Summer Dresses
Desire, fear and mysticism swim in Summer’s turquoise sea.
This week I switched up the themes and explored the idea of desire. Maybe it’s just me, but I think there’s something sensual about summer; the days are warmer, the nights are longer and our spontaneity is sent into overdrive. Personally I love that the natural world has a personality of its own and with this story I tried to illustrate an idea of summer.
As mentioned last week, I’ve written a short BTS analysis of Happy Sunshine. Available here in our Chat! Feel free to ask questions/debate my conclusions. It’s always a pleasure to hear from you.
Summer’s an enchantress with a stare that turns cheeks red and sends hearts racing into the future. Her scent’s rich with sunlight and sweat, and her songs vibrate through that scented air, pulling us closer with each melody: lapping waves, clinking glasses, crackling meat on the grill. It takes all our strength to keep her from corrupting our minds, from stopping ourselves from believing her lies.
“I’ve been here forever,” she says, holding our gaze like she’s its keeper. But we don’t have the strength to answer. The season’s still young, and she has us in her grip; we’re watching her dance, swirling between those pretending not to look and those staring gormlessly. Her dress ripples with her movement, fluttering with each sway of her hips; its turquoise silk is the Aegean sea at the end of another day.
My first sight of Summer is in one of our parks. She's gliding along the gravel path, heading my way, followed by a trail of temptation. My head is bowed, watching my steps, listening to hers getting closer. Beautiful women are too much for my fragile eyes and empty wallet. But she's no ordinary beauty, she’s an enchantress, and the shorter the distance between us, the harder my head is pulled up. My eyes refuse to miss her; they thirst for a glimpse, risking it all for a split second.
“Hi,” she says, passing me. Leaving me to drown in her wake. I want to turn and follow, but I know better. Following her comes with a life sentence, if you’re lucky, capital punishment. I don’t see her again for a few days. The sky's painted with whites and greys, retiring those summer dresses for a day or two.
But before I've gathered my strength, she’s here again, dressed in silk with golden skin. She spends her morning sitting on the wicker stools, dipping flaking pastries into bitter coffee. It’s here that I see her, studying Homer’s Odyssey, learning new songs from the sirens of the sea.
“It’s you again,” she says, as I try to walk past. Her memory’s a web spun to catch the helpless and weak. Today I’m both.
“You remember me?” I say, landing in her fractal tapestry. Her smile fits her face as if it was God's first brushstroke.
“I saw you in the park. You’re the one with brown eyes kissed with honey and a brave jaw.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Sit with me,” she sings, and I’m already in place with no plans. “So tell me... What’s your name?”
“Frances,” I answer, swept up in her spontaneity.
“I like it.”
“You do?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“No reason, it’s just a name. I’ve never had compliments before.”
“I guess you’ve been spending time with the wrong people,” she says, rocking me into submission.
“Maybe you’re right. And you are what? The right person?”
“I’m just a woman. But one right is greater than ten wrongs.” Her words are soft, but her touch is silk. My skin is alive, vibrating, charging. She’s quiet for an eternity, watching my pupils dilate. They’re opening up to capture her portrait, committing it to memory before the clouds are painted in the sky again. Now I’m lost in her spell, she leans in.
“Summer,” she whispers, pollinating my ear with her poison. Then, as quickly as I took my place next to her, she stands, straightens her dress and walks away. I watch her leave, admiring the rolling waves lapping against the golden coast. There aren't many more enchanting sights, and at that moment, I’m filled with equal parts fantasy and fear.
“Sir,” I hear somewhere in the distance. “Sir, your coffee.”
Summer’s in view again the following day, laying between the limestone boulders, absorbing the sun and the salt in the air. Courtesy tells me not to look her way as I walk past, but I’m too close to listen to reason. She’s freed herself from the swelling waves of the Aegean. Today she lays nude like it’s the only way to exist. Her body’s an extension of the stone, curved from nature’s will and smoothed by its roughness.
“Frances,” she says, not lifting her head nor opening her eyes. I’m too nervous to stop, too weak to not. “Lay with me. The sun is sparkling, and the waves are soothing. Stay for a few minutes.”
“It’s magical,” I say, sitting beside her, separated by a grain of sand.
“Frances…” she begins, pulling herself up on her elbows. “When you look at me, what do you think?” A million words rush into my head at once. Beauty, desire, magic and mystery. But I don’t say any. My throat dries, and I choke.
“Here,” she says, passing me an opened bottle of wine. “I’ve only had a sip, but you don’t mind my germs, do you?”
I shake my head and take a gulp; if this is what wine tastes like, I've been fooled for years. It's sweet and rich, like honey, made from oak pollen.
“You’re nervous.”
“A little,” I say, gulping down another mouthful before passing her the bottle.
“Have you never seen a woman naked before, Frances?”
“Of course. But you’re different,” I say, and she giggles.
“Don’t be silly. What makes me different? That you’ve only seen me twice, and now I’m here, laying beside you… almost close enough to touch.”
“There are a lot of differences,” I say, meaning to start a list. But I’m cut short. Her index finger is pressed to my lips, and her other hand’s combing my hair.
“Your eyes are dilating again. And your breaths are shallow.”
“As I said, there are differences.”
“Which are?” She asks, pulling back her hands. The list I have thought about since the first time I saw her has left my memory, or it has been stolen. And she doesn’t want to wait; she’s on her feet brushing the sand off her hips, then her thighs, and now she’s tying the strings of her bikini.
“Coming for a swim?” She asks, unaware of the spell she has spun.
“I don’t swim… at least not in this sea,” I say, and think back a day or two to the Aegean dress that rippled when she walked. That's a sea I'd swim in.
“Suit yourself.” I watch her skip climb the dune between us and the sea, and disappear over the other side. There’s nothing I want to do less than leave, but I do. For my sanity or my reputation.
Smoke and long shadows surround us for our fourth encounter. Time has already begun to warp with her resting in my thoughts, and that evening felt like a week removed from the hour spent at the beach, but my calendar tells me it is the same day. She’s dressed in her customary silk, this time as black as the night sky, a hue you could lose yourself in.
“Frances,” she says calmly, passing my table.
“Who’s that?” My wife asks, tightening her forehead.
“Summer.”
“How does Summer know your name?”
“We’ve bumped into one another a few times this week,” I say, and I can feel she’s close, maybe close enough to whisper her name in my ear.
“She’s pretty.”
“She is.”
“You must be France’s wife,” Summer says, joining our table like she has been invited.
“Audrey, nice to meet you. Summer, right?” She says and can’t help but be confused. I should be terrified, ashamed or something other than calm. But calm is what I am glancing from left to right as they swap questions and answers.
“What perfume are you wearing,” Audrey asks, nuzzling her face into Summer’s neck.
“I’m not sure I wore any today,” Summer answers, and it’s then that I see her spell being cast. This time, I’m not the one being enchanted.
Love, Luke
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