IT'S been said that the earliest bird gets the worm, and in the mean time, their chirping acts as an alarm clock for their human neighbors. Springtime in Los Angeles begins early, with the bright sun shining year round, it’s hard to pin point exactly when it comes. The eighty degree beach days in February, the green grass in March; southern California seems like summer vacation no matter what month it is. The topic of weather comes up in conversations when there seems to be nothing to talk about, but lately, it’s been a subject that seems to be discussed even between the closest of friends.
I had determined my freshman year of college that I would stay in Los Angeles for one summer. I kept my promise to myself and stayed last summer in my house on McConnell Ave. For years I had imagined that I’d work when I had to, but it was the beach that would become my second home. My skin would get burnt to a crisp but my Italian heritage would bless me by turning it to a nice shade of tan. I’d be living with my friends with barely any responsibility, just what college is supposed to be like.
Well, the last part came true. I had an amazing summer with my friends. We sluggishly spent our weeks in LA with no school work tying as down. But it wasn’t the beach that we ventured off to when we had nothing to do. The beach wasn’t ready for us. The June Gloom came but never left. I kept hearing how hot it’d be in July, August I’d be dying. Just as my luck would have it, it was the mildest summer Los Angeles has seen in years.
Because I hadn’t been home in months, I decided to take a trip to Colorado at the end of June. The moment I got off the plane, I couldn’t stop the comments from my friends and family. How was it that the girl who lived in California wasn’t bronzed; rather I was paler than most of them? I disregarded their taunting, especially when they made backhanded comments about how I made the wrong choice to stay in California that summer.
After many days spent watching my talented little sister splash the pool water as she flailed her arms and legs performing the rhythmic butterfly stroke, I had gone from a wintery skin tone to a much deeper Italian glow. The 4th of July would be spent with my friends in San Diego, so I journeyed back to the home of the gloom and to my surprise, the sun began to shine. It didn’t stay for long but it made us take advantage of the days it did come. There were no excuses; we’d make sure to be outside enjoying the weather in whatever way we could.
I will forever remember that summer here in Los Angeles. The adventures I took and the friends I grew close to made it a successful summer in more ways than three months of hot weather could have. As the temperature begins to rise, the chatter also increases. “This will be a sweltering summer,” I hear from the lady who cuts my hair, as confidently as a meteorologist. The spring has made Los Angelenos have some high expectations, and although I am a little disappointed I will not be here to enjoy it, I hope the sun shines for them.
--Jackie DiBiase
Photo Cred: Rachael D'Angelo
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