In My Write Mind
One more great summer. Is that asking too much?
I want to take it back like a VH1 Behind the Music special. I want to break down what made the summers of the past so special, interview people that played a starring role and get their input. I want to bottle their words, their memories, shake it up, and pour it out just one more time. I want to go places I used to go, do things I used to do, never entertain the thought of sleeping in as I run roughshod through my last great summer, all the while inhaling every moment.
Do it fast, take it slow.
That's my motto for this one last great summer.
That summer would definitely lead me back to St. Albans, Queens, coming from where I'm from like an Anthony Hamilton song, where those past summers made the most impact, the most sense. Gave me the most memories. I want to go back to where I grew up, to the house with the stucco front and the yellow siding. The one with the garage in the back and the blacktop driveway. The one with the barbecue pit and the tables with umbrellas. The one with the rose bushes and the tempermental water hose. I need to go to the back yard where I prepared to hit the streets, working on my hitting stance for the afternoon softball games, where I perfected my left-handed jumper; where I played with our pet stray dog and where I was forced to cut the lawn.
I want to go back to the time where I got my first summer job, working for the NYC Dept. of Transportation in downtown Manhattan, coming home with a healthy paycheck (at that time, anyway) and big plans for the weekend. I want to go back to summer camp at the Y, where I learned to swim and paint and co-exist with others for extended periods of time. I want to go back to Cambria Park, where a day spent playing baseball, basketball and football with reckless abandon was the norm. One more day of taking on all comers, of winning at everything and never getting tired.
I want to go back to my dad teaching me how to drive in his 1983 Ford Fairmont, hearing him yell at me to focus as I drifted into different lanes on the parkway. What I wouldn't give to hear the Fairmont backfire one more time, one more summer time, as our neighbors would dive for cover.
I want to go back to when I could drink milk without consequence, when I had so many choices for breakfast, often choosing Frosted Flakes as my #1. One more morning of my mom's big breakfasts, one more BBQ with my sister's famous potato salad, with my dad on the grills' 1s and 2s.
I want one more summer of hanging out at my boy's house, planning my visits for when his gorgeous cousin was off from work. One more freestyle session in the basement of someobdy's house, with their parents laughing at our lame attempts at rapping and telling us to wrap it up. LOL I need one more summer, to take it back to all-day NBA Live tournaments, where you could make up your own players and make them do whatever the hell you wanted them to. That was the era of such virtual players as Issaul Goode and Framwhey Downtown. One more summer of parking lot pimpin' at the skating rink.
I just need one more great summer.
One more great summer of music like back in the day, where hip hop was like an energy drink and R&B was like a cold soda, both quenching your thrist. One more universal joint that EVERYBODY was boomin' in their systems, followed by the inevitable and often even-better remixes found on the B-sides of the "cassingles" or on the "maxi-CDs." One more hypnotic beat, one more lonely summer night's love song. One more super concert that had everyone feenin for tickets.
One more great summer. One more great time. One more two-month stretch of cultivating crushes, of culminating kisses at the beach at night. One more summer rain. One more summer reign. One more time, let me experience the humidity, the sprinklers, the trees, the soul food, the feeling of being free, young and unshackled. That's all I need.
Just one more...this year.
And then next year, I'll more than likely ask again...:)
scribbled by Will at 5/17/2005 07:24:00 AM
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I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear. (Joan Didion)
The Write One
Will. Lefty. Since Summer 1971. Over the next six months, I'll be saying some hellos, some goodbyes. Living, laughing, growing. Don't.miss.a.word.
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