Dating : s’mores

We gather around the fire at dusk, while the clouds soak up the last leaking droplets of sun.

‘I’ve never had a s’more before.’

The owls hoot in the background, by the trees at the end of the open field, and I sit still in my foldable lawn chair, listening.

‘I’ve never heard an owl before either, not in real life, at least.’ He laughs and listens with me, both of us trying, for just a minute, to not make a single sound. And then the fire crackles loudly. His sister returns with the graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows, followed closely by her dog, a Saint Bernard named ‘Minnie.’ We sit under the darkened sky and listen for owls, birds, and the hiss and crackle of the firewood slowly being consumed by flames.

The gnats hover in front of our faces while he fans the flames, making the fire grow. He puts some marshmallows on the end of the fire poker, and lowers them until they’re dangerously close to the flames. Their whiteness melts away and they become tan and soft, with a sort of sheen to their surface. His mom holds the graham crackers, with chocolate already inside, and encloses the melting marshmallow. She hands it over to me, I take a messy bite, strings of melted marshmallow dangling from the s’more. I chew, embarrassed, covering my mouth with my free hand. I am smiling though.

He likes to say that s’mores are no tiramisu. But in a way they’re better. It’s more about who you share them with, about the act of gathering around a fire to make something together. It’s about enjoying a moment in time. Dark skies, gnats, owls hooting, flames and company.