I looked uneasily between my three choices. There was the entrance to the kitchen, where I knew I ought to be helping to serve food to the guests here for my mother’s party. Of course, the entrance to my bedroom was much more inviting, where I might take a quick nap. After all, I was exhausted from all the cleaning and necessary preparations for the party.

And then there was the least practical choice. The screen door that led to the back deck of our house. Certainly, I would be of no use whatsoever there, not even to myself, as it was dreadfully hot. But it seemed to beckon me, not only the door, but what I knew was waiting for me on the porch. Making sure my mother wasn’t around, I pushed the door open and carefully closed it behind me.

The porch swing creaked as I unceremoniously dropped into it, almost like a reproach. Glancing up at the ancient, rusted chains that still attached it to the overhang admittedly made me more than little nervous. However, the feeling was not enough to make me give up the precious spot I had found to sit, particularly in the shade. Shade is treasure on boiling hot days such as this. Sighing contentedly, I wiped a few strands of my hair, damp with perspiration, away from my forehead.

I gazed out at the wide expanse of empty yard in front of me. Our guests had yet to come around to the back of the small farmhouse, too busy cooing over the carefully placed flowers, streamers, and banners that decorated the interior. Of course, all those people simply made the place more unbearably hot.

The swing continuously squeaked in dismay as I gently rocked it back and forth, and I considered the comfort of the cool grass just a few feet away. At any rate, it had to be better then the wooden slats that I was currently sitting on. I frowned though, as I examined the lawn. The apple trees that had once grown there had since been cut down, leaving only stumps in their place. There would be no solace from the sun in the grass. I stayed on the swing.

Voices from inside the house drifted outside. I couldn’t tell what voice belonged to whom though, or what they were saying. There were so many, and they blended together into one giant mass of sound that threatened to swallow me whole. I craved silence, but for now I could only settle for the muted noise.

My mind wandered idly, blocking out both the creaking of the swing and the large group of people inside the house. I looked down at my hands, folded demurely in my lap. The chipped black polish that adorned each nail was a sharp contradiction to the simple dress of pink I was wearing. It was strapless, and left my shoulders and back bared to any breeze that cared to pass by. Not there was any such breeze on a day like this. Freckles were already appearing from having spent so much time in the sun earlier in the morning.

I leaned my head against the back of the swing, eyes raised toward the cloudless sky, or at least in that direction. What I saw was the underside of the overhang, cluttered with spider webs, dirt, and dust. Obviously, it was a spot my mother had missed during her thorough cleaning and disinfecting of the house. For some reason, something about the normalcy comforted me.

I had done enough procrastinating, I suddenly decided. It was time that I did what I had come outside to do. I picked up the notebook and pen that I had left sitting there hours earlier, and I began to write.