Late Summer Day

       My popsicle was almost completely melted now. The last orange lump of flavored ice had finally fallen off of the bland wooden stick and sat in the grass attracting ants. Sticky juice from the cold treat stuck to my hands uncomfortably like glue any time I moved my fingers. I attempted at chucking the popsicle stick into a trashcan, but the adhesive residue made it cling to my thumb for a second too long so that the object fell to the dusty floor with a tiny crash. I didn’t bother to pick it up.

             Walking out from under the shaded porch of the Frosty Frisbee, the sun engulfed me into a blistering embrace. I took one look back at the red and yellow ice cream stand, a lousy-looking family was ordering something for the children who sat at one of the picnic tables, kicking each other’s shins. The girl at the cash register looked downright depressed to serve these people on a day like this.

             It was noon on a mid-August day and the nights were starting to interrupt the days earlier and earlier with the foreboding message that school started next week, but the sun was coming with a vengeance for these final days of summer before allowing fall to enter. I walked down Clark Street, past the tiny shops of the downtown area. The final wave of tourists were going down the line, hoping to find magic in the form of the perfect souvenir that would most likely end up collecting dust on someone’s shelf until a child or pet knocked it off and shattered it over the floor. Oh well, it was good for the local business when the rubes bought this junk at least.

             I tried to figure a way to spend the day, but nothing was coming to me. It was too hot to walk too far and my old man and I were too poor to afford anything more than the old pickup he took to work every day, so I couldn’t drive anywhere. My best buddy, Tommy Velenti was with his mom over in the city an hour away to pick out some new outfits for school, so I couldn’t hang with him. It seemed like the whole town was busy doing something and I was the forgotten outlier for their plans. Whatever, I traipsed into the corner store run by an old friend of my dad’s from the war.

             “Sonny,” Mickey O’Mahoney exclaimed, “how’s things going today kid?”

             “Oh, you know, Mick,” I answered not trying to sound too down, “too hot to do anything and nowhere to go.”

             “Hey, I get that kid, she’s a scorcher out there today,” Mick always used female pronouns to talk about inanimate objects, maybe to compensate that his old lady had run off on him ten years ago, maybe because he thought it was cool, “Hey, how’s your old man doin’?”

             “He’s alright lately, you know,” I told him, “the steel factory is kicking his ass, but he’s going forward.”

             “Don’t I know it,” Mick said wiping his thick glasses on a corner of his white button down. “Your pops is a real stand-up guy, Sonny, he saved my life you know.”

             “Yeah, I’ve heard the story,” I replied. Micky loved telling me the story of how my dad pulled him out of a burning room on their ship at Midway. It was usually told to me Ina slurred speech when the two old guys would sit on the back porch of the house slamming cheap beer. I grabbed a coke out of the ice box and flipped through the paperbacks on display near the counter. None of them looked all that interesting. “A pack of smokes too.” I told Mick when I set the glass bottle in front of him and pulled my change out.

             “You know,” Mick said with a fatherly tone, “if you weren’t Vincent Calabrese’s son, id never sell you these. Sixteen-year-olds shouldn’t be smoking.” He slapped the paper pack next to the opened soda bottle.

             “Yeah, I know,” I told him, even though Micky O’Mahoney chained three packs on a light day, he always gave me hell for it, “I don’t smoke that much, though,” I tried to sound convincing. I gave him the money for the goods and left.

             “Tell your old man I said hi and that I’ll be over Friday with a case of beer,” the storeowner called as I walked out with a wave to let him know that I would.

             Back into the sweltering heat. Sipping my cola and lighting a cigarette, I strutted past the car shop down the road where I worked. I looked the other way incase anyone saw me going by. It was my day off and I wasn’t looking to get roped into helping the guys out on a job that I didn’t have to. I decided I would swing by the house to put on a pair of shorts and go to the pool for a bit. Maybe there’s be some kids from school there.

             I stepped into our old home and headed for my bedroom. The place was a shoebox with once white walls, turned darker from cigarette smoke and dirt. Otherwise, it was pretty clean for a place that two guys lived in. My other’s urn sat on the mantelpiece above the sooty fireplace next to a black and white photo of her in her wedding dress. She had passed when I was three so I didn’t remember her too much. Everyone told me I had her Polish blue eyes, which must have been true since my dad’s were southern Italian brown. The black and white was the only photo displayed in the house, the rest were posters of pinups in my room and the old pictures of my old man and my mom from when they were younger locked up in a box of memories with my dad’s old Navy stuff in his closet.

             I took my cuffed jeans off and hung them in the open windowsill of my room for the sweat to dry out of and put on a pair of black shorts to swim in. I didn’t bother with the plain t-shirt that stuck to my body with perspiration but grabbed a towel and sunglasses then headed to the community pool.

             The place was packed with townspeople. Mothers with their children, retired couples looking to get out of the house, and a whole legion of middle school and high school students running around and trying to look cool. I settled my stuff on an available seat before peeling my shirt off and sitting in the sun. My skin tanned well before burning, so I was thankful for that on days like this.

             Across the way, by the snow cone machine, I spotted Valentina Rossi, my crush since the sixth grade when she moved here with her parents from Chicago. Valentina was buying a blue snow cone with a group of her friends and they were giggling about something. I thought about going over to talk to her but figured against it. Who wants to date a sixteen-year-old with no car and lives in the poor section of town? Especially when she’s the daughter of a prestigious doctor? Screw it, I said to myself and jumped into the pool.

             The water was refreshingly cool and felt incredible after walking around in the burning sun all day. I dipped my head in, allowing my perfectly combed ducktail to be ruined by the liquid. I could always go home and fix it if I needed, not like I had plans anyway. I rolled over to my back and stoked my arms back in forth, pushing me across the surface until I felt my back collide with something smooth and soft. An old lady stood with a menacing look in her eye when I turned around embarrassingly.

             “What it, you dirty wop!” the old bag said before turning back to talking to her equally ancient friend.

             “My apologies,” I told her with defeat. I’m certain she didn’t hear, though. I waded back to the edge and climbed out soaking wet and plopped into the chair with my stuff. Using the towel to dry my hands off, I reached into my pack for another cigarette and flicked the lighter to burn it. I felt like I could have lit the thing just by holding it up, the sun was so hot, though.

             I spied the woman I had bumped into, stepping up the concrete stairs of the pool with her friend to meet up with the group of hags she must have came with. I could tell by her demeanor that I had ruined her perfect day and that she was now telling her companions about the tragic accident. They all shook their heads with disgust before getting up to leave.

             I sat back, looking at the blue sky with occasional puffy white clouds drifting overhead. I puffed my cigarette until it burned down too low, making me jump in pain slightly, as it hit my thumb. I threw the butt into the bushes and looked back over at Valentina. She was lounging in her own chair between Stacy Marshall and Tammy Weatherby. Stacy was telling a story of a date gone wrong and the other two were laughing at the right parts. Valentina looked over and noticed me. She gave a cute smile and waved. I smiled dumbly and waved too eagerly. My face burned even hotter.

             Feeling embarrassed, I walked over to the concession, taking the long way around to avoid seeing Valentina up close after making a fool of myself and got another cola. I got back to my chair, where the woman next to me was getting up and drying herself before dressing to leave and sipped my drink, wishing that at least Tommy was here to talk to. I had other friends, but not really the type to invite each other out to do stuff kind.

             I was just closing my eyes under the sunglasses when a voice spoke, “What? Cant come over to talk?” The voice caught me off guard, making my bolt up and spilling my coke on my chest. It felt lime ice dripping into my pores.

             “Valentina!” I gasped and felt my cheeks once again bubble up in blushing. She laughed kindly at my blunder, but to me it sounded like an execution verdict.

             “Let’s go in the water so you can wash off,” Valentina said between giggles. Her dark eyes were full of color as she said this.

             We jumped in and found a more or less secluded section to stand and talk in. Valentina had dark hair and eyes but pale skin which was turning a slight rosy color on her shoulders in the slight beginning of sunburn.

             “So,” she asked smiling kindly, but with an accusatory look in her eyes.

             “So?” I said back, unsure of what else to say. Valentina’s fired sat watching from their seats.

             “So, why haven’t you called all summer?” Valentina asked like it was the answer to an incredibly easy riddle.

             “Oh,” I said dumbly, “uhmmmm. I guess I got busy working and didn’t think you wanted to hang out.” My voice sounded horrible in my own ears.

             “Well, should have called. It would have been nice to hang out,” she spoke with a hint of sadness in her voice now. Like she was hurt that I didn’t seem to want to be around her. “Do you not like me?”

             “Who said I didn’t like you?” I asked. I didn’t know that she knew I liked her, but didn’t know which one to address first.

             “Well, Tammy told me that Tommy told her that you liked me earlier this summer, but then when you didn’t call, I figured you must not have liked me anymore,” she said with sorrow.

             My mind went for a loop. First, I felt anger at Tammy, for telling Valentina, then Tommy for telling Tammy, then myself for telling Tommy. It was like an embarrassing game of telephone that I started unknowingly. “I- I do like you… I just thought you wouldn’t want to hang out with me ever,” I told her earnestly.

             “Why would you think that?” Valentina sounded a little hurt by this.

             “Well, your family is rich and you’re smart and have a car. My dad and I are poor and I don’t have a car and-“ I stopped. I had just realized that my hair was a mess from swimming and my ducktail was usually a form of confidence for me to hide under.

             “Santino, I don’t car about that,” no one called me by my real name except for my English teacher. To everyone I was Sonny. “I love walking and I’d love walking with you, I can drive if ever needed to go too far. Besides, you’re incredibly intelligent yourself. Don’t try to act like you aren’t, I know it was you who wrote that story in the paper last October under the name ‘Manny Dalton’ and I know you write stories with Mrs. Dean helping you.”

             She was right, I had written a story called “The Hallow Grave” for the paper’s annual horror story contest last October and the high school English teacher, Mrs. Dean had me write other pieces for her to help “cultivate my skills” since she thought I had potential. A chore that I would later be superbly thankful for when my first book hit the bestseller list when I was twenty-seven years old.

             “I- I’m sorry, Valentina, I didn’t know,” I told her, unable to say anything but that.

             “Just because we come from different backgrounds, doesn’t make us who we are. You and your dad are well-respected despite your income and I know my family would love to have you two over- if nothing else, because you’re Italian like we are,” she said.

             My heart did summersaults in my chest, I thought the organ was going to shoot through my chest and into the water, where it would still jump around on the surface. “I like you Valentina, I guess I was too self-conscious. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I spoke. I felt awful despite my excitement at her kind words.

             She smiled in a light-hearted manner and said, “There’s a movie showing at the park tomorrow night. It will probably be lame, but it might be fun if you and I go together. We can walk if you want.”

             My sorrow slipped away and swam with the tiny waves in the water and I excitedly told her that I would love that. She kissed me softly on the cheek and told me when and where to meet her before departing with her friends.

             The next night, I walked her down to the park at six thirty in the afternoon and we watched a children’s movie but had the time of our lives. School was a breeze that year and the next as Valentina helped me with math and I helped her with English. Even though we went to separate collages, I was able to drive up and see her once I finally got a car and now we live comfortably and happily.