The First Violinist: Up and Down

The little patterns of his finger's movements, dancing deftly down the nape of her neck, entrance and enchant me, the way the music does.

His fingers move and he holds her there, the muscles in his arm, defined I shamefully recognize, tense. And in his fingers the ligaments move over muscle and bone, the sinew's friction like strings on resin on strings.

Amongst the chaos of the carousel of bows moving up and down, like the horses on the ride at the fair, his face is still, calm, and concentrated, like the sea, and I watch contentedly, hearing his voice among the crashing waves, the way I know I'm not supposed to.

The purity, the un-contained perfection of his pitch, and how he makes her sing with skill and precision and simple movements; I'm enraptured.

And the horses move up and down, and, like a child's laugh over the music of the ride, his voice surpasses the rest.

And the music swells,

And they spin faster and faster and faster and ever faster.

Up and down, and up and down,

Until the orchestral merry-go-round slows to a sentimental pause.

Piano, and pianissimo,

And the ride slows, until...

The conductor lowers his arms,

But the boy-- my boy, my voice,

My angel,

Pauses, letting the moment linger.

The music isn't over for him quite yet, until he is forced to leave the ride.

The ride that I replay in my head

Until I fall asleep, dreaming

Of angels and fair-ground horses.

The Summer I Never Grew Up

So Repeat After Me,

I accept the promise of Sunscreen, and therefore vow,
As I have many times before,
To find adventures outside of air conditioning.

I accept the promise of Sand and Towels, 

To remember the beach as the

Very epitome of every everlasting

Best dream or memory of summer.

I accept the promise of the Diving Board, and its dare to ignore insecurity.
Because who needs shyness

with a blue sky and blue water?

I accept the promise of Rebellion, no matter how small,
Because (as a kid) I can get away with it.
And because if I don't break some rules, this freedom becomes school.

I accept the promise of Street Lights, a new rule with old roots,
From back when they were my curfew,
Before in summers of bare feet and graveyard ghosts.

I accept the promise of No Regrets, not the next day, not ever,
Because this is the time to make memorable mistakes.
Because this time is one of a kind.

I accept the challenge the adults present,
To do something with my summer,
But I see it and raise it a life time of memories.

Like back when I was young, running barefoot in my yard,
The emerald grass tickling my feet as a light mist dampens my hair,
Running from a daddy long legs in an Elementary School Summer.

Like back when I was an older young, and didn't quite fit into my neighborhood, but played dodge ball every night in that backyard,
No invitation, no set time, we all just... knew.

Like back when I was a tween, and I spent my summer
At bonfires in backyards, parents never more than a sliding screen door away,
And me dealing with petty arguments with friends I didn't feel close to, over soured smores and damp bathing suits.

And now, last year, a Freedom given to interrupted romance,
And given to weeks that dragged on, because I was drowning,
And months I don't even remember of what was supposed to be the Best Time.

So I accept the challenge of my past as I didn't before,
To spend my summer Doing, not Hiding,
With people I know will still play wih me at recess next year.

I accept the challenge to go through sunscreen like popsicles,
To act like a kid, even though I can drive,
And, above all else, to be young while I'm still too young to vote.

And I accept, above all else, the promise of the Summer.
The promise that, whatever happens, I can always dream of
The Summer I Never Grew Up.

At least until Junior year starts,
I'm still a child.
And I intend to be one to the fullest.

At least until the college search starts...
And the moving out thoughts...
And the being an adult part....

Popsicles, and banana splits,
And no-good boys, and bonfires,
And sneaking out, and pool-side gossip.

Dodgeball, and daddy long legs,
And that reading challenge at the library
That I've done every year since I was old enough to read.

And lemonade stands for the humane society.
And, well, just being a kid,
Because that's one thing I'll always be.

This is my last chance to act like one--
Well, at least until next summer.
And there's no way I'm giving that up.