I hate summer. The air is thick with moisture and the monochrome blue skies let the sun's haze hang low. I can feel the humidity clinging to my skin, effervescent dew atop sweat. I am walking through a field full of grass trampled down by the midsummer glare, only to rise and be blown westward by wind and the feet of small children scurrying across the distance. This is the field next to the Elementary school I once attended.
In the field out in the distance, I can see young kids playing with each other, weather worn soccer goals without nets sitting at either end of the field. From here, I can hear their voices.
"Pass, pass!" yells one kid, raising his little chin and closing his eyes as he shouts as though it would help his words be heard.
The other boy ignores him and charges along on his own, knocking the little ball from side to side as he scurries to the net. As he steps up to kick the ball, another boy, several inches taller and visibly older, quickly moves up and snatches the ball away with his own feet, before stepping away and running down the other side of the field.
The rest of the boys are off, plummeting through dry grass tall enough to tickle their tiny ankles as they stumble over one another, each making their own attempt to loosen the ball from the other children.
I watch them raise their arms like wings as they try to balance their teetering little bodies through the juvenile maneuvers and attempts to steal away the soccer ball from the tall and older boy who uses his elbows to knock the pursuers off balance. He emerges triumphant, a massive grin on his face as he slowly speeds ahead, hurrying off into the distant horizon—or at least to the goal up ahead where he scores, letting loose a cheer afterwards.
"Your brother's so annoying" I hear a tiny voice exclaim.
"Yeah! I hate him." I hear another small voice mutter in agreement.
The boy who responded looks to be the younger brother, if similar appearances are enough to attest to similar blood. As the wind blows through the air, as if to usher the clouds overhead onward, I see it lift his hair up and away from his face—and it is then that I also see his eyes. They are looking away; they are looking towards his brother. A frustrated frown is etched onto his countenance, drawing slight creases across his nosebridge, but his eyes refuse to frown. His face is frowning with frustration, but it looks uncomfortable—the same way a fake smile conceals sadness but confesses its facade, eyes refusing to smile. After a moment, his brother looks back towards him, a pure, pure grin held so childishly, held so honestly on his face. He raises his arms in victory and laughs and laughs and laughs.
"Did you see that!! I wish dad were here to see that!" hollers the older brother mid laugh. The lowering sun is just to his back, and amidst scenery, his sweat shines like pearls against the ocean blue sky. The younger brother's charade is up as he begins to laugh too, running over to his brother. As he gets closer, he raises his hand as if to high-five, before dropping down and poking his older brother in the stomach—to which the only response was a laugh cut short into deep, shocked inhale—and scurries away, laughter even more fervent now. I see his eyes again, as he scrambles across the windy field away from the pursuit of the older boy. His eyes are also smiling.
"I hate you!!" shouts the older boy before taking off after his little brother, each quick step and heavy breath split only by laughter coming from both the boys. They say they hate each other, but they know they don't mean it. Their meaning is far softer than the words they use. I hope they know it. Both of them. It looks as though they do.
The soccer ball found itself at my feet as I stood and watched them play. The children are all looking towards me now, their innocent eyes watching me silently.
"Do you want to play with us?" asks one of the children, his eyes fixated on me.
And then we were off, the children and me, running up and down the field as we pursue the ball, tearing up and down the field. I switch teams often, but never score. The children tell me to try harder, but I don't want to spoil their fun. I wonder, is this how you felt? Even if I said I hated you all those years ago?
The grass withers beneath my feet as soil gives way. The leaves are astir in the setting sunlight, but I am oblivious to their whispers. All I can hear is my laughter, and their laughter, and our laughter. I take deep breaths between.
The sun is setting in the distance, and our game has ended. One of the boys picks up his soccer ball and parents are beckoning the children in the distance, but the younger brother reaches to grab my sleeve and their father is walking over.
"Excuse me, are you going to be here tomorrow? You should play with us!"
Their father laughs and adds "thank you for playing with our kids—it seems they're enjoying the summer. Do you live around here?"
I recognize him—the man down the street. I tell both of them yes and smile—or at least try to. I know they'll both forget by tonight anyway.
"I see, how old are you then? Summer's probably a bit busy for a kid your age. Don't mind my children if it's too much" he laughs.
I tell him I'm a rising junior and don't mind. Summer has yet to come to an end.
I stand with my back to the sunset, watching the sky fly by in the darkening sky as the boys walk off with the father. I can almost imagine what they're saying
—Dad, I scored a really cool goal today
—you're so annoying! It wasn't that cool
—you're just jealous I'm better!
—nuh-uh!
In the early evening, the line between yesterday and today and tomorrow blurs. I can almost see myself from many yesterdays prior today playing out beneath the sun all those years ago. I can almost hear our voices. I can almost see your face smiling back at me. Almost. I am blinded by the setting sun.