Summer
J. Zachary

T ommy was quiet mostly. He didn’t feel like talking. He wanted to listen to the cicadae, and the wind whipping the branches of the trees, and the sound of the water splashing against the dock.

“Did you ever hear of anyone liking politicians?”

“No.”

“He loves politicians, he says that they’re noble.” Tommy took a loud and deep breath. The smell of the water, and fish, was strong, but felt good in his nose.

“Your quiet tonight.” She said.

“You’re not.”

She got up, and jumped down from the bed of the truck. She took off the tank top, and revealed the top of her blue bikini.

That body is a weapon, Tommy thought. He thought about Johnny, he never knew what hit him. Poor sap. She sprinted down to the dock and dove quietly, the light of the moon, illuminated the ripples she made. She stayed under for a long time.

She surfaced, facing Tommy. She smoothed her long hair back on her head. “He’s out with the boys.”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“And where are you?”

She dove back under the water, her ass, and then her legs disappeared quickly back into the dark water. Tommy lay back onto the cool truck bed and looked up at the moving ceiling of leaves. He thought of the Royals, and his trips with his father, to Kansas City, Johnny was there, and Rick, and Moose. Back then, Moose, was Clarence. In the car, on the way to the stadium, they thought of nicknames for themselves, for when they all made the big leagues. Johnny’s was “The Missile”.

Her wet body, slammed suddenly into his. Tommy jumped, startled. Snatched away from his memories.

“Don’t think about Johnny.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Politicians…. and whores.”

The warmth of her breath, the comfortable kiss, made him forget the wetness of her body, and the coldness. She stopped suddenly, and slapped him hard across the face. “I’m not a whore.” He grabbed her and kissed her harder.


First published: August 2001
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