DESCRIPTION
A very short stream of conciousness story that's meant to evoke the emotions of the summers of youth, when there wasn't a care in the world. [480 words]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4) A Bird In The Hand (Short Stories) Just on of those stories I felt like writing. [1,557 words] Cashen's Curse (Short Stories) A short story about a jinxed baseball player that is in the process of developing into a much larger work. But this first part can stand alone. [2,584 words] Life In A Small Town (Short Stories) A day in the life of a small town resident. [700 words] Woodside! (Short Stories) The true story of one of the most grueling experiences of my entire life. It's also pretty funny when I look at it in hindsight. [1,797 words]
Those Summer Nights Elio P Evangelista
Those Summer Nights by Elio Evangelista
Ah, I remember them distinctly, clearer than air in my mind. Or maybe clearer than glass, because that’s how fragile those memories feel to me. Like I have to hold on tight otherwise they’ll fall and break, so I do.
The heat from the day lingers late in the afternoon, right around dinner time. Dinner outside, the sun setting between the trees behind your porch. Uncle Guy at the barbecue, in his black socks, sandals and powder blue shorts with an undershirt, cooking up the foot-long dogs and whole ears of corn until they’re hot enough to start popping. The charcoal sizzles and the smoke can be seen a few houses down. At the end of the block, you’re summoned by the smells of steak and chicken cooking to perfection. You and your friends part, dragging your baseball bats behind you with the sounds of the game still ringing in your ears. You’ll play again tomorrow.
At home, mom is making a salad, the dog is chasing his tail, and your sister just got home from swimming in her best friend’s pool. The chlorine smell is stuck to her like stamp on a letter and her hair is flat. She says she’s tan, but she’s as white as snow. Uncle Guy says the food is ready.
You sit down around the patio table, the umbrella bent towards the sun, still hot enough to make the warped wood sweat a little bit. Dinner is eaten quickly, but you linger afterwards and listen to stories of how your aunt and uncle first met while stirring your glass of lemonade in your hand. You haven’t taken a sip yet but you can taste how sweet it is by hearing the ice hit the side of the glass. The only time you get up is when you hear the bells of the ice cream man from three blocks away. You know how much time you have before he passes your house - just enough to run to your room and get three or four quarters from under your favorite cup where you hide them. You run out your front door and Joe the driver parks the ice cream truck right in front of you and hands you a vanilla cone like he did yesterday. You pay him and walk to your backyard. You see kids playing stoopball across the street, and old women talking on their porches down the block. Mom brings out the watermelon and hands the knife to Uncle Guy and he cuts the slices perfectly. The pits taste sweet on your lips as you spit them out.
After dessert, your girl comes by and sits next to you. She takes your hand in hers. You feel her hand get moist from the heat. She smiles at you, and the world is perfect. Only at night. Only those nights.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"This piece needs work. The words are tired and the images overbearing. Show don't tell is applicable with this piece. And, watermelons have seeds, not pits." -- Greg Olson, New York, New York.
"Your story had a lot of great details, it reminds me of summers I spent at home. GKJS. " -- Kelly McClain, Normal, Illinois, United States.
TO DELETE UNWANTED REVIEWS CLICK HERE! (SELECT "MANAGE TITLE REVIEWS" ACTION)
Submit Your Review for Those Summer Nights
Required fields are marked with (*). Your e-mail address will not be displayed.