Summer Solstice

“Like you know what’s best for her!”

“Don’t say that to me. Of course I do! Who’s the one taking care of her all the time?”

“Well, I’m sorry that my job is the only source of income we have!”

“That’s not true! Stop acting like-”

“Oh, please! Your art? How much money has that made?”

Sniffling, I curl up into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to block out the noise that carried through the small apartment. The darkness of my room seems to taunt me, an ever-present reminder of my loneliness, being hastily tucked in and forgotten. Photos of happy memories dance along my walls, and the darkness does little to obstruct the flashes of those moments in my head. As I toss and turn in my suffocating sheets, the muffled shouts stretch on, discomfort seeping into my mind, too settled to disturb. It feels like sweltering hours upon hours until I slip into sleep, the sweat and tears stuck on my face growing farther until I am encased by nothingness. 

My senses return one by one. At first, all I hear is giggling until the wet grass solidifies under my feet. And then I am running, feet pounding against the ground, the chorus of laughter surrounding my head as my hair trails behind me. The warmth of the sun shines on my back, and the fabric of my sundress flows around me. I feel free, the wind coursing through my hair as I sprint forward, each step light until my foot catches. 

Suddenly, I’m careening forward, unable to see anything around me. However, all I feel is airy peace when the grass is pressed against my cheek, and voices are coming closer, and then I can see. 

I can see the vibrant greens swaying in front of my eye. I can see the concern etched onto my parents’ faces as they kneel beside me, their mouths moving as they ask me if I’m alright. 

The pit in my stomach hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m not in control as my parents pull me up or as we set up the picnic on the hill. The sounds of their voices fade in and out around me, but I know what’s being said. 

I was here before. And now, all I can do is watch as the best day of my life plays out in front of me. The joy in the air is sickeningly sweet, so much so that I want to run. I want to retreat to the safer spaces in my head, retreat to my home of low expectations and lonely independence. I want to escape from the suffocating honey air that surrounds me, to hide from the love evident on their faces. 

But all I can do is relive it, so I manage by shoving the discomfort to the back of my mind and enjoying the bittersweet memory. Slowly, I begin to enjoy myself, lost in the breathy smiles around me. Slowly, my icy walls melt, opening me up to the warmth I’d forgotten. Slowly, I begin to feel love, ignoring the truth that this is a temporary fantasy. 

I wake up heartbroken, the atmosphere of delight that welcomed me into my dream long gone, shattered amongst the clutter on my carpet. After leaving my room, I am greeted by the stone-cold silence that cements my reality. My mother works at the kitchen table, exhaustion apparent in the sag of her shoulders, the circles around her eyes, and the weight of her fingers as they drag across her keyboard. She doesn’t acknowledge me, nor do I extend a greeting; it’s become a habit by now. 

The light streaming through the windows reminds me I’ve slept in, but I’m not hungry enough to eat. Instead, I settle on the couch and check my phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media. At least until I see today’s date, and dread pours through my veins. 

It’s the summer solstice. The memories come flooding back, and the feeling of my dream returns: bittersweet and abandoned. I fight to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks, knowing that the solstice celebrations we once had will never happen again. My father, who usually dragged us out to the hill with a picnic basket and a smile, was working in his office, his daughter and their celebrations entirely forgotten. 

It’s time to grow up, I think to myself, condescension evident in my mental tone. But I can’t bring myself to think of anything other than the joy we once had, and the desperate craving breaks me open. I would give anything to experience that again, but I know I can’t go back in time. Briefly, I debate the possibility of dragging my parents to the hill, but the inevitably strained atmosphere wouldn’t allow any trace of what the celebrations once were. 

I know it’s time to let go; I know that clinging to these memories will only make me more wistful. 

My footsteps echo through the kitchen as I walk to the far side, but it’s only when the door creaks that my mom seems to notice my presence. She offers me a strained smile, which I reciprocate with a small wave before she asks me where I’m going. Shrugging, I tell her my half-formed plan to take a walk, to which she nods and returns her gaze to her computer. 

For the first few minutes, I’m wandering around, but before I even know where I’m going, my feet lead me to the hill, as soft and welcoming as I remember. I scowl lightly but step off of the sidewalk onto the grass, tentatively climbing upwards. 

My usually loud head remains thoughtless as I ascend and hit the peak. Mirages of my family playing around circle my vision, but I don’t try to fight it.

Instead, I smile, fidgeting with the grass, soaking up the sun and the peace. Time flies by me as I enjoy my scenic surroundings and reminisce, the cool breeze keeping me comfortable. In the back of my mind, I acknowledge the movement of the sun in the sky, but make no effort to keep track of it. I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there when I registered footsteps behind me, turning to see my sheepish father, who stopped a few feet away from me to admire the surroundings. 

I grin softly when I see him smiling, but tilt my head to the side slightly with questions in my eyes. Chuckling quietly, he explains, “Early dinner,” before hesitating slightly and settling down next to me. After a few seconds, I lean against his shoulder, prompting him to speak. 

“It’s just as beautiful as it used to be,” he breathed in wonder. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Not really,” I respond, picking at the grass at my feet. “It was sort of a spontaneous decision.”

“I figured I would find you here,” he sighs, turning to look at me. I merely shrug, and we sit in silence for a bit, enjoying our surroundings. 

“I miss this place,” I confess to no one in particular. My dad pensively turns to me again. 

“Me too. It was so much simpler back then, you know?”

As much as I want to resent my parents, I do know. I know the challenges of the divorce and the finances, I know about the circumstances that created the tense atmosphere in the house. 

“Yeah, I know,” I whisper, somehow feeling a weight being lifted from my shoulders. 

“We should probably go back to the house now, she’s waiting for us.” Standing up, I brush the grass off my legs, pausing when I notice my dad’s stillness. 

“You know we love you, right, Daisy?” He asks, the apprehension set on his features twisting my heart. “I know we haven’t been the best-”

“I know,” I interrupt, smiling up at him. “I love you both too.” I see him fight to keep the shock on his face, returning my smile and leading me back home. 

However, I can’t bring myself to take a step, feet planted into the ground. My eyes scan the hill one last time, before I whisper “goodbye,” into the wind. 

I turn back to my dad, who’s looking at me with a smile, and skip over to him. Maybe I can’t get rid of the memories, but maybe I don’t want to. I know I can learn to look back on those moments with joy, instead of longing, and begin to let go of what once was. 

As we leave, I don’t look back at the hill that held the Summer Solstice Celebrations I cherished so much. On our way home, my dad and I talk and laugh more than we have in weeks, and I allow myself to be happy with what I have now, somehow hopeful for the future.