Lemonade

Writing Prompt: Describe a hot day without using the words sun, hot, warm, humid or sunny. Challenge yourself to find new words.

I sat down on the bench and immediately my sweaty skin seemed to adhere to the green plastic. There was no shade in sight. Sol’s rays came down unobstructed by clouds, and reflected off the concrete creating a nearly blinding glare wherever I looked.

The bench was hard and not especially clean. I knew when I stood up, I would hear the sucking sound as my thighs painfully peeled off of the slick surface. For now, I was simply grateful for the chance to rest. Each incremental rise in the mercury leeched energy from me as surely as it wrung moisture from my body.

Giggling voices, a shrill bark and jingling bells came to me through a haze. Looking over to my right, I saw two girls pulling a high-sided wagon, painted bright yellow and festooned with small bells on ribbons. A white toy poodle wore a signboard that said “Cold Lemonade.”

The entrepeneurs moved like dandelion fluff, carried here and there on a breeze only they could feel. Then there was a lemonade stand which gleamed with the same vitality as the bold yellow flowers that are the end result of the dancing fluff.

“Hey, lady,” I could only admire the lithe, bronzed figure that addressed me. “Wanna buy a cup?” What I found ennervating, was invigorating to these pixies. “It’s only 50 cents a cup.” Up close, I could see where ultra-violet rays had showered kisses in a sprinkling of freckles across noses and cheeks. Streaks of blonde shone bright as the light that brought them out.

I reached into my coin purse and pulled out two quarters, which winked and flashed as I handed them over. A work of art, no more than 8 years in the making, framed in frayed denim and dusty ginham, mounted on the unlikely pedestal of rubber flip-flops, brought me my glass.

I said “thank you” as I held the icy cold cup up to my cheek, letting the ‘dew’ forming on the side bring the first pleasure. I inhaled the sweet, tangy scent of childhood, then tipped the cup to my lips. The cool, refreshing liquid cascaded over my tongue and down my throat in the flavor of summertime and youth. I closed my eyes and savored the memory of bare feet in green grass, chasing lightening bugs, best friends, hopscotch, secrets shared and first kisses.

I looked at the sky. It no longer seemed viciously scorching. It now appeared to be a bright beach ball floating in a cool pool. A source of delight. The reflected glare became a shared glow, the pull I felt from the bench as I stood up was that of a friend who doesn’t want to say good-bye.

As I walked away, the girls were each pocketing a quarter and looking very satisfied. I couldn’t help thinking how much more they could have charged if they let people know the water they used was from the fountain of our youth.

 

 

 

All rights reserved.  This blog and all it’s contents is the original creation of Jennifer Maher, the author / publisher.  No part of the contents may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author / publisher.

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~ by friendlycurmudgeon on September 12, 2012.

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