Summer

She was defined by the summer. The winter months left her hollow and dry – the lack of sunlight and the constant bitter wind turned her into a husk of a woman. During those long cold spells without even the beauty of snow to bring her cheer, she would often retreat into a book or into the embrace of her bed, in the desperate hope that upon her return to reality the sun would have returned as well. As spring began to bloom she would often devote herself entirely to a diet and exercise regime that would shame the most devoted of athletes as she worked to whittle her body into the shape of the models of the latest fashion magazines. The work was not without merit, but genetics won most of the battle, leaving her with sculpted arms and abdomen, but with the birthing hips of her mother exactly as they had always been. Despite this frustration, the radiant heat of the southern air always managed to coerce her into a swimsuit and into the water.

She lived for the heat of summer, the lazy cadence of the long days with abundant light and warmth, brought her to life like no other time. She found peace in the chaotic mess of having both children home with her, of late nights by the pool, of picking wild blackberries along the edge of the woods and frequent trips to the library and sleeping in. The laundry piled up and the supper dishes were frequently left undone until the morning as she swam until it was too dark to feel safe with the children there with her. Then, loading them up, she would return home, startled by the sudden chill of darkness and everyone would run to change into something warm – leaving the soggy suits in piles to be hung out on the porch later. There they would dry in the night breeze and be waiting for them in the morning to swim again. She and the children turned as brown as walnuts from the exposure to the sun and spent the days in a variety of undress, often spending most of the morning in their pajamas before changing into their suits after lunch.

She taught the children to swim with an ease that belied her own early fears of water. As a small child she had fought the required swimming lessons, crying to her parents that she would simply never go near the water, if only they would not make her go to her lessons. In truth, swimming was not what she feared, but diving – a fear she never truly conquered – but maneuvered around until it was simply not something she ever had to do. Now, in her adulthood, she found the pool or the ocean to be where she felt the most graceful and at ease. The water buoyed not only her body but her spirits and she found that she could move easily in the water, sliding through the waves with the elegance of a dancer. Her strokes were long and purposeful, propelling her body forward, forward to the next lap, the next wave.

She was distracted by her husband whenever he was near. While childbirth and a schedule that often caused her to feel as if she were drowning had added unwanted weight to her body, he had only grown more muscular and defined. She constantly felt a misguided comparison to his perfection, that in his beauty, her imperfections were magnified and amplified and impossible. One could not help but be aware of her unease – the way she unconsciously pulled the towel to cover her body when at the pool, or wrapped her arms around her own waist as if by wrapping tightly enough she could force her entire body to disappear in her own embrace. Her easy manner and grace disappeared in his presence despite her insane love for him and she found she did not eat when he was around, and found it hard to lie next to him and sleep in their bed. She often crawled out of their bed and spent an hour or so downstairs waiting for him to fall soundly asleep – knowing she would find it easier to sleep when she could be sure he wasn't aware of her width, of the larger space she occupied in the bed. She attributed much of this to girlish vanity, but still found herself wishing that he not be so perfect, but wondering if she would love him if he were any other way.

She frustrated him often, he not understanding her strange feminine needs and desires. Why would someone need so much reassurance? Did he not come home to her every night? Did he not work tirelessly so that she might be able to spend more time with the children? But despite this, she felt unsure of his devotion, unsure that he loved her with the ferocity she felt for him. He was, above all things, logical, rarely showing emotion – emotion that she felt she needed to see, to understand him. How could one love without enthusiasm, without passion? She often thought that she would never find a better man, but wondered if she might find a man better suited to her. Not a man that she would ever love more – for she felt this was not possible – but a man who loved her more, who found her enchanting and wholly desirable. She would quickly throw this thought out with the evening garbage – for what about her was enchanting? No, she decided – this was her place in life, a wonderful man who loved as much as he knew how, but not as much as she wished. Everyone should be so cursed.

Their children were bright and beautiful, small girls with infectious laughter and twinkling eyes. She found their children to be a constant reminder of happiness – the oldest reminding her of her best traits, the youngest, his. She would find herself short with them often, when the demands of the day kept her overly busy, but she loved them insanely and would hold them gently each evening, kissing their cherub faces as she wished them sweet sleep. She marveled at their energy and intelligence – wondering how long it would be before they overtook her knowledge, amazed at their abilities and progress. Above all, she found their tender hearts to be the most amazing – not yet hardened by the severity of the world, spirits not yet broken by reality – she wondered if there was anything she could do to keep them this way, to keep them soft and sweet. But she thought not, and thought that perhaps, this too was best – no one can live life under the umbrella of naivete, the world and all in it, must be understood, evaluated and absorbed.