Swear To Shake It Up
Puddle Jumping!
“Awww! It rained on our parade!” whined Kylie, stomping her foot childishly. She even threw in the whole “cross your arms and pout” thing like a kid who couldn’t get a cookie before dinner. I laughed at her as draped her towel over her head and tugged on it. Her plans for the day consisted of relaxing on the dock on the beach by our cabin and listening to The Beatles.
And it did, indeed, rain on our parade. Quite literally. Even though we’d been blessed with good weather the past three days we’ve been here in Colorado Springs, Colorado, the gods of weather decided it would be a good time to be buzz-kills and bring the rain. So while Kylie stomped around the kitchenette area in our cabin, I sat back and watched her with mild amusement. For being a twenty-one-almost-twenty-two-year-old, she still acted like she was ten. Then again, so did I, but I had an excuse: I was a year younger than she was.
I never said it was a logical excuse.
“What are we gonna do now?” she asked, that whining tone still in her voice. Apparently she was really looking forward to sitting on the dock with her silver guitar, trying to pick out notes in the music that played from her iPod speakers while I fiddled with my camera.
“Well, you could always play in here. I mean, isn’t that what you usually do on a rainy day?” I asked her, flipping through the half-full photo album I’d brought with me. I ran my fingertips over some of the pictures, reminiscing about the memories they held for me. A lot of them were serene, serious pictures, but the rest were goofy snapshots of Kylie and me.
Kylie and I met in the fourth grade, when I said I liked her purple and pink sundress and her yellow shoes. That’s how I knew she and I were destined to be best friends. Our passion for mismatching and belting out show tunes made us the same and original at the same time. I had always been there for Kylie—from the rough patch in her life when her favorite grandfather died to just eight months before when she got in with the wrong crowd. I got her help and she stayed away from that kind of shit. And in turn, she was there for me when everyone in high school called me fat and nerdy because I wore glasses, had braces, and was a little overweight. I remember in ninth grade, she punched Haley McKinnon so hard in the nose it broke in five places because she made a rude comment about my Hello Kitty shirt. Haley’s parents tried to press charges, but since we were so young the judge went easy and just made Kylie pay a fine. I never did repay her for that.
Well, I sorta did when her ex-boyfriend Jacob tried to stuff her in the trunk of his car. I’d grabbed the tire iron and whacked him in the knee, broke the cap, and hit him in the back of the head. I wasn’t charged because it was self-defense—sort of. Kylie and I apparently had good luck in the court system.
“Yeah, but I really wanted to sit out on the dock and go swimming.” Kylie frowned and leaned against the windowsill with her nose pressed to the glass.
“Hold on a sec. Be right back.” I picked up my Nikon and ran outside, making sure to stay under the overhang. I walked around to the front of the cabin that faced the lake and stood in front of the kitchenette window, where Kylie was making faces against the glass. I snapped a photo and another, taking a bunch of different shots of her different faces. I went back inside and set the camera down.
“How ‘bout a drink?” Kylie asked, yanking open the fridge. She pulled out two Mike’s Hard Lemonades and passed one to me. I popped the top and sat down on the ratty, but comfortable couch.
“There’s not much to do on a rainy day, is there?” I sighed, drinking daintily from my bottle. Kylie swallowed hers and shook her head. Mid-shake, she stopped, a devious grin on her face.
“Except puddle-jumping!” I mirrored her grin and abandoned my drink on the coffee table. We raced each other to our room, laughing and shoving each other into walls as we made a beeline towards our galoshes. We weren’t entirely sure why we’d brought them in the first place—I guess we’d saved them for a rainy day. No pun intended.
Sliding into our mismatched boots—hers were orange and green, the worst color combination ever, while mine were blue and pink—we ran outside and started our epic puddle-jumping, spraying rainwater and mud all over each other’s clothes. We spun in circles with our arms outstretched. The rain got heavier and soon they were beginning to sting like bees. So we called our puddle-jumping to an end (to be continued on the next rainy day) and went inside. We put our dirty clothes in the shower and turned the water on hot, pouring shampoo into the mass of muddy attire. Washing by hand simply took too much time out of our vacation and so we stuck with the quick-n-easy method.
Once our clothes were ridden of the mud, we hung them on the towel rack to dry and changed into warm pajamas. The best thing about the cabin was not only the TV with fully-functional cable, but the fireplace below it to keep us warm while we watched Tool Academy.
Kylie lay with her head in my lap and I mindlessly poked her forehead as I drifted slowly in and out of consciousness. A warm fire and comfy PJ’s were the ideal recipe for exhaustion and Kylie and I were both out before 9PM.
And it did, indeed, rain on our parade. Quite literally. Even though we’d been blessed with good weather the past three days we’ve been here in Colorado Springs, Colorado, the gods of weather decided it would be a good time to be buzz-kills and bring the rain. So while Kylie stomped around the kitchenette area in our cabin, I sat back and watched her with mild amusement. For being a twenty-one-almost-twenty-two-year-old, she still acted like she was ten. Then again, so did I, but I had an excuse: I was a year younger than she was.
I never said it was a logical excuse.
“What are we gonna do now?” she asked, that whining tone still in her voice. Apparently she was really looking forward to sitting on the dock with her silver guitar, trying to pick out notes in the music that played from her iPod speakers while I fiddled with my camera.
“Well, you could always play in here. I mean, isn’t that what you usually do on a rainy day?” I asked her, flipping through the half-full photo album I’d brought with me. I ran my fingertips over some of the pictures, reminiscing about the memories they held for me. A lot of them were serene, serious pictures, but the rest were goofy snapshots of Kylie and me.
Kylie and I met in the fourth grade, when I said I liked her purple and pink sundress and her yellow shoes. That’s how I knew she and I were destined to be best friends. Our passion for mismatching and belting out show tunes made us the same and original at the same time. I had always been there for Kylie—from the rough patch in her life when her favorite grandfather died to just eight months before when she got in with the wrong crowd. I got her help and she stayed away from that kind of shit. And in turn, she was there for me when everyone in high school called me fat and nerdy because I wore glasses, had braces, and was a little overweight. I remember in ninth grade, she punched Haley McKinnon so hard in the nose it broke in five places because she made a rude comment about my Hello Kitty shirt. Haley’s parents tried to press charges, but since we were so young the judge went easy and just made Kylie pay a fine. I never did repay her for that.
Well, I sorta did when her ex-boyfriend Jacob tried to stuff her in the trunk of his car. I’d grabbed the tire iron and whacked him in the knee, broke the cap, and hit him in the back of the head. I wasn’t charged because it was self-defense—sort of. Kylie and I apparently had good luck in the court system.
“Yeah, but I really wanted to sit out on the dock and go swimming.” Kylie frowned and leaned against the windowsill with her nose pressed to the glass.
“Hold on a sec. Be right back.” I picked up my Nikon and ran outside, making sure to stay under the overhang. I walked around to the front of the cabin that faced the lake and stood in front of the kitchenette window, where Kylie was making faces against the glass. I snapped a photo and another, taking a bunch of different shots of her different faces. I went back inside and set the camera down.
“How ‘bout a drink?” Kylie asked, yanking open the fridge. She pulled out two Mike’s Hard Lemonades and passed one to me. I popped the top and sat down on the ratty, but comfortable couch.
“There’s not much to do on a rainy day, is there?” I sighed, drinking daintily from my bottle. Kylie swallowed hers and shook her head. Mid-shake, she stopped, a devious grin on her face.
“Except puddle-jumping!” I mirrored her grin and abandoned my drink on the coffee table. We raced each other to our room, laughing and shoving each other into walls as we made a beeline towards our galoshes. We weren’t entirely sure why we’d brought them in the first place—I guess we’d saved them for a rainy day. No pun intended.
Sliding into our mismatched boots—hers were orange and green, the worst color combination ever, while mine were blue and pink—we ran outside and started our epic puddle-jumping, spraying rainwater and mud all over each other’s clothes. We spun in circles with our arms outstretched. The rain got heavier and soon they were beginning to sting like bees. So we called our puddle-jumping to an end (to be continued on the next rainy day) and went inside. We put our dirty clothes in the shower and turned the water on hot, pouring shampoo into the mass of muddy attire. Washing by hand simply took too much time out of our vacation and so we stuck with the quick-n-easy method.
Once our clothes were ridden of the mud, we hung them on the towel rack to dry and changed into warm pajamas. The best thing about the cabin was not only the TV with fully-functional cable, but the fireplace below it to keep us warm while we watched Tool Academy.
Kylie lay with her head in my lap and I mindlessly poked her forehead as I drifted slowly in and out of consciousness. A warm fire and comfy PJ’s were the ideal recipe for exhaustion and Kylie and I were both out before 9PM.
♠ ♠ ♠
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