Missing Summer

Back in Texas, we sometimes used to swim after dark. The water was still warm from the day and the pool light would shine from underneath, making everything look light blue. I miss those nights.

Once in awhile, a thunderstorm would roll in. First, the rain - warm raindrops falling into the pool, the sound unlike anything else. It's kind of a hushed cymbal; the loudest whisper you ever heard. Then the lightening and thunder, and the smell of ozone. You're supposed to get out of the pool when that happens, but I always found some excuse to delay things. Swimming to the bottom of the deep end to get a toy, perhaps.

When I was in high school, we used to visit my grandmother in New Braunfels every 4th of July. There was a river there by her house, with a private island only the residents could access. Water so clear, so cool, it was hard to believe you were in south Texas in July. The Comal was spring-fed, with little columns of bubbles rushing to the surface like a glass of champagne. Schools of fish would swim by, used to the human presence. Minnows darted around nervously in the shallow parts. The bottom was carpeted in pebbles and rocks. Algae floated by in soggy tufts, and big elephant-ear leaves fringed the edges of the river on one side. On the other, were homes and back yards. Grandkids running around, and American flags. Hot dogs and beer.

We would swim and barbecue all day, my family and I. Year after year we used the same beach towels and floaties. We taught Clint to swim, in his one-piece swimsuit with a built-in inner-tube. It was bright orange, his hair a shock of blonde. We would throw him in to mom or dad, his legs kicking as soon as they hit water. I can still see him running around the island in that bathing suit, trying to catch frogs and fish, snaggle-toothed and wet.

I'm tired of being cold. I miss Texas so much it hurts, sometimes. I wish I were somewhere down south for awhile. I need a margarita and a slight sunburn, the sound of crickets, the smell of mesquite burning in a grill. I want an Abilene thunderstorm, a south Texas ride down the river, an evening of Corpus Christi air.