Memorial Day Weekend

The yellow sunlight was a drug they were starved for. She reached up and pushed back the beige sunroof cover, and the space flooded with light and warmth. The car was parked in her passenger’s driveway, but neither girl made a motion to move. They were intoxicated by the heat, coaxed into lethargy. She flicked her wrist, and they listened as the little window in the roof clicked open. Together they pressed down on the squares in their doors, and the glass windows slid down and disappeared between rigid black film.

Her passenger leaned forward, and the round disc caught the sunlight and cast rainbows on the roof. The silver blue CD vanished into the dashboard slot, and drums and guitars swallowed up the silence. She reached down between her seat and the door and pulled a slender lever toward herself. She lifted her feet off the mat, and her chair careened backward. She rested her head against the plush seat and propped her legs up on the edge of the open window.

They lounged, an unspoken agreement to steal a few lackadaisical moments in the crazy swirl of being seniors weeks away from graduation. A long weekend stretched ahead of them with promised overdoses of clear skies and sunlight. But it wouldn’t be free. There were soccer demands and job demands and parent demands and homework demands. Except now. Now, the only demand was to crane their heads back so their faces were full awash in yellow.

The muscles in her throat contracted as she swallowed. She closed her lids against the brightness and saw white electric flashes. She crossed her legs at the ankle and pressed her big toe against the smooth metal of the side mirror. This driveway was forever, and the fear of diplomas and moves and universities was a hazy fog in her summer stoned mind.

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