A Smoke in Summer

I can't remember her name, but I remember the day.

It was one of those hot summer days. The sky was clear, no clouds. It wasn't beautiful or poetic. It was just burning. I didn't like it.

I went to the library as usual, and I saw a girl standing outside smoking, wearing a long dress. I wanted to give it a try. I thought maybe something would happen. Something worth remembering later.

I asked her for a smoke, though I'm not a smoker, and started talking to her. I asked what she was doing at the library during summer break. She was either doing her master's or her PhD. We talked a little more. Then I got her number and went inside.

Later that day, we had lunch together under the pine trees, then went back to the library. During one of our breaks, we decided to meet for a drink on campus sometime.

A couple of days later, we met on the big football field. The night was warm. Our drinks were cold. We sat there drinking wine, listening to the other young people talking around us, and to the crickets in the grass.

The night kept going. We got a bit drunk. We started kissing. Then we ended up at my place.

I don't know how many times I saw her that summer. It could have been five times, or maybe less. It wasn't a love story, and it wasn't a long one.

But now, as I sit here feeling very down far from anything familiar, with no one to talk to and no one to touch or kiss, I feel grateful to that girl whose name I can't remember.

For giving me that smoke and sharing that summer with me.

And if I forgot to thank you, I'd like to do it now.

You helped me get through this day.