Short Summer

Photos taken at Juniper on the Boardwalk by Rob Kulisek

“Here you go,” said the cook as he set a small tray bearing a cheese and pepperoni pizza upon the table, “it’s the last one of the night.” He took a seat in a booth across from the girl who was gazing through a window shrouded by condensation at the empty boardwalk. He slid the small tray toward her. While she ate he glanced toward the window. “Man,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s really humid out there tonight. I had no idea how bad it was. I was so busy making pies all night, I never looked up!”

“Yeah,” she answered between bites, “I know. I ran nonstop from six o’clock. I’m whipped.” “Me too,” he replied. “But, it’s almost over. How many days are there until Labor Day?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a man at the doorway dressed in a heavy overcoat with a knit cap upon his head. They glanced at each other and the girl whispered, “Who forgot to lock the door?” He removed his hat, revealing long, white hair parted in the middle that matched an equally flowing white beard. “We’re closed, sir,” said the cook. “If I could just trouble you for a cup of coffee,” said the man in a polite tone, “I would be much appreciative.” The cook, seeing no harm in giving the stranger the last of the night’s brew, offered him a cup at no charge. The man thanked them and went and sat by the window while the two coworkers returned to their pizza.

“Ahh, Labor Day,” said the girl, “I can’t wait. All the shoobies go home and I go back to college.”

“Yeah,” answered the cook,” No more two hundred pies a night, lines to get in that stretch to the other side of the boards, countless walk-ups for slices, the rumbling sounds of the rides, the flashing lights and the screams of the kids and the hawkers in the prize booths trying to get you to lay some quarters down for a chance at a stuffed animal.”

From across the room came a chilling laugh. “Be careful what you wish for,” said the man, who had now risen from his chair and was walking toward them. “I can tell you exactly how many days it is until Labor Day. Look at this.” He reached into his coat and produced an elaborate gold pocket watch with a cover over the timepiece which he lifted to reveal two hands rotating counter-clockwise. “Time is running out on summer,” he said. “It won’t be long before this boardwalk stretching out before you will be bleak, barren and boarded up. Look out the window.” They turned to see, much to their shock, the boardwalk in a state of desolation; a heavy snowfall and a stiff wind blowing drifts against the buildings. “Think about what you just said, young man,” he said, addressing the cook. “All of which you just described are the sounds of summer; the heartbeat of this town and they emanate from her visitors as they express their unbridled fun. And as for all of those people coming in here to enjoy your pizza – well, you should regard that as a compliment. Let me show you something else.” He held up the pocket watch, with the hands spinning backwards, and peeled the face back, revealing a second face: a blue background with white hands that were also rotating counter-clockwise much faster than the previous hands. “I can also tell you how many days it is until winter.”

It was then that they noticed his features: the pale bluish-grey tone of his skin, the skeletal frame and icy blue eyes that induced a rash of goose pimples for the two of them, which led them to conclude that it was no longer a wise choice for him to be in their restaurant enjoying free coffee. “Sir, I must ask you to leave,” said the cook, with a quiver in his voice. “I understand,” said the old man. “I will go, but I will be back very soon.”