Paradise Lost

One of the things that I love most about the summer is that the temperatures never seem to fall with the sun. I suppose the main reason I appreciated this so thoroughly was due to the fact that the late night walks to the Lake House never left my bare legs and arms chilled. I could wander to my heart's content in the darkest hours of the night in nothing but my favorite skirt and a light cotton tank top and I would never catch a chill. That was the magic of summer, you see; it made the days endless.

That first night of this last summer at the Lake House was no different from any other night; the air was warm, the crickets chirped, and I followed the familiar path I knew so well. The moon was waning yet I didn't need its light; my feet knew this trail so thoroughly they could lead me with my eyes closed. The Lake House rose up before me as I reached my destination and its bright red door was more than welcoming, even in the darkness, but I knew better than to knock on its solid surface. Instead I allowed my feet to lead me to the back of the house and bent slightly to retrieve a small pebble from the ground. I knew precisely which window to aim at and I knew precisely how much force to put behind the toss. And so I aimed, tossed, and smirked, ambling back to the front of the house and waiting patiently before that bright red door I knew so well.

It opened, eventually, and I slipped inside past whoever had opened it for me with practiced silence and stealthily made my way up the twisting stairs I would never truly forget. I never did figure out how Shawn managed to do it, but somehow, when I twisted the silver knob to his bedroom door and slipped just as silently inside this room, somehow there were more people than I could count crammed into his room and more alcohol than I could ever hope to consume in my entire period of existence lining every available surface of the area. And his parents never found out.

This was where teenagers went to waste their summer nights. This was the room where mistakes were made. This was where the adventures happened. And this was the space where those magical moments of naïve adolescence formed memories that would linger for lifetimes.

"Gemma!"

Her hair was shorter then I remembered it being last summer but her eyes were the same infinite shade of green they had always been. Her breath on my face as she pulled me into her arms was laced with vodka and I knew then that I was finally home for the summer.

"Jackie." I acknowledged with my own toothy grin. It was my favorite grin, my sly grin; the one that made the boys' jeans seem just a little too tight.

This was the girl who had given me my favorite Barbie the first summer that I ever came to the Lake House. This was the girl who punched the first boy who ever tried to steal a kiss from me. This was the girl who gave me my first shot and who laughed in my face when I choked and coughed and swore I would never touch another drop of alcohol for as long as I lived. This was the only girl who stayed by my side when I had insatiable urges to go on midnight adventures. This was the girl who indulged me in my hitchhiking endeavors and got into the back seat of every car I ever managed to flag down, no matter how shady the driver seemed to be. This was the only girl who ever really gave a damn, and I would never truly forget that.

"So, you're late to the party, you know." Jackie's slurred words came out in an admonishing tone, as if she were a parent who was scolding her child for eating a cookie before dinner, "Tell me you have a good excuse."

I could only continue grinning my favorite sly grin as I slid further into the room and acknowledged familiar faces with slight nods. "Jackie," I chided playfully, "We all know the party doesn't start without me." And I laughed freely for the first of many times that summer.