Charades

A Story by Violet

Me and my friends play charades on a Friday night in the summer

A pair of yellow-white teeth catch in the moonlight, glinting as they split two full lips into a wide grin.

“Three words!”

A voice rings out into the dark empty streets, its echo saturated with excitement and the pure bliss that can only come from one with a lack of responsibilities - one who still tastes the savory present of youth.

A forest of bare sun-kissed legs, radiating heat from the past afternoon’s sun, are splayed haphazardly across the worn threadbare blanket, whose job is to shield them from the dew sodden grass.

Feet wrapped in sandals, bare toes pointed upright toward the warm summer sky, locked in a seemingly eternal cosmic staring contest with the stars that twinkle flirtatiously above them.

The grass imprints tattoos into the calloused palms of hands pressed firmly to the ground, hands bearing the weight of their sunburned and suntanned bodies.

The air conditioner units’ melodious hum accentuates the crickets’ harmony and compliments the electric crackle of muted laughter from voices eclipsed by brick houses, indistinct and irrelevant in the smoky haze of eternal adolescence that permeates and envelops the muggy summer air.

A mop of floppy brown curls bounces sporadically about in a nod, dispersing the faded scent of shampoo and chlorine into the charged atmosphere.

Two brown fingers fold inwards, leaving just the pointer finger standing erect, demanding the answer.

“FIRST WORD!”

A chorus of teenage voices roll across the lawn, enveloping the fallen leaves and broken twigs, drawing their surroundings into their childish game.

A collection of failed attempts at miming the first word elicits painful elbow jabs to the ribs, faces painted with an expression of amusement tinged with confusion, exasperated sighs, and lighthearted snickers.

On the fifth attempt, an energized shout reverberates across the yard and enters the streets, beckoning any curious eyes toward the cluster of carefree teenagers sprawled across the yard.

“SAVING!”

A wry grin and a nod of affirmation are accompanied by a pair of brown fingers, raised high.

“SECOND WORD!”

A small smile breaks into a wide smug grin, and an almost apologetic gesture toward the crotch triggers a torrent of raucous teenage laughter and a breathless -

“PRIVATE!!”

Not even a moment later, the once peaceful night erupts with resounding cries of -

“SAVING PRIVATE RYAN!!! ITS SAVING PRIVATE RYAN!!”

The muggy air is filled with a smattering of congratulations and firm claps across the back, and a slightly sweaty body sinks down into the sea of legs, drowning in a rough display of affectionate hair tugs, arm punches, and cheek pinches.

Leaning back onto the grass, faces perpendicular to the cosmos, the residual warmth of the sun that once ruled the sky wraps around bare arms in an endless embrace, smiles so bright they challenge the moon, they can still taste the freedom -the youth, still fresh on their tongues.