THIS IS NOT SUMMER

B. McGILLICUDDY

She sat on the side of the pool and dppd her big toe in the water as she said, "Channeling this hamster is killing me."
"Yeah, I know what you meen."
"We try so hard, man. To be these anmls."
"Yeah"
Her expression was soft in the suns holy rays, putting out of mind the shudder of death or fear of embrrssmnt. "Like, I'm making it easier and easier on myself, supposingly. All the same, the effort-to-return ratio seems to transpose onto everything. Maricella told me it always seems that way. The same."
"I don't think it can be any dffrnt."
He looked at her, half on purpose, half on accident, and she turned to him. First he saw her freckles against the tan, then his eyes caught hers, hazel-blue, framed by strawberry-blond bangs, the sun.
She looked at him, his bushy cheeks and still plump with babyfat. His shoulders arched up as he supported that face with that constant, blinding stare. She turned back to the water with its sunstrings and rppls, "Let's not make a mess of things," she said. Her fingers curled up around the pools edge.
"But look at us," Her thoughts, his words. They tchd.

B. McGILLICUDDY