ephemeral summer By Natalye Childress

 it was just another tuesday night.

she showed up at 8 p.m., just like she said she would. the sun had already set, and the darkness had begun to spread out across the sky, but even the blanket of twilight couldn't soothe the stifling heat.

"a quick drink," i said, an invitation. "before we ride."

she walked across the living room and into the galley kitchen. i grabbed the absolut and two frosty shot glasses from the freezer, placing them on the counter and filling each to the brim. then i took both in my hand and handed one over.

"to summer," she said, gently clinking hers against mine. "to us."

we downed them quickly, the cool in our throats lamenting the season's unforgiving reminder.

i opened the door and was met with a rush of heat so thick it made me choke. i shook my head and smiled. summer in sacramento. then i locked the front door. we walked around the side of the house to our bikes. i moved up the kickstand and threw one leg over the frame. she was already set.

off we went, single file, down the busy street. noise from the freeway spilled out into the city; we heard nothing but chaos and movement. i peddled faster as we passed under the train trestle, a span that always threatened to collapse with the weight of the overhead trains.

she turned back to look and me and flashed a knowing smile. i knew what happened next.

in a burst of energy, we tore down the street, block after block blurring by until the lanes slowly collapsed into one.

we turned right off the main thoroughfare and left on m, down a quiet suburban street. these homes were the fab 40s and 50s, and we could see just why. each one was an aesthetic wonder, with a unique personality all its own. we casually rode, our arms at our sides, pointing out which ones we wanted to live in when older — each block, some house superseding the pick before it.

we passed others on the road, walking, biking, or driving. most waved to us or said hello. the heat has a way of making people a bit less guarded.

upon arriving in midtown, we resumed an air of no nonsense. flying through the grid, we turned and tucked between and around obstacles until we were near the park.

as we approached the grounds, we could make out two figures in the shadows. they heard our laughter and emerged with smiles, anxious to greet us.

we dismounted, a bit disheveled, then locked up.

the four of us began walking. through the rose garden, past a war memorial, and into a grove of trees. beyond that was the liberty bell replica, alongside a koi pond. a bit further, the capitol.

we sat in the shroud of darkness and the black velvet boy pulled his namesake out from his backpack. passing it around, we each took turns, coating our tongues and mouths with the 80 proof liquid, strong and biting. it went down like fire, through our esophagi, penetrating our insides yet setting us at ease.

we talked loosely, cautiously avoiding the topic of post-summer. we acted like things would go this way forever, even though each of us knew things would never be the same.

summer had presented itself, as evidenced by the emerging freckles, the darkened arms, and the long days. soon it would disappear, taking with it this seemingly eternal bond of friendship.

i could anticipate the separation and was already missing the taste of companionship. but for now? i was content to sit with my best friends and take it — take life — all in. it was much like the whiskey. it roughed me up at times, but it certainly was not without its sweetness.

Natalye Childress (she/her) is a Berlin-based editor, writer, translator, and sad punk. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in Farewell Transmission, Anti-Heroin Chic, Sontag Mag, scaffold, BRAWL, and elsewhere. She has an MA in creative writing, and her first book, The Aftermath of Forever, was published by Microcosm Publishing.