The last moments of the last day of summer in our back yard.
A flame.
A flame over which four fat marshmallows are toasted.
Four marshmallows and four different approaches.
One person burns small bits of the marshmallow at a time, hurrying to snuff each small sugared inferno with a quick puff of breath before plunging the marshmallow back into the flames. The result is a swollen charred monstrosity that snaps and oozes as it is pressed between the graham crackers and up against the chocolate.
Perfect.
Another person lowers the marshmallow right into the flames and ignites the marshmallow in one huge glorious conflagration. Making no attempt to extinguish the blaze, this person holds the combustion aloft, illuminating the faces of our family by torchlight. When the carameled fire dies, there is more waving and then a final fling of the marshmallow corpse into the yard for the dogs to squabble over. A sandwich then of graham crackers and chocolate . . . no marshmallow.
Perfect.
The next person holds the marshmallow far above the flames and turns the fluffy white treat slowly, watching carefully for signs of scorch. The result is a perfectly crisped golden brown shell encasing a liquefied middle. Embraced by two graham crackers and chocolate, this marshmallow is squeezed tightly for a moment to be sure its warmth spreads to the chocolate before the first bite is taken.
Perfect.
The last person holds the marshmallow far above the flames and turns the treat slowly, but then a lapse of attention results in a delighted dancing flare of sweetened heat. Hurried blowing puts out the fire, but then another fire starts when the marshmallow is again turned too closely to the flames. This marshmallow makes a trip to the kitchen, where it is scraped into the garbage can. A new marshmallow is carefully placed on a graham cracker square next to another graham cracker square topped with chocolate. A careful watch is kept as the microwave counts down the seconds, the marshmallow ballooning to grotesque proportions before settling back down as the beeps of doneness sound. Melty oozy halves are pressed together.
Perfect.
Four different people . . . all perfect.
My family.
The last moments of the last day of summer in our back yard.
Darkness falls in earnest.
There is laughter and chatting and tales of the day and of the summer. There are hopes spoken for the year ahead. Plans made for lunches and bus rides and calls to friends.
My tears fall in earnest.
Under cover of darkness, my tears fall.
The last moments of the last day of summer.
A sweet ending, but an ending nevertheless.
Deep breath.
Last bite.
Done.
