Golden Like Summer by Gene Gant

Author:Gene Gant [Gant, Gene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult
ISBN: 978-1-64405-289-1
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2019-08-06T05:00:00+00:00

Part Three

Chapter 15

SUMMER. MY fave time of year.

Morning. My fave time of day.

Summer morning. There’s nothing better.

The sun is shining through the open window. Birds are making music, chirping like crazy, their happy songs rising and falling to the bluster of warm breezes. The wild honeysuckle growing along the wall outside fills my room with a wonderfully light, sweet scent.

Waking up to all this makes me feel good.

I roll off my bed smiling and humming. First there’s exercise: fifty push-ups, fifty sit-ups, and fifty squats. Then I run in place for fifteen minutes or so. My heart and lungs are pumping hard when I’m done. I love that after-workout burn.

It was pretty warm last night, and it’s still warm this morning. Off come my boxers. I kick them, along with the T-shirt and short pants I wore yesterday, into the bathroom. There I grab my bucket, which I filled with water last night. Half the water goes into the sink along with the undies, short pants, and T-shirt I wore yesterday. I wash the clothes using a bar of soap and drape them over the shower curtain rod to dry. I take a towel and, with the water that’s left, scrub myself from head to toe. Then I throw on clean boxers, tank top, and blue jeans, shove my feet in my sneakers, comb back my bushy Afro, fold up my bed all nice and neat, and I’m out the back door.

The backyard’s a jungle, and that’s actually a good thing. Nobody can see me coming or going. I have a trail cleared all the way to the alley. The alley takes me to Cooper Street, and Cooper takes me to Vander Avenue, where the neighborhood businesses are located. Vander’s crowded with traffic, all four lanes. I don’t think it’s nine o’clock yet. There’re still lots of cars, lots of people driving their way to work.

I love the sun on my face, the warm morning breeze on my skin. I love the feel of my feet pounding the sidewalk. I even love the hissing, honking rush of cars up and down the street, the people strolling along, the old man wearing a straw hat sitting on the bench at the bus stop. Everything is so completely alive. This has been my ’hood for almost a year now, and I know it pretty well. The nail salon at the corner of Vander and Martine is open. Ms. Ae-Cha has three customers inside already. I wave at her as I go by, but she’s working on this lady’s feet and doesn’t see me.

I dash across Martine to Gus’s Tire Shop on the opposite corner. Go around to the back where the bays are that cars go into for servicing. There’s an old white Buick jacked six feet up in the air. Mr. Gus, middle-aged, tall and skinny and dark-skinned in loose gray coveralls, is busy rotating the tires. He spots me ducking into the bay with him.

“Morning, Alan,” he barks. Once a

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