Abyss Boy
Summer.
The word alone conjures up many images, thoughts, and memories. I can’t even begin to guess what it stirs up in you and I would love to hear about it sometime, but for now, it’s my turn in the chair and I’m going to tell you how summer taught me that it’s all about cup size.
Depending on where (and to a certain degree when) you are, summer means a lot of things. For those in the working world it means that the AC which is unbearably cold for the other 3/4 of the year becomes slightly more tolerable.
Actually, for most adults the changes that summer brings are small and not that noticeable — the temperature and traffic levels change. That’s about it.
Summer is no longer that three months of second Christmas it used to be. The feeling that you would get at the end of the last day of school… swoon. It was magic. Knowing that summer vacation was finally here and you could do whatever you wanted for three months… I think it’s called Joy — but like to the Nth degree. I’ve not experienced that feeling on the same level too much since then. And when I have, it is certainly not sustained for three months (although the Patriots loss in the Super Bowl came pretty close. And yes, the births of my sons, my wedding day, of course, of course. But man… that Super Bowl…). But I’ve found a way to get it whenever I want — and it was in the most unlikeliest of places.
A gas station.
But not just any gas station. It must have a mini-mart of some sort (do they still call them that?). And in the mini-mart lies the magic.
Big ass fountain drinks.
And I don’t mean just big — I mean huge, gigantic, enormous, and other words as well.
In my head I can see the condensation droplets all over it’s new gaudy summer clothes — because every summer, there was a new look. Always enticing me with different names and ever increasing capacities. I think they topped out with the version called “The Beast” which was literally a bucket with a lid and a straw. Even *I* had to admit that this was going too far, and I’m a fat bastard!
I must also admit that I would kill for one right about now.
It’s not about loving soda, even though I do (fat bastard, remember?). It’s about holding on to the joy that I mentioned. I reminds me of my childhood summers — which were filled with hot days full of nothing to do except hang out your friends and maybe go and get a soda. That was the priority for the day: go get a soda. Maybe we’d go for a swim at the community pool. Ride our bikes across town to go and check out the arcade at the local pizza place. Get your first kiss from the girl you have a crush on and be equally surprised at where it happened and that it happened at all. Go see a movie with three of the best friends you’ve ever (and will ever) know. Shoot a cruise to a town 13 miles away simply because there was nothing happening where you were, only to find out that they were also doing nothing. Lay down on the top of haystacks, look at the stars and try to figure out where you belong in the world (and wonder if the upperclassmen below think that you might be weird because you’re the only one not drinking beer).
Wil Wheaton* once wrote about a summer memory of his and I know this memory because I lived it too:
The barefoot dash across the parking lot, stopping at least once on the white painted lines, before making it into the cool Thrifty drug store, where ten cent scoops of double chocolate malted crunch awaited. The cool linoleum and slightly dry-but-cool air conditioned air inside is as much a part of summer as swimming and staying up late on weeknights.
And that’s what I’m talking about. A memory so vivid, you can almost reach out and touch it. It happens every time I get my Xtreme Gulp fix — and I think I’m going to go and get one now.
Let the Summer begin.
*Seriously, if you’re not reading his stuff by now, do yourself a favor and go read it. This is required reading as well. You’re welcome.
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