It’s cold tonight. I can feel the creeping, insidious cold through the window slats and under the gap of the door despite the towel I stuffed there to stop it. It is a good night to write about a summer’s past. Maybe writing this will warm my cold heart and hands.
I stood outside smoking a cigarette to the staccato sound of a summer cicada. Will she ever arrive I thought as I looked at my wrist watch. She is ten minutes late. I flicked the cigarette butt off into the bushes and started to step back inside. As I opened the door, a blue Volkswagen Golf pulled quickly into the driveway.
“Hey you! You ready to go?” She asked as she rolled down her window. She had on a pair of dark sunglasses and a tank top.
I grabbed my fishing rods and tackle box and put them on the back seat.
“I am ready if you are.” I replied as I sat down in the passenger’s seat.
She cranked up the car and off we went. She rolled down all the windows and the brisk wind whipped my hair and hers into frenzy. You could smell the summer time scents as we made our way out to West Point Lake. She pulled up into a parking spot out at Moss Point. She handed me the picnic basket and I carried it over to the picnic table.
“Will you get the charcoal?” She hollered back.
“I am on it.” I replied and walked back to the car.
I grabbed the bag of charcoal and carried it to the grill. I poured out enough to make a good fire and I lit it. The charcoal sprang to life. We waited until the coals had become white hot. Alaine then put on some burgers. Maybe twenty minutes had passed until the burgers were done. We sat at the table and ate.
“You know, I still haven’t cast out a line.” I said as I grabbed my fishing rod.
I sat on the bank and cast out my line. She sat down behind me wrapping her legs around me and embracing my waist with her arms. Before long, I felt a tug on the line. I reeled in furiously and out of the water came a bream flopping upon the ground. She squealed and got up and ran.
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