Kiss of Summer (Short Story)

This is a story I wrote when I was feeling pretty low and helpless. There is pretty much nothing autobiographical about the story except for the emotional tone. Please enjoy and leave comments.

 

Kiss of Summer 

The sound of my father’s calloused hands striking my mother over and over again was barely muffled by my thin plaster wall. I flipped idly through a worn copy of The Watchmen as I tried to ignore each blow’s unique and telling voice: Sharp, wet tenor notes for every blast to her nose and mouth, muted alto thwacks with each fist to stomach or breasts, hollow basso thuds accompanying a brutal kick to her back, and the soprano crack of open-handed assaults to her arms and cheeks – the dark sonata of my Saturday evenings. 

I knew better than to intervene, my small, bony body no match for my father’s rage. My arm still ached when it rained, the lingering reminder of a shattered radius earned the one time I tried pulling my parents apart; I’d been 15 then, filled with righteous anger but too weak to wield it effectively. Mom had tried to have him arrested for that one, but quickly learned that small town; bar-room politics sheltered her husband from any form of prosecution. 

That had been three years ago. Things have only gotten worse. Now the symphony of pain offers performances on Friday and Saturday evenings with a matinee on Sunday. 

Setting down my graphic novel, I quietly made my way to my window. The night was cool. A storm front had rolled in during the afternoon and chased away the sticky heat of late June. A slight breeze drifted in through my screen, scenting my room with the blue sweetness of fallen rain. Tonight’s sonata had begun early. The downpour had made work at my father’s construction site impossible, so he and his coworkers had quickly hustled to the dry confines of a nearby bar. By the time he’d gotten home the sky was again clear, but his mind now roiled with storms of its own. 

Like a coward I sat in my room, safe behind my armor of computers, video games, comic books and music. I’d tried to pretend nothing was wrong, but found myself failing at every turn. My fingernails dug into my palms as my hands clenched. My hands yearned to feel his sun-toughened skin beneath their knuckles, itched for the hot splash of blood. Fortunately, the rest of my body had better survival instincts. 

Instead of a doomed assault on the mountain which is my father, I forced myself to take a walk. The window screen popped up easily and I climbed outside. We live in a one-story Ranch, so it was nothing to lower myself the four feet to the ground. Since I was a little boy, I’ve found a night time stroll the best way to cope with my stress-filled existence. 

By the light of day, my town is a middle class paradise. Moderately wealthy blue collar workers mingle happily with just out of school white collar men and women, but few ever cross the invisible line between them. Things are peaceful enough for everyone to feel safe. But, at night things take on an edgier, more volatile aura. The nice, polite, smooth lines become rough and jagged as if gnawed on by a metal toothed puppy. Walking from streetlight to streetlight, I can feel the tension oozing out of the bars, the restaurants, the homes – the clash between the classes only a spark away from becoming an inferno. 

The tension calms me, reassuring me that behind closed doors my own story is being repeated. I am no longer a coward from a dysfunctional family – I’m just like everyone else. 

Tonight, though, everything felt different, as if the storm had washed the town clean bringing a few hours of mellow peace. It was eerie and set me on edge. The night was too quiet, leaving my self-loathing thoughts without distortion, their needle-like claws biting uncomfortably into my brain. So I quickened my pace and let instinct guide me as I walked, hoping my subconscious would lead me toward escape. 

My route took me past shuttered businesses and empty parking lots, down dark alleys and by sleeping houses, through an abandoned field so fully sewn with broken glass it sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight. Homes were replaced by rows of tenement apartments which soon gave way to clusters of large, industrial warehouses. 

I’d never been in this part of town and found myself entranced by the obviously neglected structures. I ran my hand along the corrugated metal siding, listening to the sound echoing through the hollow caverns inside. Thoughts of drug addled homeless thugs crossed my mind and I thrilled at the danger of what I was doing. I deserved to be in pain. My foot sent a piece of rusty rebar scraping across the cement. I retrieved it, loving its weight in my hand. I looked at it then up at the towering warehouse; I had found my instrument. 

Dancing through the shadows, I moved from building to building pounding on the metal walls as I went. There was no melody, no time signature, just my inner angst pulsing in my head like a psychotic metronome – the booming rhythms chasing away my personal demons. 

An hour or two passed. Sweat dripped down my back soaking the thin, black cotton. Panting, I dropped the rebar at my feet, the concert now over. I bent at the waist, chest heaving, praying I wouldn’t have an asthma attack. I ran my fingers over my stubbly scalp and flicked sweat into a puddle by the curb. 

As my breathing slowly returned to normal, I became aware of a soft melody drifting on the cool breeze. There were no words, just soft susurrating syllables accompanying the steady beat of a finger drum. The flavor was middle-eastern, bringing to mind images of snake charmers, sandy deserts and silky veils. I lifted my head, shifting my gaze from my tennis shoes to the wall in front of me. A shiver, equal parts awe and fear, shimmied up my spine. My skin felt electrified, every hair on my arms and neck rigid and tense. 

Not five feet in front of me, chopped into the side of a warehouse that looked ready to collapse, was a hole. It was about five feet tall and maybe three feet wide. A piece of gauzy fabric served as a door, the thin material rippling gently in the breeze. Light played over its inner surface making the fabric glow pink. 

I knew that only seconds earlier neither the hole nor drifting door had been there. Curious, I stepped forward, open palm pressing against the material. It was smooth as silk, but warm in the chilly air. Drawn forward by the mystery, I ducked my head, pulled the cloth aside, and stepped inside. 

I found myself in a tunnel of soft sateen. Hanging from the ceiling, nearly thirty feet above me, were hundreds of slowly swaying banners of fabric, each five or six feet wide and stretching from floor to ceiling to form a labyrinth of silk. 

Some were solid in color while others were festooned in bright patterns that pulled at my eyes like a vacuum. The light was strange – completely ambient, but in constant motion like fireflies shining through a pool of crystalline water – giving my journey through the maze a dreamy surrealness. The further in I traveled the thicker my forest of cloth grew, until my tunnel was barely shoulder-width and the banners tickled my cheeks with every movement. 

The banners were not cut to fit and I was soon wading through mounds of material that puddled beneath each piece of silk. My feet slipped constantly, the fabric as slick as ice. Sweat beaded my brow as I struggled to stay upright and moving forward. 

Never a graceful man, eventually my balance failed and I began to fall. My hands reached out, grabbing a banner for support. The material stretched taut, then pulled free from some unseen fastener high above and tumbled down on top of me like an eely tentacle. 

As I struggled to free myself, the music stopped replaced with soft rippling laughter. I could make out five separate voices, all female, all high pitched and melodic. 

“Hello?” I called out, my voice sounding weirdly muffled from the walls of silk surrounding me. “Is someone there? I, um, I think I’m lost.” 

Wiggling free of the fallen banner, I stood and slowly spun around, my eyes searching the forest of silk for the sources of laughter. In the dancing light every shadow seemed alive, masking movement and distorting shape. 

“Where are you?” I asked louder. 

“Here.” 

“Here.” 

“Here.” 

“Here.” 

“Here,” the voices spoke from just behind my ears, at the back of my neck, in the corner of my eyes. 

I whirled around, nearly falling again, but saw no one. Fear slickened my palms and sped my heart. The voices laughed again. Was I now an insect caught in the beautiful trap of a spider’s web? 

“This isn’t funny!” I shouted, trying to get my bearings, trying to decide which way to run. 

A cascade of motion drew my attention to the right. The silk banners were sliding apart like a theater curtain pulled silently back by invisible hands. 

“On the contrary,” a new voice said. “I find your puzzlement to be endlessly entertaining.” 

She sat upon a raised platform that had once housed some type of heavy machine but was now covered in thick pillows. Long, bare shapely legs were curled to one side, her feet tucked behind her body. Her hair was jet black and braided around the most dazzling gemstones I’d ever seen. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires and dozens of others glowed against those midnight strands as if each had a tiny flame burning inside it. The woman’s features were strong and hinted of Arabian origin. Olive skin and chocolate brown eyes served to highlight her small nose and sharp cheeks. Thin, translucent yellow robes wrapped around her body revealing she wore nothing else. 

I gawked openly. 

She laughed loudly, the sound drastically more brash but no less alluring than those of her unseen companions. Her teeth were straight and white, parted just enough to see a slim, pink tongue. Her eyes sparkled as if, like her gems, she too possessed some secret light within. 

“Aren’t you a strange looking thing?” She teased. “Was your mother or father a raven, perhaps?” 

I’d heard that particular jab before. Unlike both of my parents, I was tall and painfully skinny. My nose was large, long, and pointed with gaping nostrils that added to my avian appearance. I had almost no chin, a stretched neck, and bulbous Adam’s apple that bobbed wildly when I spoke. I was not an attractive young man, but that was alright with me; it just meant that people had no problem leaving me alone. 

“Come closer,” she said in a tone that told me she was used to getting what she asked for. 

I considered defying her, just on principle, but my feet betrayed me even as the idea arose. As I drew near, I became hyper aware of her scent – a mixture of ripe oranges, fresh cut grass, and blooming lilac. It intoxicated me with the same alacrity as choice weed. My senses dulled comfortably, I crossed the remaining distance between us in a shuffling glide. 

“Sit,” she said with a smile, patting the pillow next to her. Those liquid eyes looked up at me, shimmering and warm. I understood then that her comments hadn’t been malicious, only playful. She seemed genuinely interested in me, pleased I had stumbled into her web. 

“Who are you?” I asked in a whisper. 

“My name is Summer and you are…?” 

“Henry,” I told her, “But I prefer Night.” 

“Night,” she said rolling my chosen moniker around her tongue like a piece of candy. “Unusual, Dark.” She raised an eyebrow, “Maybe even dangerous?” 

I laughed at that and immediately wished I hadn’t; the sound I made was snorting, pig-like. 

“Don’t laugh at the possibility,” she said sternly. “Some of the most poisonous creatures in the world are completely unassuming.” 

“Or very beautiful,” I added. 

She grinned. “True, Night, Quite true.” She patted the pillow once more. “Now sit.” 

Eyes still locked with hers, I lowered myself onto the cushion beside her. Heat radiated off her naked skin. Her scent filled my lungs and I felt a quiver in my groin. I’d never been in the same room as a naked woman, let alone this close to one. Her flesh drew my eyes to it like iron to a lodestone. I felt my gaze slip from hers to drift down over her smooth curves. 

She reached out and took my hand in hers, intertwining our fingers into a tight knot of flesh. But it was more than that, as if by touching so intimately we had completed a circuit. I could feel her presence sliding into me, exploring my heart and soul. I felt no violation at the intrusion, so desperate was my desire to be understood and pitied. 

“Night,” she said, voice pitched low, soft, and dark as mahogany. “Oh, you poor man; I can feel the pain and sorrow inside you throbbing like an infection.” Her free hand caressed my cheek. “My sister, Winnie, would love to get her hands on you.” 

“What…?” I began to say but was silenced as she pressed a finger against my lips. 

“It does not matter. You are here with me now.” 

Slowly, she began running her finger over my dry, chapped lips. Her touch was light and tickling. “Your sadness is overwhelming, but I can also see incredible love and passion in your heart. It’s almost strong enough to break free of the misery that cages it. The feeling is terrible, isn’t it? To have such brightness burning in your soul with no hope of ever chasing away the darkness that smothers it. You think, sometimes, that it would be better if it were never there at all. Don’t you?” 

Her finger drifted down my chin to my chest. My groin ached with need, making it hard to focus. 

“I…I…do.” 

“You would be right,” she said meeting my eyes again. “Hope unrealized festers like a diseased organ, killing you silently and painfully from the inside. You know that your love of music will take you nowhere, that your desire for companionship will forever be thwarted by your…unique appearance.” 

Her words tore into me like a chainsaw and tears ran freely down my cheeks. I wanted to pull away from her, to run and never look back at this cruel vision of beauty, but the weight of truth held me in place. She may not be telling me what I wanted to hear, but she was right. 

“It hurts,” I groaned. 

“Shh,” she cooed as I wept. “I’m here for you. I can help.” 

She smiled again, her face seeming to glow with that odd inner light. 

“Give yourself to me,” she said. “Let me take from you the things causing you pain. Surrender your love, your hope, your dreams and I will give you peaceful misery.” 

The heat rolling off her body dried the tears which still clung to my face. She was the embodiment of a summer day: the sun, the breeze, the life, the beauty. And as those thoughts crossed my mind, I knew they were true. What stood before me was more than a woman, more than a mortal creature; she was a piece of forever. 

“Why me?” 

“Because Fate brought you to me when I needed you Night, every fire needs fuel to burn. The joys of summer do not just happen; they must be crafted from special materials. Materials you can provide. Give yourself to me and we both get what we desire. I will take your anguish and replace it with memories of pleasures your small mind cannot yet conceive.” 

Summer stood up, her hands deftly undoing some invisible clasp. Her yellow robes fell away. I rose as well, my body trembling. Fear, lust, and awe ran like liquor through my veins. I looked over her exposed body, every crease; hair and curve open to my inspection. She had hidden nothing from me, physically or motivationally. I knew I could trust her to be good to her word. She, and an end to my pain, was there for my taking. I just had to reach out. 

I knew I was young, knew that things could get better for me, but I was also a realist. I had seen enough people like me fail and succumb to misery to know what my future looked like. A lifetime chasing a dream that would never come true would be worse than embracing a slow fade into the gray of predictability. 

There really was no choice. 

I stepped forward, sliding into her waiting arms and kissed her. Her body fit tight against mine, her warmth a balm for my soul. 

She leaned back and once more looked in my eyes. “This will not be a fast process, but it will be very, very pleasant.” 

I awoke the next morning on the floor of an empty warehouse, the taste of her still lingering upon my lips. Dazed, I made my way home through a misty rain then collapsed exhausted in my bed. I slept in dreamless oblivion for days. 

Eventually, I rejoined the world. Butas she had promised I was different. A numb acceptance of the life I lived had crept over me, tempering the pain and making it manageable for the first time in my life. No longer did I feel like I needed more from life than I received. I simply was. At times, I knew I should feel more than I did but I just…couldn’t. All the sharp edges of the world’s knives had been dulled.  It was only when I thought of that one night with Summer that I felt anything at all. I would never forget her; never stop desiring her body or the feeling of being truly wanted by another – not in spite of my pain but because of it. 

As the months passed, I learned that without false hope life was easier, but not better. I could still feel lonely, still rage at my impotence to protect my mother. I still hurt. Constant misery turned out not to be as freeing as I had hoped. 

One cold December night, as the dark sonata played again outside my door and the first flakes of snow dotted the yellowed grass, I thought about the words Summer had said months earlier. 

“My sister, Winnie, would love to get her hands on you.” 

Winnie. 

Winter. 

I stared out my window and wondered if the ending to all my pain lay out in the darkness. 

In an embrace. 

In a kiss.