1
It was Harry who gave me my name.
I don’t know if it is true when he said it, but when I asked my mom she said that it was. It was the night when I was born, everybody was talking about what they should name me. My mom told me that they were talking nonstop when Harry said his first word, “Summer.” It wasn’t that perfect when he said it, said my mom but the moment she heard it she knew thatSummer would be perfect even if I was born in Autumn.
We were childhood sweethearts, Harry and I. Living in a very small village where everyone knew each other and everyone were friends, at least they were that time. Now the village has grown and of course as adolescence trying to burst out into the world a lot of gossips had already poured out and being friends was already dropped along the process. But we’ll go to that; there is plenty of time to tell you my story.
My first recollection about Harry was when I was four and he was five, and I was in our lawn trying to read something. Because that’s what little girls do, read something just so she can look a little mature for her age. He walked straight to me and when he was a few inches from where I sat he looked at me, with admiration, I thought at that time.
Only to be disappointed when he said, “You can’t read, can you?”
I stood up a little too defensively still holding the book in front of me and pointed my stubby fingers at his face, “You can’t just talk to people when they’re reading, that’s rude.”
“But you are not reading Summer.” He said. His tone all too sure and knowing as if he was right. The steadiness of his voice proves that he is confident that what he was saying is the pure truth. I hate it when Harry uses me that tone.
“I am so!” I said slamming the book on the ground ready to throw a tantrum. I hate it when he tries to ruin everything. I hate it that he is smarter than I am, older and more confident.
“Your book is tilted backwards.”
I realized that the book was really backwards because my mom snapped me a picture that day. But during that time I was so mad at Harry that I stomped off and left.
“I can read it to you if you want.”
I remembered stopping at my tracks when he said that. Both my parents never had the time to read me something, either they’re too busy with work, or they’re too busy with household chores.
“You would?” I asked my eyebrows meeting each other in a thin line, though my voice was soft.
“Yeah, I read this already.” He said. The look in his face made me angrier, I hate it when someone is trying to mock me.
“No you didn’t.” I snapped back.
He raised his eyebrows, stood up and is now in front of me. “I did Summer, this book is mine.” he opened the book at the very last page and pointed at the name written at the cover.
"Why are your things here anyway? This isn't your house!" I said then stomped off. I would've stalked off gracefully for a four year old but I didn't, I turned back to him and stuck my tongue out for a good one minute, until I stopped having to realize that he will not cry and that my attempt is a little bit futile.
When Harry was young, he was this obnoxious little boy who most of the time subtly points out that he is smarter than the rest. Especially to me. Instead of watching Disney, he watches National Geographic. Instead of reading story books, he was reading biographies.
He started kindergarten when he was five. I think that’s the time when he and I became friends. Since our families are really close, my mom persuaded that we all escort Harry to his first day in school. My mom made me wore a dress that day, and promised that by next year it will be my time to go to school.
I remember Cynthia was going to school to that day, and we met her by the entrance. Cynthia’s mother made Cynthia and Harry hold hands so they won’t get lost. When I saw their hands clasped together I cried.
My mom thought that I was jealous because I’m being left behind. She was right, only I was jealous because of Cynthia’s hand clasped against Harry.
Harry was tall for a five year old; he was tall, lanky and handsome. Cynthia has a crush on Harry, I know it because I overheard the grownups talking and Cynthia’s mother just said it casually and they all laughed.
I guess Harry knew why I cried, because after he got home, he went straight to our house and placed a gummy worm ring in my hand. Our first, ever promise ring.
I didn’t like hearing there’s some other girl in Harry’s life, for about four years of my existence it was only Harry and me. Harry told me that he and Cynthia together with Stephan and Lorraine played together when I was really young.
I didn’t like it. At that time, I hate being the youngest. I hate it when they come by our house or I come by in theirs when there are parties. I hate being left out in their conversation.
Harry gave me the box that contains all the things I gave him when he left. “For safe keeping.” He said.
I opened it and saw the first letter I gave him that very day he gave me my ring.
Quote
Dear Harry,
I don’t want seeing you holding hands with Cynthia. She may be older but I’m prettier and smarter. Don’t hold her hands again even if her mom tells you to.
Summer
The soft knock on the door woke me up from my reverie. The door creaked open and there I saw Stephan. His hair plastered neatly to his face. I think he looks stupid, but I smiled nevertheless.
If Stephan hasn’t left for the city to fulfill his dreams as an actor, he would’ve gone to the army with Harry. He would’ve been there, he could’ve saved Harry.
“Summer.” His voice unfamiliarly soft, I had known Stephan for years, and his voice was never soft. It was always obnoxious, like Harry’s. I wish it was Harry who came instead of him.
“Summer I’m so sorry.” He said holding my hand. I pushed back the tears from my eyes and tried to hold it together.
“Lorraine will be coming home tonight.” I didn’t speak.
“Summer, it’s okay to cry.” His hand now touching my face. I looked away.
“He’s not dead.”
“Summer.”
“He’s not dead!!!” my voice echoing in my room. They probably heard it downstairs. The whole town probably heard it.Did you hear it too Harry? All I’m saying are meant for you.
“They haven’t seen his body yet. Harry is not dead! He promised me he’ll come back.”
Stephan then held me tight in his arms, his whole body trembling. His voice faltering into sobs that made me think if he is comforting me or otherwise.
“I know how you feel Summer, it’s okay to cry.”
No you don’t Stephan. You don’t know how I feel. And I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry until I see him walk through my door and hug me tight.
If Stephan was only with him then things might have turn out differently. But I know better, it wasn't Stephan's fault why Harry is in the army.
It was mine.
