the dark winter days. She would go for a stroll on the beach later on in the afternoon, still wearing those combat boots and sheer tights, still bearing that pout. Her mother would be passing corned beef sandwiches to her brothers and her father would be removing melted ice cream from his belly but they would all ask if she’s come straight from a funeral when she joins them.
You would have to pay her to see even a hint of a smile and yet, she had never felt more alive than at this moment in time.
Story credit: Yves Saint Laurent.