Summer's Warmth: A Winter Reunion

I also have new memories of Summer Madison—Summer Madison the writing instructor.

Here's a summary of the old story: I met a 19-year-old stranger named Summer Madison at a college house party during a rare snowfall. I took her back to my dorm. We watched porn together at Summer's insistence, followed by the Donnie Darko Director's Cut, which she'd never seen. After the movie ended, one thing led to another. I lost my virginity to her. I woke up the next morning, and she was gone.

The new story is as follows:

Summer Madison was my Advanced Fiction instructor during my Junior year of college. She was a sunny, youthful and vibrant woman of 27. I tried my best to listen to her lectures but often found myself distracted by how stunningly gorgeous she was.

Summer was impressed by my classwork. She told me I was destined to be a great writer and introduced me to some favorite authors of hers. We shared a love of Hunter S. Thompson and Harlan Ellison. We spent lots of time together after class, discussing my writings.

Based on the hints she'd dropped in her lectures, I knew that Summer was dating a guy. He was a few years older, an IT manager. One day I made a move in Summer's office. Actually we both did, but we broke away before anything so much as a kiss happened. That was when we realized that feelings were developing between us. Summer called me later that night. She told me it would be wise if we weren't alone together anymore.

Shortly before Christmas Break, Bathrobe Girl—Jen—stood me up, and I was a disappointed, frustrated mess. I decided to go to a house party that my roommate Matt had told me about. I had no plans beyond drinking and moping at the stupid party, trying to get the devilish Bathrobe Girl out of my head.

I didn't make it to that party. Halfway there, I ran into Summer on the street. She asked why I was wandering around in the December cold without the proper attire.

I explained the situation with Bathrobe Girl. The odd thing was, as we talked, we were walking back toward my dorm. I didn't question it, and neither did Summer.

Then we were in my tiny suite room. And then we were watching the copy of Forbidden Sorority Initiations 3, and then Donnie Darko. And then I was rubbing her back, and we were kissing and groping. We collapsed into a passionate tangle and ended up having a wild night together.

When I woke up after dawn, I was wrapped around my naked writing instructor. We had sex again, and then reluctantly parted on good terms.

During Christmas Break, Summer called me to explain that she wanted things to work out with her fiancee. He'd proposed. This time she told me it'd be best if we avoided each other altogether.

I had a hellish Christmas Break. I didn't have to worry about running into Summer because I never again saw her on campus.

I reunited with Jen, in the same place, at the same time. We dated. She got pregnant. We married. We divorced.

The only difference was that while we were married, a new neighbor moved in.

It was none other than my old writing instructor, my ex-lover, Summer Madison. She was newly single, in her early 30's, and with full custody of a son a year older than Kara.

Physically, nothing had changed about Summer. She was still the gorgeous woman I'd bedded long ago. Needless to say, it added temptation to a straining relationship. I should stress that I never acted on it. Summer and I barely spoke to each other. We'd spot each other coming and going and exchange smiles. Or we'd laugh when little Logan found his way into my yard, or in one case the cabinets under my sink.

In our obligatory discussion about past sex partners, I told Jen that I'd lost my virginity in college, and that it was to a girl named 'Summer.' When that Summer in question became our neighbor, Jen never made the connection.

After Jen and I divorced, Summer and I didn't reunite in the sexual sense. We did start chatting more, but I was convinced that what we'd shared seven years prior was gone. In its place was a casual friendship.

Two histories. Two different accounts. Yet they both share the same space in my head, both memories vividly real to me. I remember Sexlin Summer Madison as clearly as preventing her death. Everything I know about the 'new' story came rushing to me during the night I spent for observation.

Trying to wrap my head around two versions of the same event that are both real is like trying to answer the question of God and the rock.

****

Everybody's fretting and worrying over me. My parents keep blowing up my phone. Lewis has texted me nonstop, and so has Randy. We're still friends and have kept in touch since I quit my job at The Report to successfully transition freelance. I'm also a published novelist.

I've written one book so far and apparently I'm halfway through the second. My agent has sent his congratulations on my recovery. I'm sitting on the couch, turning to random pages in the paperback copy I forgot I wrote.

Jen has insisted on staying with me a few days, just to make sure I'm not wrought with another mystery coma.

Speaking of Jen, the front door opens, revealing my ex-wife carrying a bag of groceries. Before she crosses the threshold, a two-foot-tall human blur flies past her, screaming "DADDY!" and nearly knocking Jen over.

I sweep Kara up in my arms and hug her tight.

"Is daddy okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, Kara. Daddy's okay," I assure her.

I've never been more honest in my whole life.

Add Kara to the list of people who have expressed concern over me. I wonder how much she comprehends and understands that daddy almost went away forever. Can toddlers sense when their parents are in danger? In any case, Kara's attitude toward me has certainly shifted.

Jen emerges from the kitchen, sans grocery bag. "That's all she asked me, all the way here. 'Is daddy okay? Is daddy okay?' She really was worried."

I try to put Kara down but she insists on being held.

The doorbell rings. Kara squeals and playfully covers her ears. Jen answers it.

And I almost drop Kara.

I've accepted this new history that's been created. I've lived that new history. But I'm so floored at the sight of Summer Madison in the doorway that it's difficult to stay on my feet.

"Hey, I'm sorry to drop by when you're just settling in," Summer says.

"Oh no, no. Come on in," Jen insists.

Summer (that Summer, yes that Summer, oh my God, holy shit) walks into the house. Logan trudges behind her.

"Well, you're not looking too bad, Leon," Summer comments.

I gulp. "You're, looking, healthy as well."

Kara's face breaks into a wide grin.

"Summer, daddy! It's Summer! Summer's back!"

****

As my own boss, I've declared any afternoon fine for a beer. I'm taking a fifteen minute breather from a writing project.

I don't plan on publishing this particular piece, however. That's because it's a very personal, very private account of my Earth-One Summer Madison encounter. I've named the file 'sw1' but in the actual document, the title is centered at the top of the first page: "Summer's Warmth: A Winter Encounter."

I'm writing it all down out of fear that the memories will simply disappear one day, fully replaced by the new ones. I've taken steps to ensure that the file stays buried in the deep recesses of a secret flash drive.

I'm sitting on the porch, nursing a beer. Jen's at work. Kara's taking a nap. Jen wasn't sure if I was well enough to look after Kara and asked if she should put her in daycare. I told Jen that I was more than capable of watching my kid.

"Is this seat taken?" Summer asks.

I almost spit out my beer. This will take lots of getting used to.

"Not at all," I say.

Summer sits besides me, joining me into staring into the middle distance.

"Leon, I've been thinking a lot. Do you remember that story I shared in class?"

She shared several of her own works with the class, but after what's happened I can guess what she's referring to.

"The one about dying, you mean?"

"Yeah," Summer says. "It was true, though. For almost ten years at that point, I'd had this, I dunno, feeling, like there was a possibility that at some point in my life, I could have died. Or, even worse, that I was already dead and fooling myself into thinking I was still alive."

"Yeah, I remember."

I'm playing it casually. On the inside I'm shaken.

Summer doesn't know the truth. She'll never know. It's best I kept it that way.

"When I heard what happened to you," Summer continues, "it reminded me of all that. I started dwelling on it again."

I put my beer down. "I understand. But the important thing is that you're alive. I mean really alive, not just thinking that you might be."

Summer nods. "Another thing I started thinking about was your book."

Beyond Eternal Rest is the novel's name. It's about a guy who has a wild love affair with a pretty girl who meets a tragic end. After various instances of life caving in on my character, he decides to take a road trip to his dead love's grave. Needless to say, she's either not quite on the Other Side yet or he's delusional.

"Leon, can I ask you a question?"

I already know what it is, but reply with a "sure."

"Is the book about me? Or inspired by me?"

I smile. "Yeah. Yeah, it is, actually. After, we ended it, I went into a tailspin. And when I came out I started jotting down notes. I fictionalized a lot but left autobiographical elements. It was therapy for me. Free therapy, anyway. It paid for itself."

Summer takes me by the hand. Her her warmth and soft skin gives me comfort.

"I thought it might have been," Summer replies. "Are, are you and Jen...?"

"Nah. She stays the night sometimes but there's no hope in fixing what we had. That boat's sailed away."

"That's too bad. You seemed like a nice couple."

"In public, maybe."

Summer squeezes my hand tighter.

THE END.