I cycle by your little cottage for the seventh time that afternoon, and each time I notice my tires digging more and more angrily into the gravel road. The rubber wheels spin up loose rocks that hit me in my calves, I'm going so fast. I strain to see in, and try not to slow the bike while wishing I was brave enough to knock on your door.
I never win when we play the waiting game.
I brush my teeth three times a day now, and after every snack I chew a winterfresh gum, so spicy it burns my mouth. The sticky subsance makes my pink gums freeze, but they say bad breath is a turn-off. I don't want to be a turn-off.
I cycle over speed bumps to the swings, and sit on the one that I would have sat on had you been there. I pump my tanned legs and think about how many hours were spent in the sun to get the dark shade that doesn't really belong to me. All for you.
I kick the branches in frustration when I get up high enough. And when I'm done fuming, I grind my heels into the soft, powdery sand and ponder how many dreams I've had of me and you kissing on these swings, chains and legs intertwined. We would keep kissing until the wind untangled the chains and legs and then we'd stop and smile at each other. We wouldn't say a word, because the kiss would speak for us.
Then on the fourth day, when I've biked past your cottage forty times exactly, and I have eaten 12 pieces of mouth-numbing gum, I storm into the trailor and pop open the cupboards and grab a tall glass, fill it with peach cocktail, and down it so fast, the coolness gliding down my throat effortlessly.
And when I start for the screen door, my peach juice nearly leaps back up my throat.
The mesh netting is the only thing seperating me from you. Suddenly I don't think about biking past your cottage, or chewing gum, or tanned legs, or brushing my teeth. All I can think about is peach juice.
And I throw open the screen door and kiss you, like it was always supposed to happen right here on my deck, and not on the swings. Because maybe it was.
And when we both pull back, we smile, our lips shining, and you say one word to me that rings through my ears long after summer ends:
"Peaches."