That summer heat

We drive through El Centro. The car has one of those fancy thermometers, which tells us that we are well into triple digits outside. One hundred eleven degrees, one twelve, one thirteen. It’s the summer that has yet to make it to Prescott.

 

I roll the window down and stick my head out into the inferno. At seventy five miles per hour the hot air hits me like a brick. Sweat instantly begins to seep out of my pores. It dries as soon as it forms.

 

We speed past plots of farm land for miles. Some green with crops, some brown and barren. Each with a distinct smell. Some have tractors working the fields, others have sprinklers. Most are devoid of humanity during this hour. Who wants to work in the heat?

 

I smile at the cars that we pass, and their occupants look at me as they would a crazy person. My friends also look at me like I’m crazy for wanting to soak in this heat. It’s okay though, they know me well enough to not ask questions. They’re used to my eccentricities.

 

After ten or fifteen minutes I finally drag myself back into the climate-controlled interior. Chris laughs as he tells me my face is bright red, and my hair is all blown over to one side. A quick look in the mirror confirms this fact.

 

All I can do is smile. Hello summer.