Memories of the past, or of the future?

Do you remember that night in July, the party in that big old house 20 miles outside of town?  Things start early in the afternoon and everyone remembers to bring their adults-playing-kids attitude.  The grill is going and the drinking has already begun by the time I arrive.  Lots of friends, old and new, and... you.  We don't speak a word to each other that day or night, but we don't have to.  You make the rounds, talking to everyone, but keep coming back my way.  Checking in with light touches that you try to disguise but are too overt for others to not notice.  Our friends don't say anything though, just smile at each other across beer cups and stay out of our way.

The afternoon wears on with games of freeze tag, capture the flag, and hide-n-seek.  You "find" me in an elm tree, climb up, and steal a kiss before departing to continue play.  The water balloon fight is where it gets out of hand.  We team up without discussion and no one gets away as we give chase across the field.  Running with you by my side comes so naturally it is almost scary.  Victory is declared and our prize is a tray of Jell-O shots.

Dinner is eaten inside, sprawled across rugs and couches.  Someone puts on Harold and Maude as we pass the time, waiting for the sun to set and the mosquitos to go home.  You run your fingers through my hair as we laugh at Harold's staged suicides and I lean into you, content.

Tents are set up and the bonfire is blazing.  Folks are seated on logs and in lawnchairs, drinking and laughing.  A few pull out guitars and the girls get up to dance, pulling their reluctant other halves behind them.  I wander back to the house for another drink but don't return to the fire.  I climb up onto the trampoline instead and lie flat, resting my glass on my stomach.  This far from town there is no light pollution and the stars seem closer than normal.  I am quietly naming constellations when I hear the springs of the trampoline squeak.  You slide across to lie next to me and wordlessly take my hand in yours.

We stay like this for hours, just staring at the heavens.  You finish my drink but I don't mind.  The sounds from around the fire have gradually diminished.  People have gone back to the house or into their tents to sleep.  I sit up and jump down to the ground, reaching back for your hand.  You can see the mischief in my eyes as you follow me to the shed.  We steal two bikes and sneak out the sidegate.  The dirt road is lined with trees and might seem eerie if the moon wasn't so bright and full.  The hill is steep and we coast down, faster and faster.  We are alone out here; no one else even exists.  I can't help it -- I stand up on my pedals and howl at the moon, and I can't stop the goosebumps when you lend your voice to mine.

Back at the house, we return to the dying fire.  Standing close in the summer humidity, our skin shines with sweat.  You pick up a piece of charcoal and reach for me.  You start at my shoulders, drawing long bold lines along the lengths of my limbs.  My torso you cover with swirls and circles.  There will be no sleep for either of us tonight.

Sitting on the hood of my car, we are just in time to watch the sun rise over the prairie.  A breeze finally kicks up as we listen to the waking of the world.  The morning's first cranes are already flying overhead.

Do you remember that night?

Yeah, me neither.