As I lay on the dock, looking up I could count the number of white fluffy clouds in the sky on just one hand. My daddy use to lay in the long grass with me, we would make shapes and things out of the clouds for hours at a time. We would giggle and laugh; our hands raised up, pointing to the sky at the amazing transformations we would find there.
I remember times when we would take out my aunties� old rowboat onto the water. And just last summer when I was big enough, daddy let me row with him. I would hold an oar in each hand, my arms just reaching them, and daddy�s hands would be covering mine as we rowed together. I can still remember the roughness of his hands and the gentleness of his touch, at the same time.
When we got far enough away from the shore, we would stop. He would tickle my sides and pull on my pigtails. He would laugh as I tried to dodge his hands. We would then curl up on the floor of the rowboat, his arms warm and soft around me. I would lay on his chest or by his side. He would just talk away, like I could talk back to him.
It was there at the bottom of my aunties� old rowboat, the sun beating down on us, the soft rocking of the boat from the summer breeze that I learnt all about my mother. The stories would flow endless out of my daddy�s mouth about my mother when we were alone together. It was if the only time he would let himself remember her properly was in that rowboat, on the water, away from anyone else but us.
I can�t seem to remember if it was the heat and warmth of the sunlight or deep and soothing voice of my daddy that would lull me to sleep, but I don�t know how we ever got back to shore. I would fall a sleep somewhere in between and wake just as he would carry me up onto the dock and into the house.
I tired to smile. But there was no more cloud watching in the long grass and no more storytelling in the floor of my aunties� old rowboat. Just me, me and the rough dock, that seemed to be making my back itch.
My legs lay lazily off the edge of the dock, to short to touch the water. I imagined what it would feel to dig my feet into the water below. Was the water cool or warm to touch? Would they tingle with coldness and make me shiver? Would I just ram my feet in fast or delicately touch the surface of the water with my toes first and then gently slide my feet in afterwards?
I bit my lip, letting my dangling feet swing in the lightest of light summer breezes. The longer I sat there, the more I felt the temperature rising. It was still early, but you could tell it was going to be a scorcher. From the way the warm pavement felt under your feet as you walked, to the way the hairs on your arms, relaxed under the warmth in the air.
�Hey sweet pea, breakfast�s ready.�
I arched my neck to see upside down version of my uncle standing where the long grass meets the dock. I smile at him before relaxing back into my original position. The dock creaks under his feet as he moves closer, bypassing the lose plank and the holes. He waits a moment, before lying back on the dock beside me; his bare feet hit the water, delicately touching the surface, like he�s standing on it.
�I love summer, for the soul reason you have better weather.�
He eyes began to sparkle in the way they did, when he talked about something he loved, wholeheartedly. He smirked, looking at me as if he was searching my face to see if I was listening to him.
�You get to wear less clothing, and swim in the creek all day. Get a nice brown tan. How about that? That sound like a good deal?�
I nodded, not really understanding it all but knowing he wanted me too. He just grinned, turning his head to look up at the sky.
�Summer I think is the only season you can truly be carefree, happy and just be your self. Maybe it�s the constant blue skies or the warm breezes but it just seems to bring the best out in people.�
I smiled then, I couldn�t help it. Raising my feet I rested them flatly on the dock, the rough texture tickled my toes. I watched as my uncle continued to talk about summer, his gaze shifting between the sky and me, his smile or laughter in his voice never faulted.
My uncle had always been a morning person. He would get up early take a jog or walk around the block with my auntie, almost every morning. I remember her complaining once or twice about that particular habit of his but I also remember the way she said it, with a smile on her face and in a way that you knew she loved doing it just as much as he did.
The only morning he wouldn�t get up early for, was Sundays. I had heard him say once, when my daddy had questioned it, if god had intended us to get up early on a Sunday he wouldn�t have made it a resting day. My daddy had laughed and replied, but you don�t believe in god. My uncle had glared at him then, that�s beside the point Jack. My daddy would just say my uncle was just tired from spending all Saturday with me. My uncle would never admit to that, whether it was true or not.
My uncle stopped talking, mid-sentence; looking over at him he had closed his eyes briefly. I frowned but then heard the creak of the first plank of the dock. My uncle and I mimicked each other as me craned our heads back to see an upside down version of my auntie. I guess he had felt her presence.
My auntie stood, arms crossed against her chest, a frown gracing her features. She wasn�t a happy camper. We grinned at her, showing all our teeth. People always said I must have gotten my smile from my uncle. My auntie would scoff at the insinuation, not bloody likely; no child should have that kind of embarrassment on there shoulders.
�Hey you,�
�Don�t hey you me, Pacey. Did I or did I not tell you to do something.�
�You did but-�
�I don�t want to hear it Pacey, breakfast�s cold, it doesn�t matter anymore.�
My auntie let her arms fall to her sides and her face softened slightly as her gaze feel on me.
�They were burnt anyway.�
Her gaze quickly went back to my uncle, faster than a bullet.
�That was only because-�
�Hun, not in front the children.�
My uncle chuckled at his own joke, stretching his neck as he sat up. My auntie bit back another comment; I knew that was on the tip of her tongue. She smirked as she moved down the dock towards us.
�You so not funny Pace.�
She laughed then, sitting down with us. Her legs dangle off the edge; her feet kicked the water below.
�I wasn�t trying to be funny Jo.�
�I hate you.�
�You love me.�
My auntie rolled her eyes as my uncle through arm around her shoulders, crashing their heads softly together. He laughed then.
Looking up again, the sky was still that crystal blue.
It was days like today that I miss daddy the most, summer wouldn�t be the same without him.
