Late on an almost- summer night, this video played in the bedroom of our Boston condo. The air conditioner hummed in the window, the room was dark except for some light from the bathroom, and there may even have been a fan circulating providing additional air movement. The video evokes a childhood memory of summer camp, of two kids sneaking out past curfew to play in the lake, and the sweet melody and sentiment were primed for summer. On the bed, I kicked off the sheets and tried to stay cool.
That summer I spent a great deal of time in Boston, working at Structure and roaming the city streets when the sun went down and things turned slightly cooler. Not quite old enough to drink liquor, there were no bar scenes or cocktail corners to frequent, and so I spent much of the nights simply walking and peering into places that felt alive, spurred on by some unseen impetus to roam and find something – anything – to help me discover my place in life. This sweet song, a rather innocent ode to romance, did what it was supposed to do and made me feel like the perfect match was just around the corner, or somewhere in my past, just waiting to be reunited in some Hallmark kismet moment. Obviously, that wasn’t how things played out, and as I clicked off the television and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water, I didn’t feel any closer to finding someone. Looking out onto the street, I raised the window for a moment, feeling the wall of heat and listening to the trickling of the fountain outside.
Retail work provided daytime distractions and when I returned home at the end of each day, there were hours of daylight left with which to occupy and entertain myself. I’d taken up jogging around the South End, as much to get out and feel participatory as to stay in shape. I’d pass the neighbors on their brownstone steps, with their fancy plates and dinners and glasses of wine, enjoying the privilege of eating outside in an act that would have been unthinkable in the ice and snow of a mere three months prior. How drastically the New England world can change in just a short time, I thought.
Whizzing through the crowded sidewalks of Tremont Street on a pretty summer evening, I averted any gazes as much as I internally invited them. If I thought I could meet anyone while running quickly by them, it was a testament to my own self-fulfilling failure in finding someone. Clearly I was not ready for any such thing, despite the simplicity this song so deceptively dangled as a possibility.
I spent a few more weeks in Boston, before retreating to my parents’ home with central air and a swimming pool, and even fewer romantic prospects. The heat continued, along with the longing, and it was the latter that would refuse to diminish even with the arrival of fall. 
