Written Through These Amber Eyes

“Some Summers Don’t Stay”

Zeke always noticed the sun before the sky. 

He would walk down the cracked sidewalks with his eyes half open, soaking in the golden light as if it could burn out the cold parts of him. That day in late June would be the day he met Scottie. On that day, the sun was everywhere.

Scottie has been sitting outside the corner deli, reading something that looked heavy, both in thought and in size. Zeke didn’t see the book at first. He saw the hands. Long fingers holding the pages delicately, like they could bruise. 

He stopped walking. Only for a second. Long enough to let himself want.

“You’re not from here,” Scottie had said, not looking up.

Zeke had grinned. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah,” Scottie said, still looking at his book. “You’re not tired enough.”

Zeke had laughed. That’s how it all started. There were no sparks or fate. It was timing and heat that brought Zeke to that corner deli. The brief delusion that summer would stay lingers. 

As he remembers, how Scottie would lean in when he laughed as if he was afraid the sound might drift away if he didn’t catch it. How he would say Zeke’s name in pieces as Zee, then Zeke, then sometimes nothing at all.

Those were the times that terrified him the most.

One night in late August, they sat on Scottie’s balcony drinking warm beers and naming stars that didn’t exist

Scottie had said, “You could stay, you know.”

Zeke didn’t answer. He was staring at Scottie’s mouth, thinking about the way it shaped words like stay, and how that word always felt like a fence. 

Now, weeks later, fall was pressing in like a whisper behind his ears.

He stepped off the train and into the town he had once called home. The air here always smelled like pine needles and loose change, and old familiar things. Things that didn’t ask questions.

She was waiting for him outside her apartment, as she always did.

Eliza

He kissed her as if years had passed by. She opened the door, and all their memories came flooding through Zekes mind. 

She handed him a hoodie and a mug of something too hot to drink.

“I always miss you so much you’d think you weren’t coming back,” she said softly, not looking at him. 

“And you’re always open arms at the door.” He replied. 

She nodded, then turned on the old record player. The static filled the silence.

Outside, the leaves had started to fall.

And in a city not too far away. Scottie sat beneath that tree, wondering if Zeke ever thought about him when the wind changed.

Zeke did. 

He didn’t know what to do with the wanting.