Untitled (Sixteen in July)

I used to climb the tree located at the corner of house I grew up in. It was a fun tree to climb, it's limbs jutting out at weird, low angles. It had a ladder to the top, my too long legs easily finding the next rung. Sometimes I'd sit halfway up, reading Rolling Stone or Sassy, or sometimes I'd climb onto the roof of the house, it's black shingles pulling in the sun's rays, and I'd let it warm my body into a dripping sweat. I'd pretend I was getting a tan, but really I was only turning a rustic shade of pink, my freckles multiplying like fleas on a dog. Later, I'd look in the mirror and there would be so many that my face would look like it needed to be scrubbed, when in actuality it was as clean as I could ever be.