Heat

I've been doing very little but complaining about the heat lately, but this morning as I rose and took an ice cold shower, it suddenly occurred to me that many of my favorite moments in life have happened during hot, hot summers, particularly in regards to Elizabeth. I'm positive (and she can vouch) that as these scenes were unfolding in real time all I could do was complain about how hot it was, but as life often goes, I look over my shoulder and they are only perfection. The peaches and pack of Camels we bought at the grocery store that first summer in Idaho. Reading Lucy Grealy to each other at night in the trundle bed. Sharing a fitting room at the antique mall and trying on every piece of clothing we could find. These are the only things I remember about that August.

And then my trip to Oxford, Mississippi to visit Elizabeth at school. I was afraid of flying, but determined I'd get to her. What I didn't realize then (and how can we, in the moment?) was that my solo Amtrak trip from Spokane, Washington to Memphis, Tennessee would be one of the most blessed experiences of my life. When I got there it was March, but I had never experienced such humidity. The first day, we walked from her house to the Square, and she told me it was okay if somebody pulled over and picked us up, not to worry because everybody was friendly and it wouldn't be like hitchhiking at all. We were wearing embroidered tops and mini skirts.

That week in Oxford, I bought Barry Hannah lunch before I even knew who Barry Hannah was. 

We went to Graceland. We went to a place called "Graceland Too," which was a slightly sketchier version run by a crazy old man who followed us from room to room. We went to Holly Springs, and I marveled at the trees. We found a rope swing. We took photographs of ourselves standing in front of storybook mansions with white columns, we tried on fancy dresses at boutiques and pretended we'd come back for them. We went dancing in Clarksdale at the bar Morgan Freeman owns. We rode in the back of a convertible and screamed. 

There is a chance I will look back at this summer too, and forget all about the heat. In fact, I am certain I will. I have been complaining to Elizabeth over the phone about it, and looking ahead to an Astoria trip at the end of the month to escape it. There is a chance all I will remember about this summer is sitting at the park with Robert during this season of our lives together, when we are still young, picking roses and blueberries from the bushes outside our house, playing Scrabble on picnic tables and drinking coffee and driving around town hitting up the used bookstores in the minivan we bought for three-hundred and fifty dollars.