Veronica

16

Defying the Sun:

July ends with a heat wave,
A week of watching the thick air shimmer over the pavement
And the lawns curl into a dry, brown snarl.
The sun is an angry, brooding thing.
It glowers down on our empty streets,
Bakes the earth into pale, dusty chunks.
Thick clouds of lazy gnats buzz against the stillness.
A few swimmers float listlessly in the lukewarm water of our local pool,
Too tired to do anything but breathe in the smell of chlorine.
The rest of us hide away inside,
Letting the air conditioning raise goose bumps on our bare skin.
But in the evenings, we sit on our porches.
We defiantly steal moments between the heat and mosquitos.
The citronella-scented breeze carries laughing voices like rain.
A week later, when I am sitting on my front steps,
The first roll of thunder rumbles dimly over the hills.
The concrete is burning under my bare feet
And I’m frozen with a bottle of nail polish in my hands,
Half of my toes painted cherry-popsicle red.
Two boys perched on rickety blue bicycles stop in the street.
One tilts his head to the side, listening.
We are all listening.
The thunder comes again, faint, but unmistakable.
“I am coming,” it promises, “I am coming.”
The boys on the street throw their heads back and laugh.
They peddle home whooping and shouting,
And I return to painting my nails in careful strokes.
We have endured, survived the sizzling, sweltering days.
We are triumphant.