Heat Wave

It's in the 90s here. Still. Another hot, humid day. It's hard to even use the laptop because it radiates heat and it's sticking to my bare legs. Right now, I would pay big money for some kind of laptop with a built-in cooling device.

The poison ivy rash on the back of my legs itches. Always, during a heat wave, I am covered with poison ivy rash. It is some sort of rule of the universe. Right behind the knees is a particularly annoying spot for poison ivy, although mercifully, my arms are both free from rash right now.

The teenagers have somehow summoned the energy to jam, even in this dreadful heat: Skater Boy on the drums, Older Neighbor Boy and Philosophical Boy on guitar, Shaggy Hair at the keyboard. Boy in Black and Blonde Niece just returned from running errands, which was brave of them, since the car is even hotter than the house. With-a-Why is working on his graphic novel. His hair is wet with sweat, the long dark strands sticking every which way, but he is concentrating so hard he does not seem to notice the heat.

I am too lethargic to walk over to the sink and get my hair wet, or get something cold to drink, or anything remotely sensible. Instead, I am looking at the photos I have on my laptop. I’ve got a whole series of weird distorted underwater photos of Blonde Niece swimming in the Big River That Runs Between Two Countries.

I am remembering how it feels to dive into that deep icy water, my whole body plunging through the wetness, a chill so sudden that all my muscles would feel as if they’d just been massaged, and all my nerve endings would be stimulated, alive.