Beyond the Shadows of Summer by Jonathan Zemsky

By Jonathan Zemsky

In the summertime of 1955, a tender artist embarks on a trip of the center to restore the fervour and desire he as soon as had prior to wasting his brother.

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Fizz jumped up on the table to get a better view. He probably wanted to see if Mamie Van Doren was riding on any of the floats. Everyone followed his lead, except me. The sound of the approaching bagpipes made me think of Brand. We had always gone to the opening twilight parade together. When he was younger, he would hold my hand and duck behind me when any of the sounds got too noisy. * * * I looked down at my brother and marveled at his intensity. His eyes were wide and locked in on the empty street.

I, of course, loved the sketches. I respected painters and photographers but I just got a special feeling when seeing someone capture an object or scene using just a pencil. It felt to me like a direct extension of the mind and body. It also symbolized creation from nothing. With just a simple stick one could create a masterpiece. I also loved shadows. A pencil could create imagery that was both comforting and creepy. It could soften the ground beside a tree like a warm breeze or provide enough cover to hide a scary creature in a back alley or forest.

38 I could tell by the sound of the crowd that the finale of the parade was near. I looked at my sad excuse for a face in the mirror as I heard the kids begin screaming and cheering with anticipation. Everyone knew that the last floats featured people hucking candy into the crowd. Children brought bags to fill up like it was Halloween. The cheering of the candy-hungry children gave me a little energy. I gathered my thoughts, took a deep breath, and prepared to return to my friends. I put my hand against the bathroom door to push it open but hesitated when I heard the grumbling of a familiar voice.

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