Aestas Futilis

Oliver slung his backpack over his shoulders and headed down the stairs.

He had it all planned out.

He’d sit at the coffee shop for a few hours and read, write, sketch, and listen to whatever music he would be vibing with in the moment. It was, for lack of a more literary term, going to be a chill morning. Afterwards, he might actually get lunch at a restaurant and have an afternoon beer.

It was the start of summer, and the world, as self contained in an eight mile radius as it usually was for Oliver, was his oyster.

There was a rumble of joyful nervousness in his stomach as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

This was going to be his summer. Two months off of work to do whatever he wanted. Projects were going to get done. Art would be created. Hell, he might even finally talk to that cute barista he liked.

A flick of the deadbolt and the swinging open of the front door brought a sinking in Oliver’s heart, a twist in his guts, and fallen countenance.

“We’re here!” Harold announced heartily and slapped Oliver a bit too hard on the shoulder.

“What?” Oliver winced.

“It’s tradition!”

“That’s not…”

“Can’t thank you enough for opening your home every summer to us!”

“But I…”

“Come on in!” Harold waved in his wife and five children who hustled inside, bags in hand, bumping into Oliver as they passed.

Almost instantaneously, they had commandeered the downstairs rooms, unpacked, and were rifling through the kitchen.

“I had plans, Harold,” Oliver said, his voice weak, and pointed at his backpack.

“Welp,” Harold laughed. “Parked behind you, and it was a long drive, so I’m gonna go take a load off.” With another laugh and smack on Oliver’s shoulder, he went into one of the bedrooms to nap.

Oliver, vexed and befuddled, stood staring at the outside world for several mournful moments before mumbling “fuck” and pulling the door closed.

***

“Screeee!”

Oliver woke with a start and looked at the screaming child standing by his head. He wasn’t sure which one it was, and he didn’t much care.

“What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

The screaming continued for four more refrains, when the kid abruptly stopped, grinned, and ran off.

“What the fuck?” Oliver pounded his fist against his forehead in frustration. He closed his eyes, but sleep, chased off by the screaming, was no longer an option for the night.

This had been the pattern for the past several weeks, though pattern hadn’t really figured into it.

There was no rhyme or reason to the sleep disruption. Was just as likely to happen on a Monday as it was on a Thursday, and it was now to the point that even the thought of lying down to sleep gave Oliver anxiety.

The sun rose, and Oliver’s heavy eyes burned with every blink.

He began to push himself up, but exhaustion slapped him in the face, and he awoke in a sweaty stupor forty-seven minutes after noon.

“God,” Oliver slapped his hand repeatedly against his forehead. “Damn it!”

Another unsalvageable day bashed, battered, and lost beneath the waves.

***

Oliver stood at the counter and waited for one of the baristas to take his order.

He had managed to make it out here once or twice a week despite the ever present nonsense, though it had become more of an escape from Harold and his family rather than time spent making grand accomplishments.

“Hi,” Oliver said as one of the baristas approached the register.

“Hi,” she responded. “How are you doing today?”

“Doing alright. How are you?”

She just kind of smiled and nodded.

“You aren’t supposed to engage in conversation, jackass,” Harold laughed into Oliver’s ear.

Fuck! Oliver thought to himself. He’s here too?

“I’ll just uh have uh yeah,” Oliver stammered and stopped when he saw that his regular order was already put in and ready for payment.

As he paid and dropped a tip into the glass jar, the other barista had already walked over with Oliver’s drink in hand.

She was, of course, reaching out to set the drink down on the counter, but Oliver’s brain fired “handing to me” and he reached to accept the cup.

The handoff was successful, but not without an awkward jostling of the liquid contents.

Thank the gods for lids.

“Sorry,” they said in unison with a chuckle.

The coals of embarrassment were already heating in Oliver’s face when a guffawing Harold declared “jackass!” and ensured the fires lit.

Oliver slunk into the barstool he liked, and set out his usual morning activity options.

“Gee Zuss,” Harold, still laughing and shaking his head, took the seat next to Oliver.

After about an hour of a mostly blank screen, save repeated typing of “lkadsfljk;dsfaljk” then holding backspace, rereading the same page of the book he had selected for the summer, and intently being sure to not make eye contact with the baristas, Oliver eventually decided to switch gears, and leaned down to retrieve his sketchbook from his backpack.

As he did, he made eye contact with one of Harold’s kids who had been standing there for God knows how long.

They stared each other down in frozen hesitation for a moment before the kid slammed a much too strong for their size fist into Oliver’s ribs.

“You little fucker,” Oliver hissed painfully through his teeth as the kid ran away.

Oliver sat back up, sketchbook in hand, and attempted to make his grimace and rubbing of his ribs not too obvious.

Nothing got drawn that day.

***

“Appreciate you hosting us as always!”

Harold and family had their bags in hand and were filing out the door.

“What do we say kids?”

Harold’s kids all turned around to look at Oliver and promptly shot him the bird before piling into the minivan.

“Well, Oliver,” Harold smacked him on the back. “Enjoy the rest of your summer!”

Oliver, as exhausted as he was exasperated, looked at Harold.

“I go back to work the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Harold nodded in contemplation for a moment, then grinned. “Time sure does fly!”

And with that, Harold and family pulled out of the driveway, and began their journey back to whence they came.

Oliver watched the minivan disappear from sight and sighed.

“Maybe I can grab a drink tonight. I mean, I still have…”

A clap of thunder interrupted Oliver, as a vicious storm rolled in and began to pelt him with stinging rain, and too close for comfort flashes of lightning illuminated the now blackened sky.

Oliver just stood there and laughed like a madman.