I survived so many sweaty afternoons in summer school with the knowledge that at the end of the day Mike and Jill would be waiting for me in that big black tugboat of a car. They were similar characters, both with waves of dirty-blond hair just beginning to drip down their narrow necks. Mike was often spotted sporting only long khaki shorts held up by a woven brown leather belt and thick aviators. Jill wore many strands of worn hemp necklaces and skin-tight tank tops with her frazzled cut-offs.

We would race all over the suburbs, usually concluding our journey at the wave pool where Mike was a lifeguard. Many afternoons were spent bobbing up and down, watching the younger children struggle against the fierce waves. Our cheeks were taut with smiles as the sun beat down on us until we surrendered and sought shelter under the water. We stayed until we were thoroughly charred and then reluctantly piled into the shamble of a car that had miraculously gotten us there that afternoon, the bumper hanging on by a thin thread of rust.

Boston's "Long Time" shrieked through the broken speakers and flowed from our windows to pierce the silence in cars surrounding us on the highway. Our racket was met by sour glares from the suits wearily returning home from a day in their too-private cubicle.

We would always end up somewhere we deemed spectacular, but completely ordinary to the untrained eye. Often we would stop to relax in the worn leather booths of a nearby restaurant, casually spooning cool sweet confections through our desperate lips. Some days, when Jill could get the car, we would just drive. The wind would blow our hair, sending it soaring to the heavens followed by wails corresponding to whatever brilliant antique riff the radio spat out.

Temperate nights found us laid out in the park, eating raw fish, flushed pink, until our stomachs turned to hard rock. Our mothers grew jealous of 7-Eleven as it snatched their darling children from their grasp, our Slurpee addiction stronger than our will to return home for dinner.

The summer looked upon us fondly, tickling us with warm nights and bright blissful days. Perhaps we were the few who fully understood how to take advantage of the absolute delight of our youth and appreciate the charm of sweet passionate sunshine days.