Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Amy

Seen exiting the Red Line to Howard

“Dear Mom,”

Amy exits the train and immediately shields her eyes from the blinding summer sun. Her tie-dyed t-shirt is so thick. She wishes she had a tank top.

“Camp is great so far. I was so nervous about becoming a counselor, but you were totally right when you said it’d be fun.”

She finds the stairs and hurries down them, skipping steps in her excitement.

“It’s so hot out. I love taking dips in the lake. They let staff have a free swim once the kids are in bed.”

Sweat beading on her forehead, she dodges the slower commuters and bursts through the turnstile.

“I almost wish I could be a swim teacher. But I like teaching archery, too. I don’t even have to be that good at it—mostly it’s just making sure the kids don’t shoot each other. I think I’m honestly getting better, though. I got three bullseyes yesterday.”

He is waiting for her in front of the station, arms outstretched. The joy of seeing each other is exquisitely painful, like an arrow piercing both their hearts. She whips her body into his.

“There is one bad thing about camp, though: the mosquitos! I must have super tasty blood, or something. They just won’t quit. My body’s covered in bites.”

He kisses her hard on the mouth, their faces crushed together, skulls desperate enough to crack. His lips move to her neck, which he gently bites. Amy grins.

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’m doing okay. I miss you. Give the dog a hug for me. I’ll see you at the end of August!”

They’ll have over a month together, alone. Nobody will interfere. They are free to love.

“Love,

Amy” 

Sorry if there are typos in this. I'm hoping there aren't, but my coworkers simply won't be quiet. It's driving me a little bit nuts. I suppose I should bring that up with them instead of with you. 

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