She calls him Summer because his seasons intermingle with hers.
The events of that Saturday passed by quickly. Nothing remarkable other than the way the sunlight pushed its way through the car’s tinted windows. It was a battered thing. A medium sized machine of faded green. Its radio had stopped working years back. The glass was cloudy with age.
She was leaning on the dashboard, caressing its plastic panelling and playing with the filtered sunlight that frolicked on her fingers. The rays danced on her skin to the tune of the road and the wheels meeting. This was the only sound that accompanied them on their travels.
“I love this car. It’s old and new and everything in between.”
The corners of his lips curled up in agreement.
The sky’s yellows danced on his black hair, turning it golden. Backlit, his profile was emphasized. The window frame held him in a portrait, much like cameos of days gone past. You could see the late afternoon’s colors split into rainbows in his eyes. His glasses only magnified them.
She steered her eyes away from the silhouette in the driver’s seat and looked to their yet undetermined destination. I think it was Home. He started to sing.
“Ooh la la…”
That was how Summer ended and Autumn began. Syllables harmonizing with the ordinary sound of rubber hitting asphalt. A faded green car crushing the dried leaves that had begun to fall. The sun clinging to the last few hours of day.
