For those who read me regularly (or irregularly, for that matter), it will be completely unsurprising that I’m taking liberties with Lucy’s prompt and doing my own Bonnie thing — through the lens of the 80s with a dash of music, no less!
I immediately thought of Josh Rouse’s “Summertime” and revisited his lyrics.
I’m definitely not a songwriter. Heck, I’m barely a writer! But I attempted to mirror (very, very loosely) Josh’s cadence/style but definitely not his rhyming. That is beyond my ability.
I remember swimming pools, ordering Godfather’s mini-pizzas, watching Santa Barbara, and recreating lyrics for “Electric Avenue”
I remember biking to the Sing Store, slurping Coke ICEEs, and sweating bullets
I remember dieting, playing Pong, Pac-Man, and Burger Time, and catching lightning bugs
I remember handstands, Harriman Pond, waiting by the radio to hear Huey Lewis and the News, and secretly crushing on boys with blue eyes
I remember Mom moving out, learning how to do laundry myself, and eating fish sticks (because Dad’s cooking skills were limited)
I remember Daniel, Mr. Miyagi, Alex P. Keaton, the Material Girl, Prince, “Ghostbusters,” popped collars, Wham!, Falcon Crest, MTV, and Indiana Jones
I remember the shade of live oaks, sticky afternoons, and long evenings with my neighbors filled with dares, insults, jokes, fights, secrets, and dreams.
Unlike summer itself, those memories aren’t fleeting. They’re eternal. They won’t even die with me and my beloved Betton Hills Gang.
Even when we’re gone, the pines and the Spanish moss and the magnolias and the dogwoods will remember our bickering and our laughter. The moon will shine on our beloved neighborhood — our trees, our pond, our land.
Our voices will still ricochet along the gentle slope of the street.
In a way, it’s always the summer of 1984 on Marston Road in Tallahassee, Florida.
Until her 40’s, Bonnie’s worst nightmare included writing and sharing personal stories publicly. At her friends’ suggestion, she bemusedly started Bonnie’s Mixed Tape on Medium in 2017. She remains shocked that anyone reads her stories and that P.S. I Love You, the Writing Cooperative, and the Ascent have published her work.
She recently moved to Mississippi and is trying to embrace the fact that she has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.
Thank you for reading this story
I know you are busy and have lots of ways you could be spending your time. You using your time to read my work means the world to me — my sincerest thanks!