Summer Kiss

a story for oral presentation
by Kevin Brooks - August 1997

This is my favorite time of year - summer. And August is my favorite month. For me August is the long lazy back-end of summer, with August feelings that stretch out long into the rest of the year. I love August. When I think of August as a kid, I think of hot humid city streets and summer camps when the sun would beat down and lick my skin all day; and when it set, it would set with the most brilliant colors imaginable: oranges, reds, and purples all mixed together. That was August. But now as an adult, summer and August are just more and more of the same: budgets, money, worry, constant commuting from here to there, and searching for a single moment in the middle of the day when I might find just a little bit - just the tiniest bit - of peace, or a hug, or a lingering caress, or maybe even... passion. Summer passion. You know what I'm talking about, summer passion? Those wet hot moments when nothing else matters, all is consumed, everything combusts, life burns and time stands still. That's what I think of when I think of August, when I think of summer, when I think back to my first summer kiss.

I was 14 and going to an over-night YMCA Camp just outside of Downingtown, PA. - Camp Dwight. Camp Dwight was on the top of a very large hill, set in the woods, with a huge playing field right in the middle, and girl's cabins in the woods on one side and boys cabins in the woods on the other side. And like any summer camp, Camp Dwight had all the things you'd expect a summer camp to have: swimming, archery, baseball, volleyball and canoeing, my personal favorite. But Camp Dwight also had riflery.

I loved riflery. I was good at riflery. It was so easy - relax, point and shoot - just like in the movies. No problem. The rifles we used were these puny 22 caliber things - tiny little bullets - no kick. Now normally I hated guns - 'cause in the city where I grew up, guns only had one purpose, for shooting people. That was their only purpose in the city. So I never had anything to do with guns. But at summer camp, guns were meant for shooting paper targets hanging on a wire - which was so easy. All you had to do was relax, point and shoot - just like in the movies.

The rifle range was down near the mess hall, just a short walk into the woods. It had a long brown wooden structure which looked out across a small ravine, the other side of which was the side of a hill. In front of the hill a wire was strung for hanging the paper targets. We would usually shoot from a prone position on the floor of this structure, which had about ten or so old mattresses on it for doing just that.

Every chance I got I took riflery. And each time, a long string of campers would carry rifles down from the locked closet in the mess hall to the rifle range in the woods. The counselor always carried the ammo. And when we got there we'd wait and suffer through hearing the rules and regulations of the rifle range each and every time, wait for the distribution of the tiny bullets, and then finally we'd get to ­ relax, point and... ping-ping, ping-ping -- the guns were so small, they didn't even go "bang." Then everyone would reload, and again: Relax, Point and Shoot. After it was all over, there'd be a long line of campers carrying rifles back up through the woods to the locked closet in the mess hall. And again the counselor carried the ammo. But this one time when I didn't have a rifle to carry back, I stayed behind along with Maryanne Hilgruber.

Now I had had my eye on Maryanne for a long time. She was a shy, quiet, skinny girl with black horn rimmed glasses. She wore jeans - tight jeans - as only girls could wear. And she had on this... top, one of those tube top things with horizontal stripes. Except some of the stripes weren't quite so horizontal ­ which caught my 14 year old interest.

Now Maryanne and I both knew about the other use of the rifle range mattresses. Everybody in camp did. It was part of camp lore. We did all but sing campfire songs about it. And there must have been something electric in the air, because I didn't invite her to stay behind and neither did she invite me. We just did and were drawn to each other without ever saying a word. Once the rest of the campers wandered off, once we heard nothing but the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees, we stood there, close, looking at each other. I was so close to her I could feel her body heat ­ so close I could hear her heartbeat ­ or was that my own. I looked deep into her eyes, our faces almost touching, and I heard ­ "Yo Kev! What's happenin'!?"

It was my friend Monk ­ my former friend Monk ­ who happened to be wandering through the woods? There was never any understanding Monk. "Yo Kev - what chu' up to, man?" When I didn't answer, Monk looked at me - then he looked at Maryanne - then he looked at me - then he looked at Maryanne - then he looked at me ­ then he looked at Maryanne, and a smile started to grow on Monk's face. It was small at first, but got bigger and bigger. I thought - Well, I'm dead. I'm dead. I have no idea what Monk's going to do, I don't know what he's going to say, don't know who he's going to tell. But I'm just dead. That's it - bury me here where I stand, because I am just dead. Monk looked at Maryanne, then looked at me. "Well, catch you guys later," and he was gone. Gone! Shhhhhhhhhup ­ Maryanne and I were back together like magnets. And again, I felt her body heat. And again, I heard her heartbeat. And again, my face was so close to hers. I looked deep into her eyes, and I... panicked. I panicked! I didn't know what to do ­ I didn't know what to say ­ I couldn't even move! But then I realized where I was. I realized the place where we were standing and the mantra of the rifle range.

Relax. I was relaxed ­ in an excited sort of way. Point. I reached up and held her as gently as I could, startled at first by the touch of her blouse fabric against my arm, the curve of her body in my hand, but comforted by her weight against me as we held each other. Shoot. I leaned in and brushed my lips against hers. At first, all I felt were lips. But then the heat of August rushed in and filled my body. I leaned in and brushed my lips to hers again, and again, and again. They fit! Our lips fit together! Just like in the movies. And as we kissed one long last time, we fell to the ground, barely making it to a mattress.

Now I am told that somewhere in this land there is a tall tall mountain whose peak reaches beyond the clouds to heaven. And I am told that somewhere else in this land there is a ocean whose floor reaches down to the very center of the earth. I don't know. But, I do know that somewhere else, on a large hill outside of Downingtown, PA. there is a spot where time stood still in August.