For the Love of Summer

MELANNIE

No one had ever told me that blood tasted like metal. 

I had never sucked a bleeding thumb, nor torn the skin off a parched lip. I had never bit my cheek while chewing rubbery chicken, and I had never pricked my tongue on a needle.

I almost called out for Jess, just the way I always would whenever I was scared or hurting, but stopped mid - call, my mouth opened on the E, his name bubbling in my throat, and stuffed my bleeding ring finger into my open mouth instead, pushing his name back into my heart.

And that's when it hit me.

Blood. It tasted like metal.

Had Summer done this too to stop the blood as it flowed so heavy? Had he stuffed his bleeding wrists into his mouth, the metally zing burning his tongue, as he kept himself from calling out for his mama? Or had he called, maybe screamed, his one last final attempt at life, and I hadn't heard?

Outside, the air was heavy with rain. It had been like that for the past week - the clouds grey, the air heavy, the news stations screaming about the first rains of the year - and yet, they hadn't come. 

Summer had always hated the rains. And so, even as everyone huddled in the supermarkets and the tube stations to complain about the heat, I guess I liked it that way. That way, Summer wasn't entirely gone. That way, a part of Summer was still with us - the part that loved the heat and the clouds and the winds - the happy part.

The blood had stopped flowing. The metal had faded from my tongue, and Jess' name had disappeared on my lips. I should probably have got some antiseptic or some such thing. But, my legs were boulders and my head was water and I was so so tired. And although I would never confess it to myself, I wanted the blood to keep flowing. I wanted it to never stop, just as it hadn't as it had gushed out from my Summer's wrists, as he sat there, helpless and hopeless, giving up on himself, giving up on life.

Jess doe's talk anymore. He simply wanders about the house, hardly looking at me, barely eating, and never sleeping. 

The day before last, when the night had gone too cold, I had taken the extra quilt from the cupboard to him. I had stared at him a while as he lay on the couch, his back to me, his shoulders trembling. He is only snoring, I had told myself. Going over, I had wrapped the quilt around him, leaning over so that I could hear him sob, his face pressed to the cushions. I had paused for a second, maybe less, and then turned to go away.

I hadn't wanted to. A year ago, or two, I wouldn't have. I would have sat down beside him, letting the tears fall, burying my face into that crook of his shoulders, smelling always of after - shave and cigarettes. He would have turned around then, his beard grazing my cheeks, and his arms would come around me as softly as a pashmina, and he would shush There There, and say, Your grief, my grief, remember?

But, then again, a year ago, or two, Jess wouldn't have been sleeping on the couch. A year ago, or two, Summer would still be with us.

JASPER

For a week I had been scrubbing these sheets, and still the stains wouldn't go.

When Summer was little, he would always wet his bed. We had tried so many techniques to teach her how to wake up mid - sleep and go to the bathroom, but he never could. And every morning, he would come down to breakfast his face swollen with sleep, his lips dropping at the corners, saying, I did it again.

Mel would silently tousle his hair, smiling at his swollen face and go upstairs to wash his sheets. I would follow in seconds, standing at the bathroom door, my eyes laughing. Need help, Miss? Mel would laugh and we would wash his sheets together, talking in torrents, completing all the conversations that had been left incomplete in that short two hours before work. 

Mel had come to the doorway yesterday. I will do that. But I wouldn't let her touch the sheets. They were mine to clean. They were mine to wash.

Have you ever been to a dentist? When you first see the needle with which they are gonna sew you up, you are dead scared. You kick the dentist sometimes, at other times, you shake your head and cry for your mom. But when the first stitch is done and you see that it hadn't hurt a bit because the anasthesia is that splendid, you aren't scared of the needle anymore. Because now you know that it can't hurt you. That's the way with pain. You aren't scared of it if you know you won't feel it.

And that's the way it will now always be with me. I won't be scared of pain anymore. Because nothing can hurt more than this.

I hadn't wanted Mel to leave me alone in the bathroom. A year ago, or two, I wouldn't have let her. I would appreciate some help, yes , I would say. She would come in then and sit before me on her haunches. The stains won't go off? She would ask. I would let myself break then, knowing her arms would come. She would reach out and comb my hair with her fingers, smelling of strawberry cupcakes, and say, We are in this together. And she would say, Your grief, my grief, remember?

But, we were not in this together anymore. Because, a year or two ago, I wouldn't be cleaning blood off Summer's sheets. A year or two ago, Summer would still be with us.

MELANNIE

In my bedroom, there is a mahogany cabinet by the bed. The cabinet has four drawers, two big ones in the middle, and two smaller ones on either side. In the second big one, there is a grey serviette. Under that grey serviette is a file. It's red, the kind with flaps, held in place by blue twine. Inside that file are the divorce papers. 

We never realised when everything blew up. We never realised when the soft coos and laughing conversations gave way to harsh words, yelling and banging doors. All of a sudden, there was only suffocation, my chest tightening more with every passing second, so that every waking minute felt like I had been swimming in the ocean, but suddenly forgotten how to come up for air. 

Jess had signed them, barely needing any pressing. And that's how I realised that he had felt it too. That suffocation. That forgetting how to breathe. When I saw him sign, his head bent on the papers, his always firm hands shaking just a little bit as he held the pen, I cried. Just cried. Didn't ask him to stop or tear the sheets and throw them into the bin. Just felt my cheeks go wet and my eyes start to burn and a dull thump thump thump in my chest.

Once, I didn't remember how long ago, I had loved that man. I had made a child with him. But then, I had stopped breathing.

We were supposed to try living together for a year. The judge didn't believe we were out of love. So, she wanted us to be in each other's way till the sun has circled the earth another time so that we could somehow learn the art of breathing again. Another year. Another three hundred and sixty five and one - fourth days.

And today was just the seventh.

JASPER

For the past week, the fridge had been stacked with casseroles and lasagnas and wonton soup and spaghetti. I didn't eat Mel's food anymore. I would raid the fridge, loading my plate with pasta and bread that tasted so foreign in my mouth, so full of pity that I wanted to puke. Mel would sit at the dining table and eat whatever she had cooked that day - broccoli or mushrooms or shrimps - food that Summer loved, food that Summer could never eat again.

I would take my neighbours' charity and retreat to the couch. Staring like a zombie at whatever was playing on TV, I would fill the emptiness inside me with food and whiskey, eating until my stomach hurt, drinking until my head ached.

Once, when Summer was nine, he had fallen from the park swing and hurt his head. There had been a lot of blood, and I had scooped him up in my arms, wrapping him in my jacket, and run to the hospital. His blood had drenched my shirt and for a long time, sitting in the Emergency lobby, his screams had echoed in my ears, wringing my guts with pain. 

That night, Mel had sat on the couch, and sobbed. She had sobbed forever and ever, staring up at me every five seconds, reaching out for my hand. Did he hurt a lot? she had asked in a choked up voice - a voice that reminded me of honey softening burnt toast. 

- Did he hurt a lot?

- He is fine now.

- But he was bleeding.

- He isn't bleeding anymore.

- But he was bleeding.

There were so many tears in her voice that night. I had reached over to her and pulled her to me, rubbing her back as she buried her head into the crook of my shoulders. There There, I had cooed. Your grief, my grief, remember?

I had known what would soothe her. Chinese takeout. She loved Chinese. So, I had ordered in some fried rice and dumplings, and we had huddled close to each other, Mel sniffing every now and then, watching Ellen, and eating our rice. Mel had fallen asleep on the couch, her cheek pressed to my arm, and I had let her stay, stroking her hair until night gave way to dawn and it was time to go to Summer.

Tonight, it was Mike and Molly. I stared at the screen, my lasagna cooling on my plate as Mel scuttled about in the kitchen - this time, it was crab. 

I was just about to reach for my bottle of whiskey when she emerged from the kitchen. I looked up at her once, her red hair pulled up in the tightest bun, her eyes focused on my face.

Slowly, she walked toward the fridge, a little wary, her usually long strides tentative and small.

When she emerged from behind the fridge door again, there was a plate of lasagna in her hands. Walking over to where I was sitting, she sat down at the far end of the couch. Staring at her plate as if she had never seen something quite like that before, she cut out a forkful of pasta with too deliberate care, doing it as slowly as possible. 

She did not put it into her mouth.

Instead, she spoke. 

' Did we do this to him, Jess? '

I looked away from her. Outside the window, the air was heavy with rain. There wasnt any rain though. There hadn't been for the past week. The kind of weather Summer loved.

' Yes, ' I said. ' We did. '

MELANNIE AND JASPER

Whenever they watched TV, they would sit on either end of the couch. Because sometimes, Summer liked to join them. He would place his head on Jasper's knee and his legs out on Melannie's laps. Like that they would sit, Jasper stroking Summer's hair, Melannie silently rubbing his feet, and they would watch Ellen and Friends and The Big Bang Theory and laugh until laugh was all they could do, and their voices would tinkle into hoarseness. 

Tonight was just the same. Except that tonight there was no Summer and tonight they weren't laughing. Between them, the couch was empty. 

Outside, there was a brilliant flash of lightning. The rains were probably coming at last. Jasper hated lightning. Light was beautiful. But when the light came suddenly, and disappeared just as fast, it was hope taken away too soon. Another flash of lightning outside, and then, there was thunder. Jasper jumped. Melannie's head turned towards him, staring at his lowered head, his slightly knocking knees.

Between them, the space was huge and alive, breathing life into the room.

Slowly, Melannie stretched out her arm. Inch by inch. Midway she stopped, her hand lying open on the couch, just where Summer would never be. 

Jasper turned too. The windows lit up, pink and purple flashing across the sky. He looked down at that hand. The hand that was the first he had ever kissed, the hand that had combed his hair and cupped his cheek and rubbed his back as he threw up into the toilet. The hand that would always hold his whenever there was lightning.

He reached across that space, and placed his hand on Melannie's. 

Outside, the rains came splashing down.

And even a year later, or two, their fingers interlocked perfectly.