Remembrance

The two of us didn’t have much in common, other than our families being friends and spending the summers on the lake. Molly was medium height with long brown hair and hazel eyes. From what I can remember she owned glasses, but never wore them. She always said that she felt goofy while they were on. This always made me cringe considering I wore glasses all the time. I was a lengthy kid, skinny, brown eyed, and had a buzz cut. For a 16-year-old, my face to pimple ratio was less than half, but compared to Molly’s, you might as well have called me ‘pizza face’. To this day I can’t understand how a girl the same age didn’t have a single red blemish on her smooth skin.

Molly and I first encountered each other as shy 13-year-olds. Our parents had met in some restaurant lounge, each waiting to get a table. They conversed, sipping on house wine, and soon realized only two camps separated the families. The next night, mom and dad were dragging me down the road to talk to the Maker family, whoever they were. I ended up wearing a blue-collar shirt, tan cargo shorts and sneakers. I asked mom why I had to look nice in the woods and she replied with a “because I said so” which was the go to answer for when I gave her backlash. We cut through our neighbors’ yards and that’s when I first saw Molly. She had a white with red polka dot dress on and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, with a white bow tying off the end.

She was sitting on the front porch of her camp reading as she swung from the hammock that hung on the far end. Dad, mom, and I walked to the back door of the single-story white with blue trim camp and knocked. Mrs. Maker answered and soon after I was introduced to Molly’s parents, the five of us walked to the porch. Molly was still swinging and reading when she looked up from her book. Mr. Maker grabbed the hammock and it stopped. Molly sat up, but stayed on the white mesh. Mrs. Maker introduced us to Molly and after awkward waves, the four adults went into the living room to prepare drinks.

I stood in place looking mostly at my red and blue shoes wondering what to say. Molly sat still and looked at me. After what felt like an eternity, Molly finally said, “You want to go to the dock?” Looking up from my shoes, I stared at her for a minute. Butterflies built up in my stomach and my face turned red. I shook my head up and down, indicating I would follow her and soon the two of us headed toward the water.

I don’t recall what was talked about, but we soon cemented a summer friendship. That’s how I saw Molly, as a friend I’d see for three months, then wait a year for the friendship to rekindle again. The summer when I was 16, I began thinking Molly was ‘cute’ and ‘attractive.’ That summer I began finding it hard to talk to her without getting red in the face or getting nervous. Anytime we would hangout, I made sure my glasses were clean, the pimples hardly noticeable, and my breath fresh as can be.

One late August day, Molly and I were sitting on her hammock as I showed her the new floatplane book my grandparents gave me as a birthday gift. I was an airplane fan and wanted to one day have my pilots’ license. I was trying to impress Molly with the knowledge I had about aviation, hoping she’d think it was cool and me cool enough to ‘like’. As I was turning the page, she got closer to me and leaned her head on my shoulder. I looked down at her and wondered what was going on. Nerves began to build up inside, but keeping my composure, I continued with my book. Three days later, I still thought about Molly and her head resting on my shoulder. I could still smell her perfume. She had told me it was Jackie Sullivan’s new perfume, but I only knew that Jackie Sullivan was some pop singer that I listened to once. It had a vanilla scent and I always liked it when she wore it.

The summer we were both 21, Molly had changed, but in a good way. I had finally built up enough courage to ask her out on a date. There was a restaurant in town that we both enjoyed that would be the perfect first date scene.

The ringing of the camp phone interrupted my planning. I could hear mom talking on the phone, sounding tense. After hanging up, she called me into the kitchen.

“That was Molly’s mom. Mr. Maker’s father had a heart attack so they have to leave this weekend and they don’t know when they’ll be back.”

My heart sank. There were still a couple weeks left until I had to leave to get back to school. I remember going to my room and looking out the window at the lake. At first, I thought it wasn’t fair, but quickly understood that Molly’s grandfather needed his family to be there.

When that Saturday finally came, I tried to keep a smile on my face. Dad, mom, and I walked over together to say goodbye. Mr. Maker was putting the final suitcase in their blue Toyota Tundra. Molly stood by the truck with something in her hand. Mom and dad walked over to Mr. Maker as he shut the door, while Molly walked over to me. We looked at each other and smiled.

“I got something for you,” she said after a minute.

Molly handed me a picture frame and as I turned it over, I saw it was the two of us sitting on the hammock. Her mom had taken the photo one day, but I had forgotten about it.

“Thanks Molly,” I replied, smiling. I examined the picture some more, realizing how happy we were in it. We had big smiles on our faces and didn’t seem to care what was going on. It also showed how quickly things changed, one minute we were just hanging out and the next Molly was leaving and I didn’t know if I would ever see her again.

Mr. Maker then called her to say it was time to go. Molly turned to acknowledge her father then quickly faced me again. She grabbed me with both arms and pulled me into her. I put my arms around her and hugged back. We let go and she walked away, both of us not saying a word. Molly got into the back seat of the truck with her dad quickly shutting the door. Mr. and Mrs. Maker loaded up and soon they were slowly heading up the driveway. Mr. Maker honked the horn, Mrs. Maker extended her arm out the window to wave and Molly stuck her head out of the backseat, waving slowly as the vehicle grew distant. I stood and watched the Makers’ disappear behind the trees, before heading back to camp.

That ended up being the last time I ever saw Molly. Her grandpa had a tough time recovering so Mr. Maker himself had to stay close by. The family ended up selling the camp two years later and my parents soon lost contact with them.

The lasting image of Molly going up her driveway for the final time sits with me the most. The picture frame is placed on the desk in the living room of the camp and stays there even after I leave for the winter. Like our friendship, it can only be enjoyed three months out of the year before I head back home still remembering Molly was my one true love.