Summer Song.

Forgetting that summer would be something that I could never do, even if I wanted to. That summer was one of the most important summers of my life, it was also the best time I could ever remember having. It was the summer before my senior year of high school. I learned to love, I learned to laugh, to say yes, and to say no. I learned to forgive and forget. I also learned how to throw a mean punch, but that’s beside the point. That was also the summer when new lives were formed and old lives were lost. New lives were made by new identities, or by the birth of my niece, Evie. Lost lives were discarded for the purposes shedding your skin, to be ignored and forgotten, or in the more serious aspect. Gone forever; bringing inevitable grief and mourning.

That summer I stayed with my grandmother – Helena. My father, on vacation for the whole summer, had preferred I stay some place other than home - not to be left by myself for three months. So it was either my grandmother’s or my older sister's. I’d much rather prefer staying with my grandmother, considering she lived in the town my parents had raised us in (when they had actually cared to raise us). That was before the divorce; before the stepparents. Besides, had I gone to stay with my sister I would have just felt underfoot. I would be getting in the way while they were changing the guest bedroom, where I would have slept, into a nursery.
As soon as I arrived at my grandmothers’ house I was set to start teaching a young group of girls how to dance the next day. The girls were ages five through seven, and I would be teaching them ballet. This genre of dancing was my passion and I was teaching it in the very same studio that I had started off at over a decade ago. I was excited. I had always admired the woman – who I now realize was just a girl my age – that had taught me all the basics. I wanted to be a role model for these girls. But at the same time I was nervous. What if the girls didn’t like me? What if I was being handed brats to babysit all summer? What if I got too carried away with myself, and started teaching them concepts that their little minds and bodies could not handle?
But I couldn’t worry about that at the moment because right then I was pulling my 1989 Yugo into my grandmothers drive way. It was 8:30PM and I had just driven six hours to get there, making only the necessary pit stops. All I can remember wanting to do at the moment was sleep and grab a shower. I would deal with getting my luggage inside the next morning before I was due to work at the studio.
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The drive to the studio was quiet due to the fact that people people were still in their houses, sleeping, or sitting on their front porches, reading the newspaper with a mug of coffee in their hand. I had to go in earlier that day to get situated and to get the run down of how everything would work out. I was also going to ask if I could get some tips on how to do this.
I had mostly remembered the roads of this town, but ended up taking a left too early and got set back ten minuets, making me grateful for having to go in so early; no one actually waiting on me to teach a class. If there’s anything that gets on my nerves it’s when your dance instructor is late. Yeah, I know that these girls probably won’t care, or even notice, but it’s unprofessional and hypocritical for me to do so. Also it would be a bad habit to get into. When I arrived at the studio there was hardly anyone in sight. There were a couple of people moving back and forth getting things done before the day started, finishing up last minuet plans they had for their classes. I sat down in the waiting area, normally reserved for parents waiting on their children, expecting someone to approach the desk positioned at the back of the room. While I was waiting I noticed a girl about my age, decked out in dark jeans and a black tank top. Her hair, just as dark, was thrown together in a very messy hairstyle that a person could call a bun, but far from resembled one. She looked up at me, probably sensing my stare and stared right back, putting her mop in an adjacent bucket and wheeling it away. I hardly had any time to put thought into what had just happened, or what it meant before a heavy set woman with big hair and heavy makeup approached me, arms outstretched. This was Miss Debbie.
Miss Debbie had hired me on the spot when I had called to see if I was able to use a small, single studio to keep myself in shape during the summer, not even thinking about a job. The offer had surprised me, but not too terribly much. Miss Debbie had watched me close when I had been a student here, promising everyone that took time in me that I was going to be a star, that I was going to make it big one day. I had taken the job because it was better than sitting around at Helena’s house all day, and of course I would get to spend my day doing something I loved and keeping in shape for one of the most important years of my life.

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The first of the girls were starting to show up. Some holding their mothers hands with their light pink leotards with their hair pulled up, with an adorning a bow. Most of the time bows and flashy accessories would not be accepted but since this was the five through seven age division Miss Debbie let it slide, especially because it was the summer season and things weren’t as strict around here in the summer time. Most of these girls probably wouldn't come back after the summer, their parents only needing somewhere to put them during the day while they were at work.
I stood to the front of the room next to the stereo checking out the C.D. collection I had to work with, and sometimes shaking the hands of mothers, putting on my best you-can-trust-me-with-your-kids smile.
When I had assumed that everyone was present I started to call role. In the middle of doing so, the door opened, and I had expected it to be Miss Debbie, checking up on me, so I kept reading off my roster. Instead of Miss Debbie a little girl walk up to the front of the group assembled in front of me and plant herself front and center. Looking up at this bold little girl I caught sight of the person who had brought her in, setting her things down at the back of the room where everyone else’s stuff was. The person who had brought her was a boy. Maybe boy wasn’t the right term, but man wasn’t right either. He was the in between. With shaggy brown hair, and a slim, but tall build. As I was watching him he looked up and made eye contact with me, his eyes the most beautiful shade of blue I had ever seen, making me catch my breath. To distract myself I turned to the little girl and asked her what her name was.
“Well my mommy calls me by my full name, Darla-Jean, but I like Darla better, and sometimes my brother just calls me La-la. That’s my brother back there.” She said speaking a mile a minuet. I could already tell that I really liked Darla and that I was going to be having a lot of fun with her.
Hearing his sisters introduction, her brother walked up to me, hand extended.
“Hi, my names Jackson, sorry about interrupting, we had a slow start to the morning, I promise it won’t be like this all summer.”

And it wasn't. Jackson kept true to his promise. As the days went by he would always drop Darla off on time, sometimes pushing the envelope, but that was okay with me. As long as I got to see both of their smiling faces.
Sometimes when he would come back for Darla at the end of the day, Jackson would even stay to talk with me, talking for so long that it sometimes made Darla squirm at his side while tugging on his hand. Getting so much attention from Jackson astonished me. But I wasn’t going to be the one to complain.
About two and a half weeks after I had started at the studio, Sawyer approached me. Although I hadn’t known her name I had recognized her face. Sawyer was the girl with the mop bucket from my first day. We had been skirting around each other the whole time I was there, and that day I had managed a smile her way when she passed me earlier. She had marched straight up to me with an unfaltering look in her eyes, and demanded to know where I had come from and why I was willing to waste my summer away on a guy like Jackson. This had struck me by surprise. Who was this girl, and what was she trying to say about Jackson? Was he playing me? acting like the golden boy when in reality he was really quite shady?
“Do I know you?” I asked, genuinely curious, while gathering my dance bag and heading out to the parking lot. I mean I had lived here once before.
“No. At least I don’t think so.” She answered. “Anyways, what’s with you?” she asked again.
“I had no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Flirting with a guy like Jackson Heckler, the wettest blanket of them all, when you could be spending your summer actually doing something.” She explained to me.
“Well considering I don’t know anyone around here, I haven’t really been getting loads of invitations to go out.”
“Well that’s weird, you’re interesting, ‘mysterious’ as they’d say, because you’re a typical hot girl who appeared out of nowhere – I mean its not surprising that Jackson is all over you, but it’s surprising that he’s the only one.” She said, the last part more to herself than to me.
“So I was thinking I’d show you around and help you get out and meet people more exciting than Jackson.” She continued. I was hesitant to agree, having only known this girl for a matter of five minuets, but then thought, after watching this happen day by day, “Hey, if kids can be this trusting with someone they just met, why can’t I?”
That was how my summer really kicked into gear.