moving on
By: Meghan Coley
Timmy raced along the dirt path, bicycle wheels kicking up dust and caking his shoes with a fine red dust. The air was warm, but not so warm as to have kept him from venturing into the heat of the late summer day. Wrapped in a cotton dinosaur onesie beginning to stink of sweat, the caked shoes pedaled hard.
Today was the day before school was due to start again, the type of day that warranted a strange choice of wardrobe. That dreaded day of the year in which children are forced to realize that all of the late summer nights and pool days have come to an abrupt end. But it was also a pivotal day to enjoy a last taste of freedom. And perhaps make lasting memories.
This notion occupied Timmy’s mind, leaving no room for any other thoughts. He pushed through the burning in his knees as he left the dirt path and rolled onto pavement. Just a block further and he would be there.
She would be waiting in her rainbow unicorn onesie, a tray with two glasses of chocolate milk on the kitchen counter. He could already taste the refreshing liquid as he realized how dry his mouth had become.
They would watch all three volumes of Back to the Future on the floor of her cozily furnished living room, her mother quietly folding laundry or cooking dinner while they feasted on milk and popcorn. And all would be as it should.
All would also be as it had been. For the past four years, Sarah and Timmy had ended their summer vacations this way. Together, with the proper snacks, in the end-of-summer heat. The only variable that changed every year was the animal (or creature) that made up their onesies, and what was made for dinner. And Timmy and Sarah were fine with that.
“Fifth grade is going to be a tough year. At least that’s what Johnny Gilden told me before school let out,” Sarah had said to Timmy one day as they lounged by the latter’s backyard pool.
“Don’t listen to Johnny. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” had been Timmy’s half-hearted answer. His comment had appeared to assure Sarah at the time. But now, passing the first row of houses on Heather Lane, he found it hard to believe his own words.
More images of past years’ traditions danced before his eyes. Pillow forts taking over half of the room. Pillow forts falling because he and Sarah moved around too much. Incessant movie quoting to the point of hysterical laughing. A sense of comfort in knowing that without fail, all of these moments would come around again in their own way.
Timmy screeched to a halt in front of Sarah’s house. Tossing the bike on the lawn in its usual spot, he made his way up the driveway to the wrap-around porch. The sight of the chairs that he and Sarah had sat in many a humid, twilit night finally brought about the truth he had been avoiding the whole ride over -- perhaps even the whole summer.
It won’t always be like this.
He knew it to be true. It just didn’t make sense that everything could stay exactly the same. He already saw it with each passing year. They were growing up. Just like Henry, Timmy’s older brother, when he had graduated high school and gone away to college. Things had changed, for better or for worse.
Timmy had rung the doorbell at this point but couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from the set of chairs. The sight of memories.
He was beginning to become overwhelmed. Desperate because he knew it was impossible to stop time, or even pause it for just a minute.
He could hear the school bell ringing in his ear, signalling a new class, new day, new year… new everything. The ringing was clattering around his skull, hurting his brain, pushing tears just behind his eyes that still couldn’t stop staring at the chairs.
“Timmy?”
Wrenching his head around, Timmy found his eyes looking at another memory. More than one memory.
He was looking at all of those movie days, poolside lunches, pillow fights, recess games, and everything in between. In a span of a second he could see it all, remember it all. Sarah blinked and opened the front door wider, breaking the connection and causing Timmy to shake his head.
“Are you alright?” Her voice lilted as she tried in vain to hold back a concerned chuckle.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. Just fine.”
Because in truth he was. Maybe not completely. But somehow he knew that he didn’t need to be. Sarah took him up in her gaze again, and he knew that the memories that lay in those brown depths were something he could count on never changing or disappearing.
“Alright, then… well hurry up! The milk’s getting warm!”
Timmy raced along the dirt path, bicycle wheels kicking up dust and caking his shoes with a fine red dust. The air was warm, but not so warm as to have kept him from venturing into the heat of the late summer day. Wrapped in a cotton dinosaur onesie beginning to stink of sweat, the caked shoes pedaled hard.
Today was the day before school was due to start again, the type of day that warranted a strange choice of wardrobe. That dreaded day of the year in which children are forced to realize that all of the late summer nights and pool days have come to an abrupt end. But it was also a pivotal day to enjoy a last taste of freedom. And perhaps make lasting memories.
This notion occupied Timmy’s mind, leaving no room for any other thoughts. He pushed through the burning in his knees as he left the dirt path and rolled onto pavement. Just a block further and he would be there.
She would be waiting in her rainbow unicorn onesie, a tray with two glasses of chocolate milk on the kitchen counter. He could already taste the refreshing liquid as he realized how dry his mouth had become.
They would watch all three volumes of Back to the Future on the floor of her cozily furnished living room, her mother quietly folding laundry or cooking dinner while they feasted on milk and popcorn. And all would be as it should.
All would also be as it had been. For the past four years, Sarah and Timmy had ended their summer vacations this way. Together, with the proper snacks, in the end-of-summer heat. The only variable that changed every year was the animal (or creature) that made up their onesies, and what was made for dinner. And Timmy and Sarah were fine with that.
“Fifth grade is going to be a tough year. At least that’s what Johnny Gilden told me before school let out,” Sarah had said to Timmy one day as they lounged by the latter’s backyard pool.
“Don’t listen to Johnny. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” had been Timmy’s half-hearted answer. His comment had appeared to assure Sarah at the time. But now, passing the first row of houses on Heather Lane, he found it hard to believe his own words.
More images of past years’ traditions danced before his eyes. Pillow forts taking over half of the room. Pillow forts falling because he and Sarah moved around too much. Incessant movie quoting to the point of hysterical laughing. A sense of comfort in knowing that without fail, all of these moments would come around again in their own way.
Timmy screeched to a halt in front of Sarah’s house. Tossing the bike on the lawn in its usual spot, he made his way up the driveway to the wrap-around porch. The sight of the chairs that he and Sarah had sat in many a humid, twilit night finally brought about the truth he had been avoiding the whole ride over -- perhaps even the whole summer.
It won’t always be like this.
He knew it to be true. It just didn’t make sense that everything could stay exactly the same. He already saw it with each passing year. They were growing up. Just like Henry, Timmy’s older brother, when he had graduated high school and gone away to college. Things had changed, for better or for worse.
Timmy had rung the doorbell at this point but couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from the set of chairs. The sight of memories.
He was beginning to become overwhelmed. Desperate because he knew it was impossible to stop time, or even pause it for just a minute.
He could hear the school bell ringing in his ear, signalling a new class, new day, new year… new everything. The ringing was clattering around his skull, hurting his brain, pushing tears just behind his eyes that still couldn’t stop staring at the chairs.
“Timmy?”
Wrenching his head around, Timmy found his eyes looking at another memory. More than one memory.
He was looking at all of those movie days, poolside lunches, pillow fights, recess games, and everything in between. In a span of a second he could see it all, remember it all. Sarah blinked and opened the front door wider, breaking the connection and causing Timmy to shake his head.
“Are you alright?” Her voice lilted as she tried in vain to hold back a concerned chuckle.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. Just fine.”
Because in truth he was. Maybe not completely. But somehow he knew that he didn’t need to be. Sarah took him up in her gaze again, and he knew that the memories that lay in those brown depths were something he could count on never changing or disappearing.
“Alright, then… well hurry up! The milk’s getting warm!”
All Text Copyright (C) 2023 Meghan Coley
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