The smell of summer

It was the height of summer and the heat sent waves of distortion up and down the neighbourhood. There was just enough breeze to waft the sticky scent of raspberry jam over my garden fence. For me, that was the smell of summer, the smell of weeks spent alone in the back garden with just a football, some books and the hope of catching a glimpse of her.

With anticipation, I dragged an old crate otherwise bound for the bonfire pit towards the side fencing, the side of the garden that looks out onto the street. The crate was strong and I was skinny, so it held my weight without a single groan. With my feet firmly in place I was just high enough to curl my fingers over the top of the fence. I pulled my small body up with ease and peeked out onto the street.

There she was, as I had expected. Her yellow hair reflected the sun, illuminating her like an angel. It hung all the way down her back like a silk blanket, enveloping her small arms in a wispy embrace. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen with the sweetest voice. She had never spoken to me but once her mum had sent her over to our house with a box of homemade jam. My mum had answered the door as I hid at the top of the stairs to catch a glimpse of her up close. My ears strained through their conversation but I heard the music, the melody of her voice floating with ease around the house. She didn't know I was there. I'm not sure if she ever knew I was there.

Her stall was set up already and she was just placing a sign on the table that read 'raspberry jam - 1.00 a jar'. The jars were lined up neatly and burned a bright, ruby red in the midday sun. I could just make out an opened one placed at the front of the table. She gingerly dipped a finger into the sticky jam and popped it in her mouth, and again, sucking it like a lollipop. I watched her for a few minutes, sweat trickling down my back, just breathing in the scent. She would stand at her stall for an hour or two, soaking in the sun's rays and fanning herself with a magazine as she had done every day of the summer since school ended.

She was everything to me that summer, and even now the sickly smell of jam plays my mind like a time machine, back to skinny legs and splintered hands and that yellow hair.

At the sound of plates crashing in the kitchen I jumped off the crate and onto the dry grass. I didn't want anyone to see what I had spent my summer doing. I pushed the crate underneath a small bush, a leafy camouflage. I would need that tomorrow when once again the smell of summer would invite me over the fence.