Summertime Longing
By Jon Bishop
Outside
the window of his first floor office Tom Zimmer sees a small group of kids
playing on the grass. Their laughter trickles through the glass and into his
ears, which pulls his lips into a smile. He stops his typing—the files and such
can wait a few minutes. He hears one of them shout: “Tag! All right, you’re it. You’re done.” Air
conditioners fill the office with unnatural cool air; everything just beyond the
window basks in the bright heat of the summer sun. He longs to be young
again—out with them, playing on the grass and on the fields until a mother,
somewhere, someplace, reminds everyone that it is time to eat.
He
shuts his eyes.
He
is outside with his friends, engaged in a game of hide-and-seek. He ducks
beneath a bush and puts his hands over his head. Its leaves rustle and some of
its fruit drop to the ground, sending small plumes of dirt into the air. A
slight breeze carries them away.
This
noise, though slight, gets him discovered.
“Found
you, Tom. Now, it’s your turn.” His friend Billy had been “it.” Now he would
move to the center of the field and close his eyes, count to ten. His other
friends scatter as he begins reciting the numbers.
One,
two, three, four, five, six, seven—
“Tom!”
Pollen
dances through the air as if it too participates in the games of the
summertime. Birds in the distance seem to sing of mating and romance and of
place. Dogs bark and insects chirp.
Eight,
nine—
“Tom!”
He
inhales, in preparation of seeking his hidden friends.
Ten—
“Tom!”
He
starts and turns around and sees his coworker, Jim, standing outside his office
door.
“Hey,
a few of us are getting lunch. You want to come?”
He
pauses.
“Uh,
sure. Just let me get some cash. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”
“Sounds
good. We’ll be down in the lobby.”
Jim
nods and walks away.
Tom
reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out his wallet. Before he leaves he
turns and again looks out the window and sees that all of the kids are no
longer there. They never were.
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