by Adam Prosser (<<) "Or, indeed," I continued, "that there is no such thing as summer, and that the only reason Canadians don't go insane is that every year aliens descend and implant memories of growing things and warm temperatures. In fact, I challenge you to prove otherwise." I bent back to shovelling snow. The amount of black asphalt in proportion to the off-white snow was truly pathetic.   "Easy," shot back Bernie. "We wouldn't have any food. No fruit, no veggies. Oranges and Kumquats don't grow in the cold. And without fruit and veggies, no animals, thus no meat. Also, aliens have a lot better things to do with their time."   "Like giving rectal probes?"   "And talking to crazy people."   We both laughed.   "So how's the social life?" Asked Bernie. "Met any beautiful babies?"   I shook my head, my gloomy mood immediately returning. I knew Bernie's lightening my mood was merely a fluke.   "No," I said, finishing the edge of the driveway. The middle, of course, was about three times deeper.   "No? Not since school started?"   "Not since Annette." My mood was currently pitch-black.   Bernie looked confused. "Who's Annette?"   I stopped and stared. "Annette? My girlfriend? Annette Lindburg?"   Shake of the head.   "Aw, Bernie, get with it! I introduced her to you a couple dozen times!"   Bernie looked baffled.   "I met her last spring. We broke up as school was starting. Dark hair? Glasses? Wore colourful clothing? Had a laugh like a parrot? Was obsessed with the Beach Boys? Ate oranges all day?"   "Sounds like I'd remember her if we'd met."   I sighed. "Bernie, I think your mind's going. She was with me all night at the big cookout on Sandy Scrub."   "I remember you were with a lot of girls that day."   "Yeah, but I was only with with one of them."   "You got a picture?"   That sounded like a feasible excuse.   I threw down my shovel and we went inside. There followed a pleasant half hour of rummaging, but to my surprise, I couldn't find any of her pictures. Actually, there hadn't been that many to begin with...   "I think I must have burned them or something." I was at a loss.   "Really? You would have done that?"   "No."   I looked out the window for a moment. A neighbourhood man walked by with a small dog. Moments later, a bicyclist went past, oblivious to the miserable weather, or perhaps determined to celebrate summer, even if it never came.   "I miss her. I wish I could find one of those pictures."   "Yeah?"   "Yes."   The shovel lay in the snow outside, the job halfway done. Bernie sat on the floor.   "It's funny I don't remember her. She sounds like something else."   "She was."   He shrugged. "You'll meet someone new."   "Maybe."   "Yes...you will. Of course you will. Use your head. You'll meet someone who'll make you happy."   I looked at him. "Since the world's ending this year, that was my last chance, right?"   "Oh, piss off."   Moody silence.   "No shit." Bernie rose to his feet. "I gotta get going."   "Somewhere, somehow, someone is more miserable than me, and you have to go see them, right?"   "My schedule is none of your business." He donned his coat. "Chin up, man."   I looked down at the table. I tried to picture Annette, sitting on the beach at sandy scrub. Annette with the mellifluous laugh, eating a candy bar.   No, eating a an orange. She always ate oranges. Why did I think...?   "Bye, Bernie," I said.   The door banged closed.   I couldn't picture Annette's face. I could remember details. I could remember isolated moments. But not her face, and not really her voice. Not her.   Frantically I ran to the closet and continued my rummaging.   There were no pictures. I cursed my lack of neatness. Just stacks of half-finished sketches, and old magazine clippings, and...   The bottom of the pile.   And there she was, glaring up at me. It was Annette, no question. Her dark hair. Her achingly beautiful smile. Her tan limbs and white teeth. Running through the surf.   On the cover of Fitness Magazine.   Twenty Hot Tips For Summer! Proclaimed the text. Get In Shape Before The Heat Hits!   In tiny text:   "Model: Patricia Lent."   I stared at it for a very long time. When I couldn't look anymore, I stared out the window.   It was starting to snow.