40. Everlasting Heat

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"Come on, Fry," I say. My golden retriever bounds along beside me during our early morning walk around the neighborhood. I don't have work today, but I have to take Fry out for walks early in the morning before the heat bothers him and his thick-furred coat.

I don't mind these summer mornings. The day is bright, the sprinklers are running, and a good number of folks are out for a morning walk or jog. The flowers are in bloom, the children bike down the street, and everyone seems to be in a good mood. Fry himself is bounding happily along beside me, looking back at me every once in a while to make sure I'm in as good as a mood as he is.

I take him the same route every day, one that often passes by Aurora's house. I hold my breath every time we pass by her quaint little house, and oftentimes I wonder why I even walk toward that area. Aurora is graduated, and she no longer has any ties to me. In about a month, I'm sure her room will be empty. But sometimes, I can see the cats in the window, or I see a new flower pot out on her porch, and just knowing that her life is continuing makes me feel a bit more content.

As I pass by the house today, it is quiet, like always. It's a week day, which means her parents are at work, and knowing Aurora, she probably has a job of her own. There are no cats in the window, but the wind chimes flow slightly, and the sprinklers run on her lawn. The moment is peaceful until Fry spots a squirrel and I'm pulled away from the home that I have not stepped into for months.

I'm already dripping with sweat when I arrive home, and the first thing Fry and I do is rehydrate ourselves. My siblings are already up, Oliver watching T.V. and Olivia preparing to go to the movies with her friends later today. I will be driving her, of course, with both my parents working since I have the day off.

Though the days off are appreciated, they never equate to much fun. Sometimes I go out with my friends, but mostly, I try to find ways to occupy myself. I learn to paint my fingernails different designs or I head to the library to find some more books to read. I've even considered learning to garden, just so I can put some plants out on the porch too. It's silly, but maybe I think Aurora will walk by my house and see those flowers too, knowing my life is continuing as well.

Olivia wears a full face of make-up as I drive her to the local movie theater. She seems to be having the summer of her life, going to the movies and mall as often as she pleases, though her money is running out, and with no job, I'm sure her excursions will be infrequent and a bit more cheap as the days merge into August.

"Hey, guess what?" Olivia asks.

"What?" I ask.

"Molly's sister's friend is a lesbian, so maybe you could hit her up if you want to get over this Aurora thing," Olivia tells me.

The gesture is sweet, at least coming from her, but all I do is snicker some.

"Well, I'll keep that in mind, I guess," I say, even though I have no idea who Molly's sister's friend is.

It wasn't long after I told Abigail that I let Olivia and Oliver know what had happened. They had been pressing me for details for months, and I had kept the whole ordeal secret to not let them down. In the meantime, they've been alerting me to every sapphic individual they know, even though I know I'm not yet in the mood to start dating someone else.

Surprisingly, the household has been calm and more accepting this summer. Our family took a trip to the lake a week back. I was able to openly talk about and joke about being gay in front of my family. My mother even laughed at a joke, even though she'd surely cry a few months before. She even asked me if she thought any girls at the beach were cute. I was too flustered to answer. I never thought I would be able to talk to her about something like that.

In that sense, summer hasn't been bad. I feel more comfortable in my home, and I see that time has been on my side. The family has grown more accepting as the months continue, but I still would never let my parents know about Aurora, even if there's nothing left between us.

But mostly, summer has been shit. There's no denying it, but as I drive Olivia, I at least try to think of the positive aspects. I think of the sparklers that lit up the front yard during Fourth of July, the juicy watermelon I ate at my grandmother's house during an evening dinner outside, the way the cold lake water felt against my skin, the smile of my friends as we swam at Juliet's house, and the peacefulness of my morning walks with Fry.

Summer is rapidly coming to close, and there's no sadness on my part. Rather, some apprehension. I've spent the majority of the summer thinking about Aurora so often that I haven't at all considered the fact that I'm going to be a senior this year and that college applications are coming up. I already have a plan in place, one my mother and I devised years ago. State college. I should not be too stressed with that in mind. My grades can easily get me into it, and yet, I feel the pressure to savor this year and the time I have with my friends, as it will be my last year of high school.

I think about the grades I'll need to keep up, the graduation dress I'll wear, the placement tests Olivia will have to go through to get into St. Joseph's. The list goes on. I realize that Olivia and I are both nearing the end of an era in our lives.

"Wow, you're going to be an eighth grader in a few weeks," I realize.

"I already am an eighth grader," she retorts. "Plus, you're going to be a senior."

"It's weird," I say. "I'll be entering a new chapter of my life soon."

"Weird for you? What about me? I've spent nine years at this school. I've had the same people in my class since Kindergarten. But I'm excited. A lot of girls in my class are coming to St. Joseph's with me, and I'll get to meet a lot new people. Getting to know boys will be hard, which sucks. I don't get it easy like you!" Olivia pouts.

"Oh, calm down, nothing much ever happened anyway," I grumble.

"Where is Aurora going to school?" Olivia asks.

A pause.

"Sorry. Maybe you don't want to talk about her," Olivia states.

"I don't know. She didn't want to stay in state though, so she'll probably be starting up in the next few weeks. Maybe she's already gone," I say. That ends the rest of our conversation about Aurora for the time being.

"Pick me up at 2, okay?" Olivia asks as we arrive at the movie theater.

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun at your PG movie."

"It's PG-13!" she protests as she shuts the door. She still pauses to give me a smile and wave as she leaves. A part of me feels bad I won't be at high school with her, but if I live at home, then I suppose I can still give her friendly high school advice. A part of me worries for her though. For someone as self-conscious as Olivia, I can only imagine the hell she'll have to go through in high school.

When my mother arrives home that evening, after Olivia has enjoyed her movie theater excursion, she prints out the back-to-school list that Olivia and Oliver's school sent out, and she tells me that I'll need to take a trip to the store too.

As a child, I hated these days, when July was merging into August and I felt the ever-impending doom of school beginning once more. Surprisingly, I am ready to go back. It will be a relief to quit my yogurt job, and I'll finally have a routine again. I'm so excited, I think of going to the store the next day, after I get off my shift.

When my father comes home a little later, I sit outside in the backyard on our porch swing, watching the sun descend. He leans back and sips on his beer, throwing a ball to Fry for him to fetch.

"So, a senior? I feel a little too young to have a senior in high school."

"You're old now," I tease.

"And we'll have two graduations this upcoming year? Your mother will be a mess with planning," he says.

"I think I'm ready for senior year. I'm getting tired of wearing this uniform, after all," I say as Fry drops his slobbery ball into my hands this time. I toss it and lean back. The sky is a nice cotton candy-pink tonight.

"That's fair. Better not let that senioritis kick in too early," he warns.

"I won't. You know I won't," I respond.

"Let's hope your siblings don't get it too bad. I can tell they're getting a little tired of their school."

I laugh. "I was tired of it, too. Nine years at the same school really is a lot. But somehow, I think I'll be more relieved when I finish high school."

"I think I got a record number of detentions my senior year," my father recounts. "Not to mention the senior year prank."

"Your senior year sounds a lot more exciting than mine will be," I say.

"Well, girls are different," he thinks.

"Do you two want some strawberry pie?" my mother asks. I forgot she had been making it this afternoon. The scent of fresh pie crust and ripe strawberries fills the air, and I eagerly nod my head, leaving the golden colors of the summer sunset behind for probably the last good slice of summer fruit pie.

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