Liquid Gold
two
Setting: Circle Ends Park, Tempe, Arizona
Time: 12:24 p.m., June 22, 2006
School’s out for the summer, and Pat and I are relishing in the fact that next year we’ll be upperclassmen. Since school let out, we’ve spent most of our time between Tim’s duplex and hanging out with John around the city. He’s a nice guy; impossibly so. He smiles a lot and likes to know about what’s going on in his friends’ lives—we’re friends now, he, Pat, and I. Tim jokes that we’re the Three Musketeers now, and he says that if we’re not careful we’ll fuse together at the hip. I wouldn’t complain if we did. In any case, John’s proved to be all around… great. Even when he’s not high, he smiles a lot and he volunteers at the animal shelter on the weekends. It’s cute.
“I feel like we’re wasting away our summer.” Pat’s sprawled out on the grass, his shorts covered in dust from the sandpit and hair spread out like a halo around his face.
“That’s what we always do,” I reply, kicking off my shoes.
Every summer since Pat and I became friends (meaning every summer since the third grade), we’ve spent it wasting away in the parks or at the pool, eating too much ice cream and nearly melting in the intense heat. Even after living here for the entirety of my life, I haven’t grown accustomed to the blister of the Arizona sun in the middle of the day in the middle of June. I can feel my skin frying under its blaze and move into the shade of a tree. Even the shade is hot.
“You look kinda pink, Gare,” John says from his perch in said tree. He’d climbed up there at some point, seeking refuge from the hot ground. “Did you put sunscreen on?”
I shrug, inspect my bare shoulders. “I don’t remember.”
I’ll probably burn to the hue of a tomato, even if I keep in the shade and out of the sun. With a sigh, I flop back into the grass and look up through the leaves of the tree and to the bits of sky and sun that poke through the gaps. I hear John jump down from the tree and he sits next to me. I keep looking up even when I feel his gaze on me.
Since he started hanging out with me and Pat so much, I’ve wondered why he does it. Surely he has other friends—he’s impossibly nice and was a sports player in high school. How could he not?
“We should go to Tim’s place,” Pat suggests, kicking at my feet.
I groan. “We spend too much time with your brother.”
“We could go to your house,” he says.
“And spend time listening to Maisie and Trey scream at each other? No thank you.”
My siblings aren’t the best people to be around. As kids, they used to be really close, having that scary twin-relationship and I was really jealous because I didn’t have a friend like that. Or friends at all, really, before Pat. I don’t really know what happened to make them hate each other so much, but now they can’t be in the same room without bickering or getting into some sort of argument.
I spend a lot of time away from home.
“My house is empty,” John pipes in.
I can hear the grin in Pat’s voice when he speaks again: “Great, let’s go to John’s place.”
The walk from the park and to John’s house isn’t long, but it’s unbearably hot and I’m honestly worried that the heat from the sidewalk is melting the soles of my sandals. John leads the way and Pat keeps along next to him, chatting with him. I keep behind them, frowning to myself. Sometimes I feel alone.
Time: 12:24 p.m., June 22, 2006
School’s out for the summer, and Pat and I are relishing in the fact that next year we’ll be upperclassmen. Since school let out, we’ve spent most of our time between Tim’s duplex and hanging out with John around the city. He’s a nice guy; impossibly so. He smiles a lot and likes to know about what’s going on in his friends’ lives—we’re friends now, he, Pat, and I. Tim jokes that we’re the Three Musketeers now, and he says that if we’re not careful we’ll fuse together at the hip. I wouldn’t complain if we did. In any case, John’s proved to be all around… great. Even when he’s not high, he smiles a lot and he volunteers at the animal shelter on the weekends. It’s cute.
“I feel like we’re wasting away our summer.” Pat’s sprawled out on the grass, his shorts covered in dust from the sandpit and hair spread out like a halo around his face.
“That’s what we always do,” I reply, kicking off my shoes.
Every summer since Pat and I became friends (meaning every summer since the third grade), we’ve spent it wasting away in the parks or at the pool, eating too much ice cream and nearly melting in the intense heat. Even after living here for the entirety of my life, I haven’t grown accustomed to the blister of the Arizona sun in the middle of the day in the middle of June. I can feel my skin frying under its blaze and move into the shade of a tree. Even the shade is hot.
“You look kinda pink, Gare,” John says from his perch in said tree. He’d climbed up there at some point, seeking refuge from the hot ground. “Did you put sunscreen on?”
I shrug, inspect my bare shoulders. “I don’t remember.”
I’ll probably burn to the hue of a tomato, even if I keep in the shade and out of the sun. With a sigh, I flop back into the grass and look up through the leaves of the tree and to the bits of sky and sun that poke through the gaps. I hear John jump down from the tree and he sits next to me. I keep looking up even when I feel his gaze on me.
Since he started hanging out with me and Pat so much, I’ve wondered why he does it. Surely he has other friends—he’s impossibly nice and was a sports player in high school. How could he not?
“We should go to Tim’s place,” Pat suggests, kicking at my feet.
I groan. “We spend too much time with your brother.”
“We could go to your house,” he says.
“And spend time listening to Maisie and Trey scream at each other? No thank you.”
My siblings aren’t the best people to be around. As kids, they used to be really close, having that scary twin-relationship and I was really jealous because I didn’t have a friend like that. Or friends at all, really, before Pat. I don’t really know what happened to make them hate each other so much, but now they can’t be in the same room without bickering or getting into some sort of argument.
I spend a lot of time away from home.
“My house is empty,” John pipes in.
I can hear the grin in Pat’s voice when he speaks again: “Great, let’s go to John’s place.”
The walk from the park and to John’s house isn’t long, but it’s unbearably hot and I’m honestly worried that the heat from the sidewalk is melting the soles of my sandals. John leads the way and Pat keeps along next to him, chatting with him. I keep behind them, frowning to myself. Sometimes I feel alone.