Short Story
Summer Time
It’s summertime.
The flowers are in full bloom, the temperature soars, the sun is out and the air is humid.
It’s summertime.
Coats and boots are swapped for sundresses, shorts and sandals. Children are no longer confined inside because of snow and are enjoying the weather in full force.
It’s summertime.
It's unbearably hot inside, making everyone rush outside for fresh air. Elderly people are taking their dogs for walks, leaving them to defecate in the grass, men are by their cars in tank tops and shorts, blasting music from their cars or walking towards the basketball courts, dribbling balls between their legs and discussing the three-pointers they will shoot.
It’s summertime.
The heat has gotten to you as well, and you are desperately craving ice-cream. The nearest store is a five-minute walk so you decide to walk to the store to satisfy your thirst. You slip on the nearest dress you can find, grab your wallet and lock the door behind you. Taking a quick look at the playground, and waving to your sibling who is playing with other children at the swings, you continue your journey towards the store, jaywalking to speed up the journey since the heat had begun to prickle your skin.
It’s summertime.
Predators are amok, re-emerging from their winter slumber. They are sizing down their prey, ogling exposed skin, standing at the corner eager to ask for a number, turning cars around to follow unsuspecting women.
It’s summertime.
With your tub of ice-cream in hand, you begin to walk back home, quickening your pace because you can feel sweat begin to gather between your thighs. You stop by the playground, ready to gesture to your sister to come inside, when two unfamiliar and menacing men come up to you, one referring to himself as the father of someone you supposedly know. You smile hurriedly, ready to leave as the plastic bag you are holding against your thigh is beginning to leak water from your ice-cream melting. He asks about your mother in your native language, you reply in English and the man beside him asks you if you can not speak your language while he looks at you from top to bottom in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable. You reply that you cannot speak it so well and the father of the person whom you do not know offers to give you lessons in a suggestive manner, leaning out to rub your arm. Your impatience and annoyance begin to grow but you hide it with your ‘respect your elders' smile’, ‘yes sir’, ‘no sir’ and the occasional bow, which to you, signifies that you are ready to go home. You become aware of this man’s motives as he licks his lips with his grimy tongue while looking at you and asking what apartment building you live in. You give him the first building number you can think of, grab your sister by the hand and make your way in the opposite direction of your building so he will not know where you actually live. He stops you short, flashing his phone in your face, asking for your number. You are appalled. He says it is for the language lessons and the appetite you had for the ice-cream you bought disappears. You let out another one of your customary yes sirs, wishing your custom would let you tell this man to fuck off or kiss your teeth and ignore him, but your customs demanded you to respect your elders and get on your knees and grovel at their feet no matter what. You press your number into his phone, walking away with your sister, letting out an exasperated I don’t know when she innocently asks who the man is.
It’s summertime.
You no longer want to wear short, tight dresses when you step outside to call your sister in from the playground or quickly run to the store to buy something. You hope you do not see the father of the person you supposedly know because you blocked his number when he tried to call you and you fear you will be confronted about not picking his calls.
It’s summertime.
You feel a longing for winter and miss predators being deep in their winter slumber.
