I don't understand why so many like Summer. While they are described as "hot" by many, I agree that their face reminds me of the sun: blinding to the human eye, boiling our skin with a searing gaze. Their small talk leaves me with petty burns and a sense of sheer exhaustion.

When they speak, it's only mosquitos that pour from their lips, out for my blood. Just being near them makes me sweat in discomfort, and their ideas of "fun" are asking me to just stay indoors and avoid them. They are as salty as their beaches, as dry as scorching deserts. I've tried hanging out with them, but all they do is ruin my ice cream and push me to the ground with it. Once they made me fall ill at an amusement park, and another time angered a hornet to sting me at a skatepark! They may open up exciting events during their prime, but the unbearable heat they bring with it can taint what were supposed to be good memories.

I could go on and on about why I prefer the whimsical and warm Spring, cool and spooky Autumn, or even cold yet festive Winter, but just saying what I've said so far is bringing more unwanted attention to them.

I think they've had enough people call them "sultry" (more for the humidity than anything else).

The bricks brush warm and rough against her bare soles as she ambles through the fading light. Day's fiery fierceness has given way to a softer heat, undercut by a fickle breeze. It ruffles her hair affectionately. It tugs at her damp shirt. She smiles, and it tickles her lips.

Water dribbles from the green metal can, a poor facsimile of rain, but the flowers drink it up all the same. When the watering can is empty, she crosses back to the barrel to refill it with the long forgotten lush of spring.

She looses herself in the ritual, sacrifices her discreteness to join the eternal ebb and flow. The moment is tenuous at best: the brown door looms behind her, waiting patiently for her inevitable return. Yet, in her amorphous state, it becomes irrelevant.

She fills her lungs and the universe expands. She breaths out and it collapses. The air intoxicates her.

She stands beside the last flower. The empty can dangles from her hand. She gazes past the narrow garden to the garages, flat greyness brought to life by the gold of the sinking sun. The sky paints its soft blue canvas with stories outlined in orange and pink. Empires rise and fall before her eyes. She feels the hope and desperation of infinite lives.

Darkness washes away her meandering thoughts. It taps the wrist of time, reminding her of the inevitable door.

Warmth lingers in the bricks and on the breeze. She wraps it around her with each deliberate step. The door smirks at her. Allowing herself one last aching glance, she turns the knob and steps inside.

Her name was Summer

Fitting, for she appealed to everyone and was over too soon

Ironically, she hated beaches and sunshine

And me

Especially me, always me

She liked her martinis dirty and her shoes clean

She liked opinionated women and silent men

Maybe that's why she detested me

I was always too quiet for her taste

At least that's what she said when she slammed her door in my face last April

But I always came back for more

Her ringtone still haunts me

Like the Tell-Tale Heart, it beats in my ears

Ding ding ding, little bells

So different from her voice

While other girls I'd dated were posh princesses

She was nails sharp as her wit and tongue venomous as the snake bracelets she wore

Which is to say not at all but she liked to pretend it was

She used to bleach her own hair

And wear vintage dresses that she insisted made her feel dignified

A leading lady, Marilyn Monroe, that's what she wanted to be

I was Norma Jeane, she used to say

Plain, boring, easy to be rid of

And she was the blonde bombshell with more movies than I had friends

She was truthful to the very end

Harsh, blunt like a dull knife, yes

But they were the quirks of her personality

And, so, as I sit here, on the ground by her headstone

I know that she was summer in every meaning of the word

Sunshine, bright as the sparkle in her ocean blue eyes

It swept you in, for a moment, for as long as she'd let you bask in it

Until she got bored

Found another beachball to play with, another sandcastle to jump on

And then, the vacation was over and now, I have to pretend I don't miss it

Even though Summer calls to me, says don't you regret me leaving so soon?

No, I don't

I never thought I would say this but get out. I can't stand you and I don't want you. Do us all a favor and get out. It's not that I hate you. No, you are still my favorite. I will still pine for you when you leave. But I just can't see you right now. You are the final blow of a very shitty few months. Things are opening up, but it's not enough. This is the part where the roach bomb worked but not well enough and the whole floor is now covered in confused, scared roaches that are just happy to be out of the shadows. The normal comfort in seeing you, getting to bask in an ounce of your glory (though you try to kill us) is now tinged with the fear of the unknown.

I was fine with not knowing. I personally can sometimes admit that I don't know everything. The problem is the world can't. People in charge are so used to being the "solution" that they rush to make laws and enact rules that make little to no sense to the rest of us and punish us for not following. Which is why we are now talking. I love you. You know I will always love you (though if I EVER hear that song again, someone is getting murdered), but you signify the start of the whole country seeing that everything in this system is wrong.

This is the start of standing six feet apart and still getting sick with something. The beginning of protests full of white people getting snuffed out by fed up officers. The precursor to the results of the 2020 election, the next world war, chaos, and zombies. Everything that people fear and worry about will come true once you come. I'm desperate to get it all over with. I just want to see the end because no one pays attention to the start and the middle is just a long-winded journey to trying to find a conclusion. So, hurry up and leave, summer. I'm ready to see where we end up.

Summer Sultry had worked in the adult film industry for over five years now and was to ready to leave. It was during the shooting of her final scene in her forty-fourth and final film "Show Girl Stoppers" that she had her moment of clarity, -her epihany.

When Summer was a teenager, her private progressive high school just outside of Sacramento, California, had gone on a field trip with her Professional Studies class to the set of a soft core pornography studio. They were focused on building an Excel spreadsheet to balance the budget of the struggling studio as a final class project. In California, it is not uncommon to do things like this.

As Summer was building her spreadsheet and balancing her budget, she was transfixed by the music, the lighting, the hot air, the skin, the sheer abandon of this fascinating industry. It was like a drug. She was instantly hooked. She said to herself, right there and then, "This is my calling."

Flash Forward to now, many years after that fateful day, we peer in as Summer Sultry begins to think that she has made a very, very poor decision. So, tonight she plans on writing a letter to all of the future Professional Students students at her old high school. She doesn't know exactly what she plans on writing, but if we could see inside of her finished letter, it might look something like this:

Dear Girls of Table Mesa High:

My name is Summer Sultry.

I was a student at this school not too long ago.

Please, whatever you do, DO NOT TAKE A CLASS CALLED PROFESSIONAL STUDIES.

This class is a little bit shady.

And now, when I think of it, a field trip to an adult film studio a bit sketchy for high school.

And that teacher----- well, he's a bit creepy too.

So girls, take it from me-

Even though things may look "cool" & "exciting" & "awesome" at your age...

Please Remember that you're in High School, and remind yourself each and every day that YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE DOING.

With Love, Summer Sultry

oooXXX

Summer is when it's hot. No source of cool water in sight. Yet still so prettty. Flowers standing as if in a crowd, so many colors! There is a patch of flowers, oh look, they're red, white, and blue. Green grass everywhere, people playing in parks, going on a vacation, the summer season has spread everywhere. It's not a disease. No it's not. It's a parade, marching through every street. I guess it's to cold for a parade to go to Antarctica.