The summer sun spilled over the gym’s open windows, turning the blue walls golden and making the white lilacs on the bench glow like little stars. Lila stood in the center of the mat, her purple wristband glinting, as a group of kids circled her, their eyes wide. “Okay, let’s try a summer pose!” she said, her voice bright as the sunlight. “Stand tall, arms out like you’re catching the sun, one leg slightly lifted—like you’re dancing with the light.”
I leaned against the old wooden bench, my sketchbook open, watching her. The sun hit her hair, turning the dark strands honey-colored, and when she lifted her leg into the pose, her white gymnastic leotard looked like it was glowing. “That’s perfect, Coach Lila!” Mia shouted, copying the pose, her small arms outstretched. Lila laughed, adjusting Mia’s shoulder gently. “See? It’s easy when you let the sun guide you.” I smiled, my pencil moving quickly to capture the moment—the way Lila’s eyes crinkled when she laughed, the way the sunlight wrapped around her like a hug, the kids’ tiny summer poses all around her.
After class, the kids ran off to get ice cream, leaving Lila and me alone in the gym. She walked over to the bench, wiping sweat from her forehead, and sat down beside me. “Did you get the pose?” she asked, nodding at my sketchbook. I flipped to the page, and her face softened. “You made it look like magic,” she said, tracing the lines of her own figure with her finger. “The sunlight—you drew it like it’s alive.” I closed the sketchbook, taking her hand. “It is alive, when you’re in it. Summer pose on the sunshine… it’s not just a pose. It’s you.” She leaned over, kissing me, and the taste of her strawberry lip balm mixed with the warm summer air.
That weekend, we decided to take the kids to the park for a “summer gymnastics picnic.” We spread a blue blanket on the grass (matching the gym’s walls) and brought white lilac bouquets to set on the corners. Lila led the kids in more summer poses—cartwheels in the sunlight, handstands against the oak trees, splits where they pretended to be flowers opening. I sat on the blanket, sketching, until Lila called me over. “Your turn!” she said, pulling me up. “Summer pose—with me.”
She stood behind me, her hands on my waist, and we lifted our arms together, our legs slightly crossed, facing the sun. “See?” she whispered in my ear. “It’s better together.” I turned to kiss her, and the kids cheered, throwing small white flower petals (they’d picked them from the park’s lilac bush) over us. The sunlight, the laughter, the feel of Lila’s hands on my waist—it was like the summer had wrapped us up in a perfect moment. I thought of the gym’s blue walls, the old bench, the white lilacs, and smiled. This was our story—summer poses, sunshine, and love that felt like home.
That night, we hung my new sketch (of us in the summer pose, surrounded by kids and lilacs) on the gym’s blue wall, next to the photo of Lila’s grandma. “Grandma would’ve loved this park day,” Lila said, leaning her head on my shoulder. I nodded, staring at the sketch. “She is here— in the sunlight, in the lilacs, in the way you make everyone feel safe.” Lila kissed my cheek, and we walked over to the bench, sitting down to watch the last of the summer sun set through the gym’s windows.
A few weeks later, Mr. Torres hung a new sign above the gym’s entrance: “Summer Poses & Sunshine—All Welcome.” The kids made a collage of their summer pose drawings and taped it next to my sketch, and Lila added a pressed white lilac to the center. “It’s like a family album,” she said, grinning. I wrapped my arm around her, and we stood there, looking at the collage, the blue walls, the old bench. It was all of us—past, present, future—dancing in the summer light.
On the last day of summer, we sat on the park’s blue blanket, eating lilac cookies (from Lila’s grandma’s recipe) and watching the sunset. Lila took my hand, and we did our summer pose one more time, facing the pink and orange sky. “Hey,” she said, laughing, “Where are your eyes? HUH?” I looked at her—her hair glowing in the sunset, her purple wristband, her smile—and said, “Right here. Always on you. On us. On the summer that made our love even brighter.”
Love isn’t just about the big moments—the gym renovations, the bench celebrations, the park picnics. It’s about the small, sunny moments: a summer pose in the light, a sketch that captures a laugh, a cookie that tastes like grandma’s love. It’s about Lila, with her fierce heart and her love for kids, and me, with my sketchbook and my love for all the little pieces of her.
And it’s about summer pose on the sunshine—two people, one perfect moment, and a love that shines as bright as the summer sun, all year long.
