A one-time summer friend.

With every wave of heat, the memories repeat, but then a cold breeze hits, bringing me back to the present state that we are in.

My first summer at the beach, I was so excited to leave the city that I’d lived in. Hurriedly, I packed up my excitement in a thirty-kilogram suitcase, eager to get away from my small, all-too-familiar environment and jubilant to go to a place full of excitement, where strangers from all corners of the world escaped in search of a thrill. It was the last summer before I had to move to a school miles away from home. This trip felt like a course whose purpose was to make me feel comfortable with new beginnings. I hid my excitement in the plane, but my eyes gave it all away. I wanted to stay cool and composed, similar to the breeze I would soon be in. The world seemed smaller from up here, but the smaller it became, the more precious it felt. The aircraft we sat in was filled with people from different places with different faces.

Looking around, I found joy in conjuring up stories of what their lives might have entailed. Perhaps the old man across the aisle with a head full of grey hair was a successful artist, someone who’d had the pleasure of meeting creatives of different calibres way back before I even knew what life was. Or maybe the lady, a few rows up, the one with hair that put a flame to shame, and a constellation of freckles I imagined I could trace to make art, was an archer. No wait, that’s just Merida. Regardless, her eyes, a deep green, different from Merida’s, held that exact same fierceness. When we landed, the first thing I’d notice was the coast’s humidity, so different from where I had been. I breathed out the exhausted air of the city I had left behind, and inhaled the fresh air of the one I had just walked into. Finally, my lungs felt at ease, as they accommodated their new surroundings. The buildings were historic, their age being admirable; every curve being a story, and every corner a different chapter.

For an atmosphere meant to pull your body towards the beach waves, it made me want to enjoy it longer, only for me to be brought back to the current state. It is a reminder of what once was, as the cracks begin to grow, pulling me to what is now. As the temperature increases to an all-time high, roads melt left and right, and people’s bodies hit the ground like dominoes. Every body being a life, a memory, and a bit of someone else’s story. Walking too has become a hustle, as the heat rapidly becomes unbearable. The trees’ branches sway, as the leaves spread more heat than they repair the damage. All I hear now is the sound of birds chirping, an unfamiliar melody twisted into a deafening cacophony, as if they too are screaming to be saved. It is not only in their sound but the nature of their flight. Birds stop in their tracks up in the sky, flapping their wings but not being able to fly. Is it a cry for help? Is nature viciously screaming to be heard and begging to be saved? My last resort are my headphones, as I try to find a tune that erases the chaos and takes me back to what once was.

Having already spent an entire week exploring the city with my family, I remember going to the museums and having a peek at the city’s history, of what once was and what was left of the pieces still standing intact. I found myself reading paragraphs of the lives of the people who once took the same steps I did, stood at the same spots I did, with histories that were different from mine, and destinies that were intertwined. At noon, we found various street food vendors and hidden gems where we enjoyed a variety of different delicacies that gave us a taste of the city, presented by hands that were made to serve beauty.

As the aroma of the spices hit my nose, and flavours evaded my taste buds, I felt the heat travelling further down my throat, no longer having the desire to enjoy a meal. My hunger craving to be addressed but the heat demanding to be obeyed. The only bridge connecting this suffocating present to the non-replicable past was an ice lolly. With one lick, the memories came flooding back. Then another, and I was back at the resort, right after lunch at the buffet, sitting in front of the massive swimming pool as the cleaners took out every leaf that had fallen in, adding chlorine that made the water a brilliant bright blue.

Shortly after, a number of tourists decided to play volleyball in the pool, no invitation needed, and whomever wanted could join in. Everyone participating laughed out loud with no care in the world as we dipped our bodies into the pool, anticipating a friendly match. Time seemed to slow down, as sweat trickled down our skin, mixing up with the pool water, as our bodies moved aimlessly, putting all our efforts into directing the ball towards the opposition in hopes of scoring. The sun’s rays were appreciated more than they were condemned. They made our skin glisten and our moods heightened. My four-foot-nine self felt unstoppable as I had the task to prevent the ball from hitting the net, as you were in front of me defending. With our combined efforts, we won, and instantly became friends. The speed at which we became friends was the same speed at which we would later become strangers.

You were the girl with the long auburn hair like that of hot chocolate, and I the girl with coal-black hair like a raven. You always wore swimming costumes that were of different shades of purple and I always in different shades of blue. I already had an obsession with Frozen, and now it felt like I had found my Anna. But just as fast as I had found my Anna, was how fast she would be gone.

We spent the first day of knowing each other at the beach, enjoying the breeze and splashing salty water at each other, as we picked up shells of all different shapes and colours. We filled old butter cookie boxes with the shells. Mine now lies in the back of my closet, untouched since that day. Too afraid to open it as it holds onto too many memories, or maybe I fear that opening it will make all the memories fade. Now it is just but a time capsule. We watched as the men climbed up the coconut trees, harvesting the green, unripe coconuts as the women below assembled them and made coconut water drinks. At night, we naively danced underneath the disco lights as we enjoyed mocktails and coconut water as the adults had their share of cocktails and spoke on matters that only concerned grown-ups. We watched the night fade with our legs submerged in the pool, watching the ocean waves as we shared stories of the myths told to us. We talked about how we believed in mermaids. One of us thought of them as beautiful creatures, with long, luscious hair, garments made of shells, and tails of different colours. The other saw them as creatures of destruction, ones that lured people deeper with their voices, never to be seen again. One story, two different narratives.

We spent the next day in the pool, chatting about our favourite cartoons and our love for art. We spoke about how the Mona Lisa held so much depth in her simplicity. We shared stories of the drawings we had made and on the beauty of this place. A bittersweet, last conversation that posed as a goodbye. The only physical evidence of your existence is the one photo my mother took hastily before you left in the blink of an eye, never to see each other again. We had no phones then as we lived in the moment. Or perhaps it was the fact that we were only nine. A one-time summer friend, a forever summer story. Ten years later, it is a tradition that has lasted, reminiscing on a childhood past as I look at the photo, as the memories flood right back. Unlike Anna and Elsa, our story is forever frozen. I only hope the memory of it remains as constant as the shared summer sun we sat beneath.

The summer heat gets hotter now, acting as a reminder of that holiday. I knew you for three days, but I’ll remember you for a lifetime, my one-time summer friend.