Page 9 of Summer’s Echo

Summer

The burst of wind gushing through the trees disrupted our heartbreaking recollections.

Still perched at the tree, I felt him draw me in closer to quell the chill from the wind.

Echo gently brushed a finger down the bridge of my nose.

He calmly wrapped his arm around my shoulders, instantly comforting me without needing to be asked.

We both let out a quiet, shared sigh. This felt good—recognizable, like home.

His tender touch and the genuine concern in his embrace stirred something deep inside me, and before I knew it, another sudden, uncontrollable cry escaped my lips, startling away the butterfly that had accompanied me earlier.

Time slowed for just a second, the years of our friendship steadily played in my head like the slow build of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.” Stillness, reticence, refusal to acquiesce—all the feelings and behaviors that prevented a breakthrough in this, what I called twisted friendship between Echo and me.

The white noise created by the steady flow of the creek intertwined with Echo’s clean, yet spicy scent, leaving me in a daze when he tugged at my waist. His embrace encouraged me to resume seeking respite in the comfort of him.

While he was familiar, his caress was different. Echo’s grown man vibe was a far cry from the lanky frame I’d met as a na?ve teenager. Who knew that over a decade later, I would be a runaway bride, cuddled in the arms of my best friend at our secret spot, reminiscing about our twisted friendship?

“Sun,” he began, shaking me from my daze, “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I weren’t here for you. Honestly, I didn’t make the decision to come until a few days ago. But our friendship…” He paused, choosing his words carefully, “it’s stronger than any of the issues we’ve had. I had to be here.”

I let myself sink into the pool of memories that only my best friend could stir. Each moment we’d shared felt alive, rippling through me like a soft current.

“I’ll always show up for you, Summer. No matter what.

Don’t ever forget that, okay?” He tenderly pinched my nose, the familiar touch stirring something deep in me.

Instinctively, I scrunched my face, just like I always had when we were flirtatious kids—when everything was simple and we thought we had all the time in the world.

I nodded. “I’ve never forgotten, E. Never,” I whispered, the words carrying all the weight of the years and everything left unsaid.

The summer breeze stilled as if nature was holding its breath.

But for the first time, the silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable.

A cold, yet soothing finger swiped up and down my forearm as we listened to the gentle rustle of the leaves.

Chuckling, I said, “E, do you remember that first week of camp?” I angled my head in his direction, but he stayed fixed on the stillness.

I could almost see the distant memory flickering across his mind.

“Shit, how could I forget that stank-ass attitude of yours? Just mean for no reason. I think you enjoyed giving me a hard time.” He shot me a teasing grin.

“You loved it when I gave you a hard time.” I elbowed him amusedly. “You were just as bad as me—constantly making jokes, calling me spoiled, pushing your finger into my glasses, calling me every name but my birth name. You, sir, were the one who drove me crazy.”

Echo nuzzled closer to me, wrapping me in his suit jacket to keep me warm. “Nah, man. We just had a funny way of building our friendship. And I thought you were kinda cute.” He winked, and my face betrayed me with a telltale flush.

Summer

That One Summer in 2004

The first week of camp was always pure chaos.

The kind you’d expect with almost two hundred campers—most of them barely teenagers—and a swarm of junior counselors trying to keep things together.

Camper accidents were pretty much guaranteed.

Not to mention the homesickness that hit like clockwork during the first few days away from their families.

It always took a solid five or six days for things to settle down.

But now that the schedule hiccups were resolved and everyone was falling into a normal routine, I could focus on my group, the Creative Crew.

These kids had a spark, skilled in just about everything creative—from drama to drawing to writing and even fashion design, they could do it all.

I was far from an artist myself, but I loved creative writing.

It was like a secret escape, a place where my thoughts flowed freely.

Building a whole world of characters and poetry in my sketchbook was like a magic.

I could lose myself in it for hours. And being here with kids who understood that feeling?

It’s everything. Today, David, one of my favorite returning campers, had his turn to share what he was most excited for this summer.

“I’m most excited about…” he started, his pubescent voice squeaking as he tapped his chin like he was in deep thought.

Then his cute baby face split into a goofy grin, braces gleaming.

“The girls. I’m excited about the girls.

” The room erupted in laughter. I couldn’t help but laugh, too, caught up in the moment.

A deep, vibrating hum came from the doorway; the sound definitely didn’t come from one of the kids.

It carried a borderline grown-man quality, immediately drawing the attention of the campers…

and me. It was him—Echo Abara. He’d only been here a week, but he walked around like he owned the place.

His skinny arms and legs, just starting to show hints of muscle, were wrapped in rich brown skin that was smoother than any boy’s I’d ever seen.

With an easy swagger, he approached me with unshaken confidence.

He was always nibbling or licking his thick bottom lip, and the girls ate it up.

Does he think he’ s LL Cool J or something? I rolled my eyes, refusing to be just another counselor going weak in the knees for him.

They were always talking about the new boy, giggling and swooning every chance they got.

It made me sick. Sure, he was cute. And tall.

And nice. And…ridiculously appealing. Ugh.

But he was still a boy—a cocky, self-assured boy who seemed to know exactly the effect he had on people…

on me. That alone was enough to annoy me.

“Oh, so she does smile,” he said, teasing me while he handed out snacks to the class.

I narrowed my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest in defiance. “Yes, I smile when there’s something to smile about,“ I shot back, my voice sharp as I fought to keep the blush from my cheeks.

He stepped right up to me, so close that I could see the onyx rings encircling his cocoa- brown irises that seemed to absorb the warmth of the sunlight beaming through the windows.

I couldn’t lie to myself or anyone else; Echo was fine, but annoying as hell.

For the past week, he’d been coming up with a new nickname for me almost every day: Summertime, Sunny Day, Sunlight—the list just kept getting longer.

But once he found out my full name was Summer Knight, it was over.

“Midsummer Night’s Dream, what are we doing today?” he teased, that signature arrogance dripping from his tone. I loved and hated his cockiness at the same time. I bit the inside of my cheek, determine not to let even a hint of intrigue grace my lips.

“And what kind of name is Echo… oh, oh, ” I repeated, drawing out the last part, making fun of him for a change.

He tapped the tip of my nose, and my face immediately scrunched, pushing his hand away. “That’s cute. I see what you did there,” he said, clearly amused. Then his expression changed, shifting to a soft yet serious look. “You know what, Summertime? I think we’re gonna be good friends.”

The sincerity in his tone caught me off guard, but I shook my head anyway.

“Never …er…er ,” I repeated dramatically, tossing my head back in a fit of giggles.

I couldn’t help it, the banter between us was too much fun.

“Come on, you’ve gotta admit, that was pretty funny, right? ” I asked, still breathless.

“Nah.” He groaned, but the deepening flush on his cheeks told a different story, and before long, we were both cracking up.

The energy eventually gave way to a few seconds of somewhat awkward silence.

I shifted my focus everywhere but on him, suddenly hyperaware of the space between us.

Finally, he broke the quiet. “So, what’s on the schedule today?

I’m following your lead, remember?” he said, his tone casual but sprinkled with just enough playfulness to send a spark of happiness through me.

I had a feeling that maybe Echo was right. Maybe we were going to be friends.

Echo did just what he said…followed my lead.

I walked him around the art room, identifying the supplies, showing him pictures from last year and my project ideas for this year.

He hung on to my every word. For once, the smug goofiness was momentarily set aside.

He looked completely serious, paying close attention and even throwing in some solid ideas of his own.

I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d misjudged him.

Beneath all the jokes, the silliness, and that undeniable charisma, there seemed to be something more—a smart, artistic, and genuinely intelligent guy.

Maybe his first impression wasn’t his best impression.

Or maybe, just maybe, I was being too serious.

It’s summer, Summer. Let your hair down , I told myself.

Maybe he’s just the kind of guy who knows how to have fun.

By the time the group finished the first part of their project, we were covered in dirt and glue.

We’d spent the afternoon collecting leaves, flowers, and other elements found around the campgrounds during our hike.

When we returned to the art room, we glued the items on to a canvas to create a messy masterpiece collage.

We’d be adding to the canvas all week, and I was already exhausted but couldn’t wait to see the final product.

As we cleaned up, Echo was sweeping up stray leaves off the floor while I wiped down the tables.

“So, Summer Sun,” he began with yet another nickname, “where are you from?”

Normally, I’d bark out a smart remark, but instead, I decided to humor him. “St. Louis. You?”

“Everywhere,” he replied, shaking his head, “but I live in St. Louis now.”

“Now?” I asked, arching a brow as I tucked away the last box of glue sticks. “So, where were you before?”

“Chicago,” he said, still sweeping.

“Chicago Chicago or the saditty suburbs ?” I teased, carefully enunciating my last words for effect.

He froze mid-sweep and shot me a look so sharp you’d think I’d insulted his mama.

“Chicago Chicago,” he blurted, adding an unmistakable firmness to his tone.

“Southside, you know what I’m saying.” His voice dropped a little, the bass almost daring me to challenge him.

“What do you know about Chicago anyway?” His gaze locked on mine.

“My daddy,” I shot back.

He shrugged confusedly. “Okay…your daddy what?”

“He’s from Chicago…Southside, too. The ghetto,” I said, lowering my voice dramatically.

He leaned against the desk, his tongue idly running over that damn lip again, while we allowed the silence to brush over us like a soft, well-worn blanket. We were the only two people in the room, but right then, it felt like we were the only people left in the world.

“ Um, why did y’all move to St. Louis?” I asked, feeling a bit of nervous energy creep into my voice.

He jerked, almost as if I’d broken him from a trance, his eyes refocusing on me. “My dad got a new job at the university,” Echo responded, hanging the broom on a hook.

“ Um, which one? There’s more than one, ya know,” I teased.

“My bad,” he said. “Washington University. He’s a professor. Mathematics.”

“Oh, so he’s smart smart,” I joked.

Echo snickered, nodding. “Yeah, I guess you can say that. What about your parents?” he asked, curiosity brightening his face as he hopped on top of the desk.

“My dad retired from the Navy, and now he owns an auto repair shop and fixes up old cars. My mom is an office manager at a real estate office.”

For a second, I felt a little embarrassed. His dad was a college professor, and mine hadn’t even gone to college. But I shrugged it off. My parents worked hard, and my brother and sisters and I never lacked anything.

“That’s pretty cool,” Echo said, and to my surprise, he seemed like he meant it.

I nodded. We wandered around the room for a minute, neither of us really wanting to end this question-and-answer session. “What about your mom?” I asked after a moment.

He shook his head, a faint shadow passing over his expression. “She doesn’t really work anymore. We moved so much, it was hard for her to keep a job.” His voice was quiet, edged with something unspoken.

I nodded, offering a small understanding nod, sensing it was best to let it go.

“What do you think of St. Louis so far?” I asked.

He shrugged, glancing down at his Carolina-blue-and-white Jordans. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. We only moved about a month ago, and my room is barely unpacked,” he said.

His voice was missing its usual edge of confidence, replaced by something subdued—resignation, maybe. I sensed he wasn’t thrilled about the move, but he was trying to play it cool. I didn’t miss the quiet frustration, though.

“That’s gotta be tough. Leaving your friends, your school…your senior year,” I said, my voice rising with each word as I imagined myself in his place.

He let out a long breath, his mind clearly drifting to some faraway place.

“Yeah, man, don’t remind me.” Echo’s tone was low, almost resigned, then he shrugged, trying to brush it off.

“It is what it is, though.” But the way his voice trailed off told me it wasn’t as simple as that.

I found myself just watching him—this boy who had left behind his whole life to start over…

again. He tried to wear a mask of indifference, but I saw something else—a quiet, reluctant strength that tugged at my heartstrings.

In that moment, I wanted to be his friend. I wanted to show him that St. Louis could be more than just another stop on his journey—that maybe, one day, he could find a reason to love it, a reason to call it home.