summer of 1999

I have been touched all my life

by Olivia Gwyn

I have been touched all my life

in so many insignificant ways

So it catches me by surprise 

to be caught by surprise on a June day 

while my feet are burning on the sand

It's always strange to bare your heart

to someone who's known you 

since you were a child

That's why it feels almost embarrassing 

to ask my Pawpaw if he want to come to the beach with me

when I know he doesn't go as much since knee surgery 

I beat around the bush and say he can come if he wants to 

when I really want him to know that I want him to

He's always been quiet,

even before the war 

I wish he never went, 

younger than me and foolish and in love 

and nowhere else to go

Except halfway across the world

where people were afraid and hurting and helpless and in love, too,

and nowhere else to go 

Anyway, he never talks about it

I feel kid-ish when he says he'll come

and he loads up the cart same as he's always done

since I was too young to remember

He carries the chairs and hands me 

his water bottle to carry in my bag

It sweats all on my book and I don't mind

I slow my pace to match his 

My feet are burning

on the cement-colored sand

when he asks me if I need him 

to put sunscreen on my back

I wasn't going to ask, but I say yes,

and I get a lump in my throat

at how gently, deliberately he rubs it in

His hands are leather

and we are quiet,

the only sound the wind off the sea,

blowing my hair in my eyes, the sand on my feet

I almost cry–

how many more times?–

at what it means to be cared for

The sunscreen spread carefully

down the curve of my back

How rare, how precious to be touched

by someone who stands to gain nothing by it

We cool our feet in the water

and laugh about how bad we are at telling the tides

and he asks if I can take a selfie of us in our chairs

On the way back home

I tell him I don't know why I didn't just tell him 

I wanted him to come

I guess I didn't want to make him do something he didn't want to

I guess I wanted him to want to

I guess I'm still scared of being seen wanting

But there are only so many June's when you are 25 and 76

and I will not spend them afraid of loving you

It is a privilege to love you every June we get

and I will still be loving you every June 

While I am missing your hands on my back in the heat,

wrinkles lined by ripples of sunscreen, 

hand over gentle hand