A Summer of Orange and White

What does summer taste like? I’ve never been asked this question, but to answer it I need to go back to the summer I fell in love.

It was the summer of 2020. Canada Day, to be exact.

My friend and I had been driving tirelessly for hours. We watched the people busting by. One by one, family by family. Their stories conjoining into one chamber of thoughts in my head: people watching.

I noticed the man in the green shirt and the baby with the polka dot dress. I’m sure she did too, because she’s a bit nervous. Anxious, more so. It makes her aware of everything going on around her. She thinks she’s crazy, but I think she’s extraordinary.

Music played loudly in the background. We didn’t talk much, but it was a peaceful silence. The trees became larger, greener, fuller: glistening with light that peaked through the branches and the tiny holes in the leaves made by beetles.

The clouds were plump and strategic, as if each one had been placed individually to compliment the others. Occasionally, they moved to block the sun, and I would look back down at the cars zooming past us.

As the sun began to set and the moon awaited its fall, the sky changed colour. It was slathered in pinks and purples that merged into the blues on the other side of the sky, where the sun was still slightly risen.

She pulled off to the side of the road.

She grabbed an orangesicle from her cooler: the one she brought with her on every trip. It was red and had orange marble on the top. Fitting for the treat we were about to share.

“Look at the sky, it’s so beautiful.”

She said this every time she looked up. There was hardly a day she’d miss if the sun was out or, really, just if it wasn’t raining or snowing.

“Yeah, it is,” I responded. Smiling internally at her happiness.

We sat there in silence, enjoying our orangesicles, as the sky sang with colour.

The flavour of the orange mixed with the white ice cream centre put an instant smile on my face.

“These are my favourite,” she said happily.

“Are they?” I asked, but I knew they were.

She moved her hands closer together on the steering wheel and inched her body forward. She flipped up her mirror and looked at the sky in awe.

She did this every time we were driving, especially in the evening right before the sky would trade its warmth for the cool of night.

After a couple more hours, some food and a break, we started to drive closer to home. Around 1:00 a.m., she got tired.

“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to shut my eyes for a minute. I’m a bit tired.”

Of course, I thought. Anything for you.

“Go ahead.”

She pulled off of the highway and into a neighbourhood, an hour away from home. She took off her glasses and laid them on the dashboard. She turned off the car, pinned up her hair and curled into herself.

She was wearing a pink tank top and pink shorts. Her breaths were short and quick.

Her face calm and peaceful.

“She looks like a ballerina,” I thought to myself. Ballerinas are my favourite dancers. Skill, dedication, delicacy.

I looked at her briefly, scanning her face. I found nothing but serenity, and that filled me with warmth. I picked a song, closed my eyes and fell asleep.

When I woke up, the sun had started to rise.

I looked over and she was beginning to wake up. I watched as the sun glossed over her face, coating her eyelashes and freckles.

Her eyes glowed a brighter green than I had ever seen them. The slight specks of grey surrounding her iris peaked through from the light of the morning sun.

After a few minutes of apologies and reassurance, she asked if I was ready to go.

Before we drove off, she grabbed two orangesicles. One for me and one for her.

“My favourite,” she said.

“They are.”

I wasn’t hungry, but I took it as if it were my final meal.

Without having finished, I held it in my hand. The sticky orange juice fell gently onto my lap, and the cream turned into liquid and puddled at the bottom of the wrapper.

I savoured the delicacy of what would soon become my favourite summer snack.

We drove home in that same peaceful silence. The sun held us both tightly; strong and persistent. We returned home and said our goodbyes.

Later that night, amidst my own assured calm, I dreamt of a ballerina; dressed in orange and white, dancing in the sun.