By Becca Klaver
I cannot wait for fall parties.
The invitations have begun to roll in.
I used to think I loved summer parties
until they got this year so sweaty and sad,
the whole world away at the shore,
sunk in sweet and salt.
Goodbye, summer:
you were supposed to save us
from spring but everyone just slumped
into you, sad sacks
pulling the shade down on an afternoon
of a few too many rounds.
Well, I won't have another.
I'll have fall. The fall of parties
for no reason, of shivering rooftops,
scuffed boots, scarves with cigarette holes.
I'll warm your house.
I'll snort your mulling spices.
I'll stay too late, I'll go on a beer run,
I'll do anything
to stay in your dimly lit rooms
scrubbed clean of all their pity.
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Sunday was Adam's 18th birthday, though we didn't see him until mid-afternoon since he was away most of the weekend on a kayaking trip with other kids from his college program. We had a quiet day otherwise with Daniel, taking him shopping, before we all went to retrieve Adam, who had a great time on the trip to Wye Island and is excited that he's doing another kayaking trip in August just before school starts.
Adam wanted to go to the Cheesecake Factory for his birthday (far more for dessert than dinner), so we picked up my parents and went to the one that opened this year in Montgomery Mall (I had eggs, as did Adam; we both had chocolate in our cheesecake, though he also had peanut butter in his). Then some of his friends came over for a frisbee and Super Smash Bros competition while Paul and I watched Masters of Sex.
With friends.
Future dorm.
With family.
With cheesecake.
With games.
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