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June 16, 2005

you could be happy right here: it's the light in my eyes; it's perfection and grace; it's the smile on my face

It is late afternoon and I am sitting on the dock with my In Style and New Yorker magazines, having been dissuaded from going to the gym in favor of playing lifeguard for Herself and Moo and four of his friends while they swim--although to be honest if one of them were drowning there's not much I could do about it other than call 911, since they are all better swimmers than I am, even the littlest one, whose name is Noah and who is here because one of Moo's friends is his babysitter.

When I first came down to the dock my neighbor G. was floating around on a raft, smoking a cigarette. G. is the type of neighbor who if she sees your husband swimming makes it a point to put on a bikini and come out to swim as well. I usually try to avoid her, which has generally not been difficult because she hasn't ever had much to say to me. I wonder if she knows The Husband is no longer here to lure her out. Actually G.'s husband has been noticeably absent for quite a few months as well. "You're looking skinny these days," she calls to me. I am? I wait too long to answer, considering all the possibilities, and finally say "thank you." Thank you? Conversation ends there and as the teenagers begin to take turns hurling themselves belly-first into the water, G. retreats up to her house.

Noah and Herself spar over who gets to play with the floats until Herself shrieks like a teakettle and I make her get out of the water, whereupon she announces to me that she is going to call her father and "tell him how mean" I am, before stomping up to the house in a fury. Noah watches her with a bemused expression. Hey, bud, if you think you don't understand girls now, just wait.

A humid peace settles once more over the scene. The water is warm, the sky fuzzy and cloudless, it's hot hot hot but a breeze moves the tree branches over my head and I'm having a good time reading and sort of listening to the watery conversations, the topics of which seem to cover Sex in the City; school; the math final, which most people failed; a fellow student's b.o.; summer plans; and--briefly--incest ("not the gross kind, the hot kind, like in 'Flowers in the Attic' "). Hm.

They are all on the verge of high school and have this last summer of being in-between--not little kids any more but still too young to have real jobs and so free to enjoy their summer break for real. For Moo, summer means sleeping until noon every day and staying up all night. For Herself, summer means "no more stomach aches" (she has spent the last nine months living in fear of her teacher) and going to stay with her aunt in Connecticut.

Watching them all float around I remember what it was like to be their age and have all of summer stretched out in front of me; a vast expanse of heat and barbecues and ice cream and hours spent reading under the trees and riding my bike to the beach and marathon gin games. And late afternoons like this one, when the quality of the light and the air and circumstance came together and were almost painfully perfect, just like right now.

Posted by JudyLa at 06:00 AM | Comments (0)