My Sweet Summer

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• September 4, 2020

With a career disappeared overnight, nothing to accomplish, nowhere to go, there were two things to do over the summer: beach and party. The present was grim back in the Spring, and the future had the potential of being even more bleak. So, fuck it, I decided. Every chance I get, I’ll head to the beach, every drink offered to me I’ll drink, roll joints, sleep too little, sleep too much, party like I’m twenty-fucking-five. Because who the fuck cares? 2020 is a shit show, and not getting any less shitty.

In between long stays in my bed, either unable to sleep or unable to wake up, in between the dread of future and frustration that New York State abandoned those with part time work who lost half their income, denying them benefits, in between the endless self righteous political rants where people are riddled with this disease that their opinion matters, in between watching humans unravel on social media in real time, in between doing nothing and feeling everything, there were fun times.

There were beach days and surf days. Drunken nights and warm sunsets. LSD trips for mental vacations. Pool time with the family. Park time with friends. Outside BBQ’s and fireside chats and jokes. I was married to the idea that the Fall would be worse than the Spring. I’d officially be out of money. New York will close again. It will get dark and cold and I’ll have no grapple latching to any future I once hoped for myself. That the incoming depression might be a worse shadow than I’ve yet to experience, because I’m fragile and frightened that this time—this time—I won’t come out of it.

But when it’s summertime, and summertime on Long Island, you can find me smiling in the sun. My skin tanned, hair blond. Either way, the shit storm will have to be dealt with. For now, we feel young for a moment in the sand, cold beers or white claws in hand. While this year sucks for everyone and we’re all uncertain and we’re all sick of this shit, we could grin with a “fuck this” attitude. Does anything matter at all? I’ve no five year plan. Fuck, I’ve no five month plan. I don’t know if I have a career. I don’t know if I have a place a live soon. I have nothing. I am nothing. But any day at the beach, I’m a winner. Any amount of booze and I’m laughing. Despite it all, despite the universe not giving a fuck about your plans, despite disease and lack of hope, despite all the anger and pain that spits like venom from peoples mouths and their finger tips, we looked to the sun, we looked to mother ocean, we looked to each other.

And it wasn’t a bad summer. In between all the bad days. In between all the mornings I woke up crying and all the evenings shed tears into my pillow, we did have some belly laughs and days and nights so unforgettable that we forgot because we got too fucked up. Summer, my love, always has the potential to be the best time. It gives the most opportunity for present living. To realize that today is beautiful, and goddamnit, I’m going to enjoy it. I’m going to celebrate today.

The fun times wouldn’t have existed without my people. There are many, but this includes especially anyone who ever invited me on boat or jetski: sailor Dean, adrenaline junky Wesley, and most of all, the sweet Dani. Farmers, Mitch and Dayna. Anthony and Charlotte, my nephew and niece, the loves of my life and their mom. Friend/Mentor and perpetual human of the year, Andrea. My writing partner, Nick Griffin. Non-sexual soul mate, Jimmy, who has the most comfortable couch and allows me to crash there freely. Always down to surf, Christine. Aunt Nancy and Uncle Keith, for always being hospitable and warm. Cousins. My biggest fans, my parents. The True Knot: Dennis, Mike and Katrina. The moon. The meteor shower. The waves and water. I love you, for what it’s worth. I love you all.