It was the Summer of 2008, and I was spending time with my family at our lake house in upstate New York.
Metro Station was on my summer playlist, and I had them playing nonstop on my I-pod, as I walked alongside the shimmering lake.
This would be the last year that I would be attending this annual trip with mom and dad, because I was headed to Penn State in the fall. I was definently going to miss this old place.
It was here that I shared my first kiss with Brenda Peterson, a girl who worked at the only convenient mart in a 10 mile radius.
The relationship ended with the changing of seasons, and she moved on to a better job, or so I heard.
The day was dwindling away, like a match about to be snuffed between an index finger and a thumb. I was about to head back to the house for the night, and that's when I saw her.
A ginger haired beauty with a porcelain complexion, wading in the water. Everything seemed to stand still, as I watched her glide through the water like a knife working through butter.
I stumbled upon a pebble, and she looked over at me. Her eyes as green as the emerald hills of Ireland.
She buried herself within the lake, and I didn't see her again until the moonlight made love to the edge of the water.
Her head emerged from the waterlogged moonlight and tangled her tangerine curls, pierceing the water like slithering orange snakes.
She looked at me, this time not shying away, but embracing a smile for the occasion. I smiled back and waved, awkwardly.
Nothing at that moment seemed real, it was just too perfect for reality, I thought.
The girl swam gracefully over to me, wearing nothing but a smile; her long hair sheilding her bareness like a blanket.
We stood there, watching one another for hours, which seemed like minutes, and before I knew it, the sun was rising, and the birds were chirping.
She kissed me on my cheek and sunk below, leaving me to stare at my own reflection skimming on the surface of the lake.
I opened my eyes. I was alone in my bed. Was it I dream? I wiped the wet from my cheek. Drooling in my sleep again, perhaps, or maybe, a kiss from the girl with the silver gills.