As I lay on my bed, I am immediately transported to another place and another time. I relive memories that feel so real. I’ve seen and felt them before; they play like a non-ending reel in my mind. Each time I replay them, it’s as if I’m experiencing them again, but for the first time. I get to relive them, I get to be that person again and momentarily escape the present. I allow my imagination to take me back to that time. It’s a euphoric experience going through those memories again. I’m taken back to that scene of the most beautiful summer. I’m walking a path that has never been walked, swimming a lake that has never been discovered, and kissing a boy I’ve never kissed before. I’m turning 18 for the first time and spending an unforgettable summer by the beach. I’m no longer my present self, but am the exciting and flirtatious person I imagine, the person I have spent many afternoons daydreaming I was. I can see Charlie in the distance; he was much younger when we first met and when I close my eyes I can see his cowlick and blueberry stained fingers. We would spend our afternoons picking the berries so that his mother could make her infamous pies. Being young again and imagining our carefree adventures always makes my heart warm. If only I could actually taste the memories. I spent summers there at the beach house with my family and Charlie was always there too. He grew up from the gawky little boy to a handsome man. I close my eyes and can imagine his crooked grin and my heart can’t help but skip a beat. It feels so real. It’s hard to believe that this isn’t really happening in the present and that they are now thoughts relived only in daydreams. Real or not, I can’t stand not being with him; it’s not fair that he thinks I like someone else! Why can’t he just understand what I’m thinking? It’s all becoming overwhelming and I have to slowly breathe in and out, in and out. As my breathing continues and my emotions simmer, I bring myself back into the present reality. I drink a cup of hot coco and try to slip back into the memories. These events just feel so real being relived again that I can’t help not feel as though I am actually there. Charlie is the only thing keeping my life rooted. He gives me hope and encourages me to follow my dreams. I’ve never been able to stand up for myself, but he has given me the strength. I need him. I need for us to be together, because I feel broken without him. We make each other whole and I just need him to see that. As we share our final kiss of the summer, Charlie slowly
bends down on one knew. I can’t believe it! He’s proposing. No longer will we only have summers together; we will have the rest of our lives. I blink and reality starts flooding back in and the emotions begin fading away with the images of summer. Reality rushes in and I remember that it was just a book. None of those feelings I felt were real. None of those emotions or moments happened. They were trapped inside the pages and bindings of my favorite book. Charlie wasn’t real and the love wasn’t real either. I had transformed into the main character and spent my day living in pages, swimming in words, and soaking in my imagination. As I take a deep breath, I inhale all the sweet scents of love, hate, drama, and young romance. I turn to the last page, read the last line, and close the book, and I can’t help but wish it wasn’t over. This book became part of my life temporarily and allowed me to be the main character. For just a few moments, I was able to become a bold and expressive young woman who wasn’t afraid to go after her desires. I was able to take a break from being my usual shy, soft-spoken, and abhorrently awkward self. I wasn’t just reading I was escaping into another world, living another life. I didn’t just finish reading the book again; I fell in love with Charlie again, got my heart broken again, and the summer ended in bliss again. As I lay on my bed, book in hand, I try to get my heart rate back to normal before it will undoubtedly start up again. As I gently bend the worn spine and fold the dog-eared page back to its original place, I silently prepare myself for the journey again. I know what will happen, but it’s as if the words are pulling me in anyways, urging me to bury myself in them. I’m left with no choice. I have to read it again.