dun. da dun ch.

Mungo Jerry: "In the Summertime"

We are riding our bikes down Riverside Avenue. It must be June or July; in any case it is before your accident, and we are fearless. The sun is beating on our black hair, turning mine reddish in places. Your freckles stand out against your pale skin.

The street is at a slight incline beginning at Cedar; the incline is long and gradual, running seven blocks, and ending at 26th Avenue. I'm standing up to pedal. I can feel the light breeze from cars going by.

Maybe we've just come from St. Martin's Table, where you would have made cracks about the vegetarian food and new-agey religious books. I have just graduated from high school; you are entering your junior year. We're goofy and annoying and full of inside jokes. The most inside of jokes is us. Sometimes we go driving in your car, playing the Beach Boys loud and singing along at the top of our lungs. Sometimes we meet in Longfellow Park and play on the playground. Sometimes we hold hands in the computer lab. Sometimes you are so nervous I can smell it.

But now we are just two kids biking, pumping our bikes until they sway. I'm whistling: In the summertime/ When the weather is hot/ You can stretch right up/ And touch the sky/ In the summertime/ You got women, you got women on your mind/ Go out and see what you can find. And you are behind me, going DUN. DA DUN. CH. DUN. DA DUN. CH. There is no other life.