A Retelling of Dusk and Summer, 2006, by Kate Mullins

From MemoryArchive

Who: Kate Mullins
What: A Retelling of Dusk and Summer
When: Summer, 2006
Where: Washington, IA

It was late summer; the days had just started to get colder, and the leaves had just begun to die. The sun was setting, and the prairie grass seemed to burn in the twilight. The few clouds in the sky were stained red, orange, and deep purple by the light. I was with a good friend of mine, lying on a blanket under the trees. All afternoon we had lay there, discussing our pasts, our present, but the future was never spoken of. It was a day of Today, not Tomorrow.

For hours we lay there, talking and laughing. But the one moment of silence is what draws my mind to this memory. The sun was almost to the horizon by then, and the breeze had begun to be a little colder. It stirred the leaves, and they fluttered down around us like an ethereal rain, as if in slow motion. I turned my head to look up at him, but he was focused on something else; what, I'll never know.

His hair reflected the little light that was left, his eyes the brilliant blue of the sky. I lay my head on his shoulder and breathed in green Axe and smoke. I smiled, and closed my eyes. The birds were chirping in the trees far above our heads, and cars were rushing by on a nearby highway. My tranquility was shattered, however, by an elbow to the side, which made me squeal. He giggled, and I couldn't help but smile. We stood up and made our way back to the car with our arms around each other, stumbling down the hill.