I just felt detached from it all. A strange summertime with no parties, no hosting. Getting blasted in the backyard instead, staring at the sky, waiting for the first star.
We didn’t move to the beach for that, we moved there to postpone growing up for one more summer.
This week we all went nuts.
It’s always something, some locust or beetle or “killer bees.”
Dad retreats to the den while the chicken marinates, lights a stick of incense, and helps the dog get a bone out of the basket.
I remembered the smoked turkey we had in the meat locker from Easter and started fantasizing about eating a leg, just standing in the kitchen and taking it by hand.
My beard was getting thick enough I could tug on it in a way that both hurt and felt good at the same time.
And I thought back to when I was 19, and what I could remember of that: The Cure had released Disintegration and a roommate had the CD.