For the Summer

by Shey Stahl

  I wanted to remember you. I wanted every memory like it was yesterday, a chance to relive the past. If I was going to write down any memory, I wanted it to be that first one. Two days later I had half that first summer written. And as you could gather, I couldn’t stop.

  At first I wasn’t sure that I wanted to relive those memories once I started writing them, but I had to know if maybe that might get me somewhere.

  A lot became of those first few days of writing in this journal. I learned I wanted to be a writer of some sort. The act of putting words on paper was therapeutic for me. Plus, I could blame the Freshman 15 on that, too.

  And I missed you.

  When you got hurt, let’s say you fell off your bike and skinned your knee. You always remembered skinning your knee because you have the scar to remind you. How and what you were doing might’ve faded with time, but you never forgot that it hurt.

  Now when your heart was broken, you most likely remembered how and why, but couldn’t see the scar.

  The pain was so deep; it was in your blood and bones. It would never go away.

  In a way, though, there had been a sense of relief in writing this.

  2010

  Despite depression and lack of sleep, outside of my bubble, the world continued and apparently so did I, for the most, partly because I had made it to my sophomore year of college.

  Unemployment and foreclosures had risen. My dad’s business was struggling just to get two jobs a month. They had to sell our childhood home, leaving my mom living with Aunt Megs and my dad still living with Uncle Tom in Gainesville.

  The Saints won the Super Bowl, and the Giants won the World Series. Eclipse came out. Ivey and I once again braved the teenagers and screaming mothers for the midnight show just to see Edward propose to Bella.

  Not gonna lie, I cried a little thinking of my own sad shit storm.

  “Need You Now” by Lady Antebellum was released. I had a separate playlist on my phone for songs I listened to when I thought of you. That was one of them. Bieber fever was a rush with millions. I thought this was actually Beaver fever and wondered why the sudden craze. Who knew it was a kid with hair that looked like a shaggy beaver.

  His songs were catchy, though.

  And for once in I don’t know how long, no deaths made me cry.

  College seemed like a blur to me. Every face was forgettable, and at times, that seemed fitting. What wasn’t blurry was Ivey’s need to party.

  It was a string of nights that led to one turning point when I realized that I couldn’t continue to live the way I was living.

  It actually started when she found me crying one night, holding that fucking journal as I relived our first time. It was a horrid, jumbled mess of words, but I finally got out, “I miss him!”

  Ivey sighed, trying to get me under control. “My God, am I gonna have to set up an intervention or something?”

  I nodded, a little dramatic, closing my laptop where I might have been searching for your name on Facebook. Something I might have done … daily.

  “Get your shit together, Sophie!” Ivey had said. “Set an example for Kendal …” Ivey’s voice dropped, and her eyes scrunched the way yours did when you were trying to be serious. “She’s an alcoholic because of you.”

  “She is not. She was that way before I got here.”

  “True … but let’s get you back in the saddle.” She moved to my closet and picked through my not-so-sexy wardrobe. “And for Christ’s sake, raise the bar!”

  I wasn’t sure about raising the bar, but so began my drinking your memory away.

  November 2010

  There came a time when Ivey felt the need to jump in and save me. I blamed the recent declaration of her major. Psychology. So fitting.

  It was a good plan if you asked me. I thought if I got shitfaced enough, eventually I wouldn’t care.

  It started when we went tailgating at the Dawgs game and ended up downtown after the win.

  The night was an intoxicated blur, and I woke up with my panties in a red plastic cup beside my bed.

  Rolling over, I contemplated the meaning of life.

  Well, I contemplated the meaning of my life. I also wondered how my panties ended up in the cup, and why there was a keg beside the bed.

  Looking beside me I saw Ivey in bed with me, which was nothing new. Just when I was about to get up and turn the alarm off, Kendal pounded on the wall in a deep voice that couldn’t have really been hers, could it? Did she really sound like a dude in the morning? “Seriously, turn that goddamn thing off.”

  “Holy shit,” Ivey said, sitting up and looking from me to the keg and then the wall. I wasn’t sure exactly what she was referring to, despite the glaring obvious of the keg. She surprised me when she laughed and pointed to the cup. “Why are your panties in a cup?”

  “Why is there a keg in our room?”

  Ivey looked over my shoulder to see it. “That could be really useful. Is there beer in it?”

  Sure enough, there was.

  So there we were, beer and bagels for the morning, looking over a series of pictures that explained a lot about how the keg got there.

  “There’s a party downtown, wanna go?” Ivey asked, looking over her bagel at me, phone in one hand, bagel in the other.

  “How’d you find a party?”

  “Craigslist.” She shrugged. “There’s so many on there, too.” I didn’t respond so she showed me the phone. “See!”

  “I worry about you.”

  Her eyes widened as she read through the ad. “They wear helmets and mouth guards.”

  “Who does?”

  “Uh, the people at the party. It says here.” She gestured to her phone. “Wear a helmet and mouth guard.”

  “I have so many concerning thoughts running through my head right now.”

  “Well, knock those fuckers out,” Ivey urged. “We need to go to this.”

  “What does that ad say? What do you wear?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna wear my footie pajamas.” Ivey and I had these matching footie monkey pajamas that she’d been dying to wear since last year. They had an ass flap.

  It was so like Ivey to get me to attend parties like this and act my age. She was hell bent on making me enjoy college despite my lack of enthusiasm for it.

  It was the simple things—like her wearing footy pajamas to a party, and getting me to, as well.

  November 2010

  Before we went to the head-bashing mouth guard party, we had class for an hour.

  Just as I was leaving class, Rocco came by, his smile wide and attractive. I smiled back, lifting my hand in a half-hearted wave. The gesture seemed pathetic. It was.

  Rocco Amari was Italian, and fuck me if he wasn’t straight out of GQ magazine. We had one class together, Mass Media, and I spent more time staring at his dark lashes and pretty face than I did concentrating on what the fuck Mass Media even meant.

  Walking outside with me, Rocco squinted, tipping his head to one side. His hand came up as he ran his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip before a smirk appeared. “What are you and Ivey doing tonight?”

  “Well, we are heading off to a party downtown where they wear helmets and mouth guards. After we figure out how the keg that’s currently in our room got there last night …”

  He smiled; his eyes rose from my lips to my eyes. “No shit? A party downtown where they wear helmets and mouth guards, huh?” he asked with a mischievous smirk.

  “Yeah, have you heard about it before?” I leaned against my car door trying to appear relaxed.

  He also leaned against the side door, appearing just as comfortable as he was any other time we were around one another. “Well, that depends …” he began. “Where is this party at exactly?”

  Rummaging through my bag, I looked down at my phone to the text Ivey sent with the address and showed him.

  His smile widened. “I suppose I’ve heard of the party, after all … it’s my house.”

>   Well, shit. Of course the Italian Stallion had a house.

  I was speechless, but not for long. “So that means you’ll see my monkey footie pajamas tonight.” I waggled my eyebrows. “They have an ass flap.”

  Rocco burst out laughing, but he recovered quickly and shook his head. “I can’t wait to see that.” His hand came up and touched my burning cheek. “See you in a few hours then.”

  Those next few hours were probably the most nerve-racking of my life. I drank six cups of beer from that keg in my room, told Kendal to fuck off for using my toothbrush again, and then headed to the party where I met up with Ivey on the street. It actually wasn’t far from campus, and we were able to walk there. I preferred to walk to parties anyhow, as it made getting home easier, and I didn’t have to bum a ride from some dickweed just wanting to get inside my monkey pajama ass flap.

  “What’s up, home-skillet?” Ivey asked, wearing her matching pajamas. “Wyatt said he’d meet us here later.”

  “Not much.” I nodded toward the large white house before us. “This oughta be interesting.”

  “Do you know the guy who lives here?” Ivey asked, knowing I would have never been this calm had I not. We walked up to the door holding our helmets and mouth guards. The only reason we had such items was because Ivey stole them from a hockey team she did shots of Crown Royal with after they won their division championship last year. Apparently their right wing was one hell of a good time that night and knew how to do a slap shot.

  Ivey pulled her helmet on when we got to the steps. “Let’s do this shit!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, clapping her tiny hands together.

  Mike, Rocco’s roommate, who I recognized from my Mass Media class, opened the door before we even had the chance to knock. “Well hello, Sophie.” He had that same knowingly dirty smirk Rocco had, only he wasn’t Italian. And I wasn’t entirely sure Rocco was either.

  Ivey stopped jumping, her mouthpiece fell out on the pebble stone porch, and she gaped at him. “Please tell me he’s single?” She slowly looked over at me.

  “You’d have to ask him that.” I gave Ivey a sidelong glance. “He doesn’t come to class that often.”

  “I’m Mike,” he said, reaching for Ivey’s hand after shuffling his beer to the other hand.

  “Well, shit on a shingle, you know this guy?” She reached for his hand and refused to let it go. I wondered if she was going to take a bite out of him or something.

  I started laughing. “I wouldn’t say I know him. He’s in my Mass Media class.”

  Rocco appeared at the door wearing a dark gray t-shirt and light stone-washed jeans with a few holes in them. “Hello there,” he remarked with a smile. “Glad you could make it.”

  Ivey slapped the side of my head. “If you don’t fuck him … I’ll take him and his friend.”

  “By all means, come inside,” Mike said, eagerly eyeing Ivey. “Nice pajamas.”

  She giggled, following closely beside him. “They have an ass flap!”

  This was why we were friends.

  Rocco, who was still looking at me, chuckled. “They seem … comfortable?” Just as he spoke the word comfortable, Ivey dropped the ass flap to show Mike. Mike, well he seemed very excited that I brought a friend.

  Why were these moments important? If I was writing to you, I would be highlighting this event knowing if you had cared, and read this, you’d probably rip Rocco’s throat out and shove it up Mike’s ass.

  I mingled and I lingered. Close to Rocco. He was busy entertaining his guests, which happened to be about fifteen people. Most of who I had no idea who they were, but I knew Rocco and Mike. I didn’t really give a shit, though.

  Around nine, I found myself doing shots with Ivey in the kitchen when Rocco found me.

  “Hey there,” he said softly in my ear from behind, his chest pressed against my back as he examined my drink of choice. “Jack Daniels … hmm … how about I show you something even better than this?” Rocco reached out with one hand and leaned against the counter.

  “Sure,” I said. “But I’m really anxious to use this helmet and mouth guard. What’s the deal with that anyway?”

  “We’ll get to that later. No one can be sober for that. The less rational witnesses, the better.”

  “Fair enough, so what’s this drink of choice?”

  “We’ll get to that, too. Let’s start with …” He looked around until he found what he was looking for. “Beer. I want some honest answers out of this.”

  So we played this game, a game he designed, I thought, and I wasn’t so sure I understood the rules.

  One person asked a question about himself or herself and the other guessed the answer. Turned out, I wasn’t very good at following directions.

  Given my confusion, I went first. “How old am I?”

  “Twenty?” he answered too quickly.

  “You cheated!”

  “How so?” he challenged playfully. I think he knew I wasn’t going to win this game.

  “What’s the winner get out of this game?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at his serious but playful face.

  Rocco’s eyes closed briefly before opening with a new hunger to them. “The winner gets whatever they want.”

  “Game on then.” I slipped another wink in his direction and leaned back in the chair I was sitting in. “How did you know my age?”

  “You’re a sophomore. It’s not hard to guess.”

  “Fair enough. How old are you?”

  He sighed with drollness. “That’s not how you play. I’m supposed to say, how old am I?”

  “Well fuck—I don’t want to play this game.” I tossed him a sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s too complicated.”

  “All right.” He gave me a lopsided smiled and leaned to one side, shifting his weight in the chair. He had this relaxed lean, very self-assured.

  “Ten questions, anything you want to ask,” he said, running his hand through his hair before putting his white hat back on and then adjusting the fit. Loose chunks of his black hair poked through on each side. The white in his hat contrasting against the green in his eyes was beautiful. And he was beautiful, but I wanted to see golden brown and bright blue.

  “I thought that game was called twenty questions?”

  “I wouldn’t want it to be too complicated.”

  Glaring, I asked my first question. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Nope.” He winked. “No girlfriend.”

  I looked around the kitchen to see people shuffling in and out not paying any mind to us. “Your house?”

  He nodded. “Yep,”

  “Why do you have a house and all broke college students, like me, live on campus?”

  “Daddy bought it.” He let out a little chuckle.

  “Figures.”

  That one earned me a glare. “You have six left, I’d make them good if I was you.”

  Scrunching my nose, I tried to think of better, more noteworthy questions for the final six but didn’t come up with much. “When’s your birthday?”

  My God I was stupid. I could be asking him anything, but no, I was asking shit a four-year-old would want to know.

  Rocco seemed to notice I was a little flustered with myself. “June tenth.” He took a slow drink of his beer before running his tongue across his lower lip again. I was sure that lip saw a lot of tongue action. “I don’t mind the personal ones, honey. Ask away. Don’t be shy.”

  I got my shit together and rambled off, “When’s the last time you had sex?”

  “I’m a virgin,” he said with a completely straight face.

  My mouth made a few very fish-like opening and closing movements before he giggled. Fucking giggled. “I’m just messing with you,” he said with another little giggle, seemingly amused with his lying ass. “Let’s see …” He tapped his forehead lightly with his index finger. “It was about three months ago.”

  Recovering after a dri
nk of my beer and a kick to his shin, I asked, “Girlfriend … or one-night stand?”

  “Neither, just a friend.”

  “Still friends?”

  “Not really, but I see her occasionally at various parties and what not.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Last one …”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I blurted out. “Do you want to fuck me?”

  At that moment, the entire goddamn raucous around us halted, and you could have heard a fucking pin drop. There was only the rushing of blood in my face. That was pretty fucking loud and a little distracting.

  For the first time since I met this Rocco dude in class, he barely flushed but didn’t lead on. He shifted again and then tipped his head slightly—his eyes searched mine. “Come with me,” he said before standing and leading me away from the crowd.

  What’s coming is the reason for me telling you this, Bensen. Because this part was why I was so fucked up …why I still am. Why you had me so fucked up. Just when shit was going good, I was leaned against a wall and reminded of your stupid ass.

  Rocco backed me against the wall in the empty living room next to the bar. He placed one hand just beside my head, leaning to one side. The other pushed my hair away from my ear, his head bent forward, and he whispered, “There are a lot of things I want to do to you, honey. Most of which involve you, naked, in my bed. I wouldn’t exactly say I want to fuck you … it’s more like I want you in any way I can have you.” His breath blew teasingly across my already heated skin. My legs shifted in my flannel monkey pajamas, our bodies now pressed together. “I want to feel your soft skin against mine and taste you in all the places these adorable pajamas are concealing. I want you … all of you.” He pulled back to look at me, my entire body trembled, and to be fair, his breathing was rather heavy, his eyes extremely hooded, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. “Does that answer your question?”