June Taylor was born in June.
As such, it was her favorite month, but of course she’d never really had a choice about it. Come June, people would start upon hearing her name and crack a joke or ask if her birthday was coming up. Yes my birthday is soon, oh thank you for the well wishes.
Even if she did have a choice in the matter, she still would have chosen June as her favorite month. It was the month when she finally didn’t have to look at Mr. Howard’s sour old face trying to teach her how to add up numbers anymore and she could go running down the street to the pool and drop a nickel on the front desk with a smile to the attendant and a good-afternoon-to-you-I’ll-be-on-my-best-behavior-I-promise. Then she’d charge into the locker rooms to change into her bright blue swimsuit and go fast-walking through the gate onto the pool deck because running wasn’t allowed– after all she’d promised to be on her best behavior– then leap into the crystal blue water and inevitably end up flinging inflatable beach balls at Johnny Miller with his pretty brown eyes that made her like him more than the other boys.
And then once the sun began to set she’d climb out of the pool with everyone else and they’d dry off and the boys would put on t-shirts and the girls dresses and they’d all run down to the park where there were firecrackers and poppers and hot dogs for dinner. June always asked Mrs. Watson for a hot dog with extra ketchup (pleaseandthankyouma’am!) and then when she had devoured it and wiped the ketchup off her face like a proper lady, she sprinted off across the grass to play tag, drawing her speed from that seemingly unending well of energy all children possessed. Once the sky was properly dark, the popcorn truck, painted bright red with a huge plastic bucket of fake kernels spilling out the bed, would pull up by the curbside and they’d all wait in line bouncing on their toes for their little bucket of popcorn and then walk home stuffing their faces with grimy hands.
When June was older, June the month was different, yet the same. It was when exams were finished and she finally had time to go to the boardwalk with her friends and all their boyfriends, screaming and clutching each other’s hands as they rode a ten-story drop on the death-coaster. When they got off that ride, June’s legs were wobbly and she felt like puking but she held out her hand to Lizzie-Rose, who grudgingly put a crisp dollar bill in her palm, and that feeling was enough to stand June upright and stick out her tongue in Lizzie-Rose’s face. Then they’d all walk off to the nearest booth that smelled like grease and spun-sugar and buy sticks of pink-and-blue cotton candy for a dime, letting it dissolve on their tongues as they sat in the shade of a striped red-and-white plastic umbrella, wallowing in the heat of the day.
When the sun began to slip beneath the ocean waves and the sky turned darker, they would split off in their little pairs to watch the sunset, and June would lean her head on Johnny Miller’s chest as he laid back in the cool sand. The gulls would shriek above and the wind would whip their hair until she pushed hers out of her face and looked behind her to see Johnny’s sandy locks all over his forehead and think maybe this is love, and then the sun was gone beneath the water and he’d help her up so they could walk back to the pier together. When they got there, the popcorn truck, its vibrant paint chipping just a little, would be waiting by the street with the other couples lined up before it, holding hands or maybe a head on a shoulder here and there. They’d buy a single bucket just so they could share it on the walk home.
When June decided to go to art school in Italy, she thought she’d moved on from her childhood. Her mother had said she was breaking her old heart moving so far, and Johnny had gotten up and left without a word when he found out. That was the last time he’d spoken to her, and she told herself it was okay but she really knew it maybe wasn’t. But anyway, it didn’t matter because she was in Italy with all the pretty things and places– a creamy white building with a shop on the ground floor and a home on the top, the whole building adorned with flowery draping vines and just across the street from a grassy park where she could sit, capture that building’s gilded balcony and faded awning with long strokes on a sketchbook. Italian Junes were hot and humid and she wasn’t quite used to it yet, but the dense air seemed to be embracing her and she thought she’d learn to like it.
During the nights she’d wander the streets with a cheap little camera in hand, snapping photos of whatever or whoever she thought was pretty, trying not to think about California and who she’d left behind, and how the June evenings had gone back home. It generally worked well to let herself be swept into the tide of the city, but one night she found something that left her still as a rock in a running river. She’d wandered into a park bordering several blocks of tall, elegant apartments, and between two of the buildings was, to her amazement, a popcorn truck. A popcorn truck with its vibrant red paint and a plastic bucket and kernels spilling out of its bed. No children or teenagers lined up before it presently, but as she stood and stared and felt tears in her eyes, she could see herself in front of it, bouncing on her toes and holding hands with Johnny Miller on those warm June nights.
Illustrated by Jasmine Ji
The Roar 