warm

When we walk in, I can hear them. The ruckus of friendship floods my ears and starts to overwhelm me. Sentimentality coming to stand beside me as she always does on days like today. 

I'm greeted through the window; my bags are left on the floor. There is watermelon on the counter - I have wanted watermelon for days, but couldn't find it in me to justify the mess. The mess becomes smaller here. 

Gearing up for a swim, we swap the sunscreen bottle, taking such care to protect each other from the sun. When our bodies crash into the water, the relief is instant. From the heat, yes, but from something else too. 

Swinging feet. Knees bent toward the sun. I'm becoming better at saying what I mean.

Later, I'm sitting reading my book on a chair with a friend and realize it's been silent for a while. Nearly half an hour of lazy, sweet quiet, on the porch, in the sun, with my friends. 

We watch the storm pass, paying it its dues. 

Playing in the sun, he looks like a little boy, like the one I met many years ago. I didn't know them as a little girl, but my heart did. 

I think to myself that in November (which is the hardest month), I will remember how I saw her widest smile so many times today - the one that reaches to the teeth in the very back of her mouth. I will remind her of this, and how the freckles will return.

Back at the water, I watch them swim or float or lay. The music floats about, reminding me that there is so much more after this. I say that everyday together feels like the best day ever, and I mean it. 

I am dancing and grinning and spinning and squealing with delight. There is cake because there is always cake. The sun sets and our words become so serious, so sincere as we marvel at one another. Sitting here, with you, is the victory lap. In a few hours, we will leave here and it will inevitably be hard again. It's hard now, but at least we're outside in the cool summer heat. 

Showers taken and pajamas on. We're sitting on the couches, all squished up together. Our arms and legs tangled up, heads and shoulders resting wherever they landed. There are books and movies and music and the moon. I'm struck by how often I see the bottom of these people's feet. How often rest finds us when we are together and says "take off your shoes and stay for a minute." The vulnerability of such is not lost on me. 

On the dock, the stars are the brightest I have ever seen. I call and tell her she has to come look - I have never seen them so clear. I wish for a shooting star. I hear them coming before I see them. I hear splashes and I know they are in the water. I see a shooting star. 

As I sleepy stumble down the hallway, in every room I pass, there is someone sleeping through dreams I will ask about in the morning. In each room, there is a person I love. Goodnight, sister. 

I crawl into bed knowing I will sleep like a worn out, sunburnt seven year old, and in the morning my heart will be sore from all of today's joy. After all, it wasn't meant to be a crumb. 

And when I wake, it's true.