Summer High Tops

It was the summer of 2015, after I had just graduated from high school like that old saying, ‘by the skin of my teeth’- something my parents made sure I understood as they celebrated in my honor.

“You’re lucky you graduated by the skin of those teeth kid. Things would be going a lot differently if you hadn’t let me tell you.”

But I didn’t need them to tell me because I knew.

Their reminders were like squirts of lemon juice on my thousands of tiny cuts to commemorate me of my wrong doings, short comings, or failures.

So, I drank.

My parents and my teenage angst often clashed, and this resulted in me eventually taking up shelter with a friend down the street, where I would often party in order to avoid conflict at home. This entailed underage drinking and smoking marijuana, nothing unusual for freshly graduated teens in the area. I would return home to my parents a few nights a week to shower and enjoy my own space but found it inclusive to stay out more than not.

This went on for weeks, until my best friend Hayley decided to skip town in her own self-destructive haze to be with a local busker. I didn’t know until she had already been across state lines, higher than mars, as she described through her explanation text about how it was partially because of the guys manhood and how he is as thick as this cigarette box, it’s just so big.

“I wish you were here, but I am kind of glad you’re not, you know? Things are crazy and there’s nowhere to really stay other than this dudes couch and it’s just a lot. Plus, you’re with Jesse and Muscles and I bet things are great there. I miss you guys!”

Losing her, the one person I did everything with hit me like a truck.

So, I drank.

In losing her, I had attached rather heavily to my other friends and had spent about four thousand dollars of my own money that summer trying to keep my place amongst my friends. It was partly inheritance, with a little being from my temporary summer job. Weeks were passing and plans were in motion for life to begin after summer, yet I had no plans.

That internal scream of what are you going to do next was an ache in my mind.

So, I drank.

One July day, however, the weather report read it was going to be humid, the temperature over 100 degrees. My friends and I had discussed going to the lake and enjoying the sun that day, something we did not do often. The opportunity was uplifting to my soul.

I always enjoyed being in the water growing up, and after spending the summer frequenting rivers and streams, going to a lake was an incredible idea I quickly agreed to.

Jesse was rather a quiet kid with a large curly afro, and he was the one who lived at “The Man Cave” where most of the parties happened. He and his younger sister Mae (who I loathed at the time due to unlashed childhood drama) prepared for our adventure that day by placing their parents’ paddleboat into their dads’ truck while the rest of us in the group made sure we had what we needed.

Muscles- a John Lennon doppelganger who wasn’t even 100 pounds soaking wet- came down the steps of the building with AJ, arms full of coolers and bags. It was early in the morning; the sun had been bright and warm for a few hours, and the air was hot. Regardless, and as always, Muscles wore a Baja hoodie and bandana, peering over his circular glasses with a soft smirk.

AJ wore a fedora over his lengthy red hair and too supported a smirk. He always wore a smile unless serious, as he enjoyed making people happy by doing things like being the stuntman of the group. Every school dance or crowded event, he would start by doing a front hand flip into the room, fall, and twist his knee before hobbling about for twenty minutes.

Together they packed the truck with our belongings as I helped, until everything we needed was loaded and ready to go.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” came a voice from behind us.

“Your dad said if we’re to be gone with his truck all day we best dip now before he changes his mind,” Shylock said as he strutted towards us from the house.

Shylock was the nickname for a rather pompous kid named Chris, who had about three weeks until he was to be sent away to basic training. I never understood the nickname, but sometimes that’s just how it is. He had come from the house across the street as Jesses family happened to own four houses, two homes across the street from another two, where he was also living at the time.

“We’re good anyways. Ya’ll ready?” Jesse asked throwing up a shaka sign and giving it a proper wave.

We hooted and cheered our replies as we began our adventure.

When packed into the truck, I remember feeling our warm bodies being cramped together in the confines of the large Dodge that had been collecting heat for the few hours the sun had been shining. Jesse and Mae’s dad was a construction worker, and the truck smelled of wood and metal now mixed with teen sweat that was amplified in the heat.

It had only taken ten minutes to get to the lake from the house, the time spent in a clouded box with all the windows up as we all inhaled the devil’s smoke. By the time we finished and had rolled the windows down, I remember the fishy smell of the Androscoggin River mixed with the softwood trees that cover our small city wafting through the window, surrounding me as fresh air filled my lungs and cooled my face.

I always loved being outdoors because of this feeling; the one that swallowed me in a humid, swampy embrace that left me feeling calm and ready to cool off in the cool New England rivers and lakes.

The breeze that never ceased to blow through the area pushed my hair all around my face like whips, and as I inhaled the smell of my coconut conditioner mixed with the smell of the forest, I felt at peace.

The plan was to meet my mom who was already enjoying herself off the beach, before setting off to be on the paddleboat for the day. She had offered to keep an eye on Jesses truck and any belongings we couldn’t fit on the boat, although as teenagers we packed for fun not reason, and didn’t have much with us.

It did not take long to find my mom on the beach, arms full of our coolers and towels. I remember kicking off my gray high-top Converse that I had just bought for myself. I remember the way they vibrantly popped against the green grass by the sandy beach, the white soles beaming under the sunlight.

I had always worn converse, but these had been the first pair that I had bought for myself with my own money- so there was a sense of pride I had felt for these shoes. I always felt like wearing Converse was like slipping into skin. They were a part of my image, like nails for some, or hats for others.

“If I put these here, will you watch them?” I asked my mother, placing my shoes next to the rock her picnic table was placed nearby.

As she turned to spot me and what “these” entailed, she shrugged and agreed.

“I don’t see why not, who else will stop by with the same shoes? You going out?” She asked pointing towards my friends that lined the shore with the paddleboat and some of our stowed away belongings.

“Of course,” I smirked before trotting bare foot through the hot sand until my toes eventually found the boat, my friends, and the cool relief of the lake water.

After we found a space for the six of us- awkwardly- Jesse and Mae paddled us into the middle of the lake where the fun really began.

We drank, we swore unnecessarily as we joked, and we smoked as if we had been doing it for ages. We flipped and dipped into the water until our arms ached pulling our intoxicated weight back into the boat repeatedly throughout the day. We would tan until we sweat and then cool off in the lake around us that glistened under the summer sun, and we did this for hours, time passing as all of us connected with ourselves, and nature.

This is what teenagers here did, and in that moment, I was a part of it.

We had docked the boat across the lake that evening, Jesse grabbing the truck while the rest of us pulled in the boat and removed our belongings. All that was missing was my shoes, so I sent a text to my mom to see if she would grab them.

She replied she would.

Long story short, my mom never grabbed my shoes.

The loss was one I took personal. It would take me about a year for me to replace the shoes, as I felt my sense of laziness to go back for my own belongings was a lesson learnt in losing them that day. In a way, I didn’t want to buy another pair until I felt more responsible. I had bought cheap knock off Vans from Walmart and wore those until they fell apart.

This sounds silly, but these moments I take too personally are moments I have learned the most. I reflected a lot on that summer as I continued to grow. I think about the money I spent, my friendships and experiences- and most of all I think of those high-tops.

I think of myself with my friends that day on the lake in triple digit weather. I remember the way I felt childlike but mature. Responsible yet irresponsible. I think of the way the wind blew, and the sun beamed. I think of the lake and it’s crowd enjoying the summer atmosphere.

It was a beautiful sight, and a beautiful time.

I no longer go to that lake, and I do not talk to any of the people in this story even though the group is mostly together still. I’ve simply just become a different person than the one who enjoyed to drink, and so hanging out seems different now. Tourism has boomed in my small town, and the lake is no longer how I remember it. Trees have been removed in bunches for a larger beach and camping lots. The water is murky from the mass bodies, and the lots are crowded with out of state ATV trailers that hog too much parking space.

Yet I’ll never forget those shoes, and the lessons I learned behind their vanishing. To this day, my mom teases me about my grey converse, and I reflect on what it meant for me to be wearing them at the time often. Maybe this is just who I am as a unique individual; someone who takes a deep and personal loss to losing a pair of shoes.

As I said, Converse are like skin to me, and the universe decided it was time for me to shed those ones and become someone new.

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Authors Note: As a new member of the platform, and as someone who is a bit more socially timid, becoming an established creator here on Vocal has been difficult. I have a handful of reads that come from people I grew up with, otherwise I have gone relatively unnoticed aside from replies to my comments that consist of the typical "Thank you so much!"

Things have been dark for me the last few months, and the ability to create has been what has drifted my thoughts into a healthier place then when left unchecked. If you have taken the time to read this, I have the deepest of gratitude and appreciation to you. All I hope is that those who read what I publish, enjoy, what it is they are reading.

If you have made it this far, thank you.