I slowly padded into the kitchen, stricken lazy by the heat. It was barely June, yet every day was blazing, scorching; the kind of heat that not only surrounded you but went inside, drying out your throat and wrapping itself around your lungs so that you could hardly even breathe. And at night, no less. It was nearly midnight, and theoretically that heat should have broken by then, but it hadn't. Indeed, the old mercury thermometer hanging on one paint-peeling wall of the back porch was still going strong at 103 degrees.
It seemed so much more bearable during the day though. That afternoon, I had been fine with it, even when Noah and I had gone on a hike in the desert. All my life, I had wanted to see a real abandoned ghost town. Of course, growing up in the Northeast, I had never gotten the chance to, so when I came to visit him in New Mexico he promised that he would take me. And he did, and I have no doubt that it was even hotter out there, in the middle of nowhere, among the drifting dunes of sand and the towering cacti. But it didn't feel that way. Maybe because we were constantly drinking water, and splashing it on ourselves and each other, to keep from getting dehydrated or overheated, to prevent sunstroke. Or maybe because I was too busy imagining myself a cowgirl, and him my cowboy, whisking me off into the sun that was setting on the horizon to live wild and free happily ever after in this ghost town that I was half-expecting to spring up with life the moment we arrived, just to fulfill my own fantasy. Which was equally as likely as Noah actually feeling the same way about me as I felt about him. Well, he didn't, and the town didn't revive itself; everything remained firmly rooted in reality, much to my chagrin. Everything except the heat.
But, like I said, the daytime heat didn't even compare to the nighttime heat. It was far more stifling, and even worse, it was sticky. It relegated you to lying in your bed, covers strewn across the floor, sweating, silently praying for relief from the absolute misery. Except there was no escape. Not in this place anyways. It was a very old house, new to Noah, and it was in various stages of disrepair. Air conditioning was only one of the many modern conveniences that it lacked. Fans didn't help, they just recirculated the same old hot air, and you couldn't open a window. The noise of all the insects that buzzed around outside was too loud to fall asleep with, and besides, it was just as hot outside as it was in.
The previous night was hell. I had to get up three different times, going into the bathroom, turning the shower on to the coldest setting, and luxuriating underneath the frosty spray for a few blessed minutes. After the last time, Noah came in to see what was wrong, and I pretended that nothing was, but inside I was fighting the urge to scream out that it was all his fault. That if I wasn't so desperately in lust with him, I wouldn't have flown halfway across the country on my one short week of vacation just to put myself in such a physically and emotionally wrenching situation, and that I wouldn't be so uncomfortable if I could just make myself go to sleep rather than lie there knowing that he was in the next room, completely oblivious to me, picturing him peacefully asleep, even listening to him breathe through the paper-thin wall that separated us.
But I said that I was okay. And he stood there in my doorway, shaking his head and wordlessly studying my body as it lay sprawled across the queen-sized bed. I was dying silently. There he was in his boxers, nothing else, and he was just so beautiful and I wanted him so badly. Then our eyes met for a split second, and I swear he knew, but if he did, he left without any indication of it. I finally remembered to breathe, and eventually settled into an uneasy, fitful, dreamless sleep.
This night wasn't looking to be much different. I was so tired, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to force myself to sleep. The humid air was suffocating me again, and it was far too hot for real clothes. I wore a thin cropped tank top that didn't leave much to the imagination and an equally revealing pair of hot pants. I was barefoot and beyond caring what I looked like. Despite my near-nudity, the kitchen felt positively tropical. The lights were almost all off, the one exception being a lone bulb on the back porch that shone dimly through the screen door, and in the soft glow I could see Noah standing opposite me. He was facing me directly but staring off into empty space, as if in a trance, totally unaware that I had entered the room. He seemed to be concentrating on the low music from a small radio that was mounted underneath one of the cabinets.
Bryan Adams, I noted as I paused in my tracks, placing one hand on the Formica counter next to me, which was quite amazingly still cool to the touch, and the other on my stomach, nervously fiddling with my navel ring. (Everything I Do) I Do It For You. I breathed in deeply, then out again, and closed my eyes for a moment, collecting myself. It was then that he spoke.
"Hi," he said shyly, not at all like his usual outgoing self. He was wearing the same khaki cargo shorts that he'd had on all day, but no shirt, and his well-defined, muscular chest gleamed golden in the dim light.
"Hi," I replied, looking away, thanking the semi-darkness for masking my reddening cheeks.
"Too hot to sleep?" he asked knowingly, smiling at me.
I smiled back, blushing even more deeply. "You got it," I told him, and he nodded.
"That's the way it is out here. You just have to get used to it," he informed me.
I didn't quite know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything, but he seemed to sense my apprehension. He began to walk around the central island, towards where I stood, over by the dining table and the door to the hallway. He stopped directly in front of me.
"I love this song," he remarked quietly, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or just talking. But I took my chances and concurred anyways.
"I do too," I agreed, and he smiled again. I drew in a sharp breath as he held his hands out to me.
"May I have this dance?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, his face suddenly serious.
My heart and stomach flip-flopped, and I managed to choke back a surprised giggle. What was this? Me, a girl he barely even knew except through the stories that mutual acquaintances told. Me, who he had only actually met on one other occasion, when he and his best friend, my stepbrother Andrew, came to stay at my apartment for a weekend when they visited Boston. Me, the little girl, not even 20 yet, over four years younger than him. Me, the auxiliary sister figure. Only invited to his house as retribution for letting him invade mine. Or was that not it? I wondered as we stood there, not moving, his arms still open for me.
"Well?" he asked. I, rendered speechless, nodded my head, and suddenly I was in his arms, held so tightly, just as I had dreamed of every single night ever since the first time that I had met him. I rested my head on his strong shoulder, suddenly content with the heat and the atmosphere and every event that had occurred over the past two days.
He squeezed me even tighter, then brushed a wisp of hair out of my face and whispered in my ear. "Remember to breathe, sweetheart."
I smiled and did just that. "Thanks," I murmured, in a state of total euphoria.
"Anytime," he replied with a chuckle, then was silent as we began to move as one. I closed my eyes, realizing that maybe this heat thing wasn't such a bad idea after all.
It seemed so much more bearable during the day though. That afternoon, I had been fine with it, even when Noah and I had gone on a hike in the desert. All my life, I had wanted to see a real abandoned ghost town. Of course, growing up in the Northeast, I had never gotten the chance to, so when I came to visit him in New Mexico he promised that he would take me. And he did, and I have no doubt that it was even hotter out there, in the middle of nowhere, among the drifting dunes of sand and the towering cacti. But it didn't feel that way. Maybe because we were constantly drinking water, and splashing it on ourselves and each other, to keep from getting dehydrated or overheated, to prevent sunstroke. Or maybe because I was too busy imagining myself a cowgirl, and him my cowboy, whisking me off into the sun that was setting on the horizon to live wild and free happily ever after in this ghost town that I was half-expecting to spring up with life the moment we arrived, just to fulfill my own fantasy. Which was equally as likely as Noah actually feeling the same way about me as I felt about him. Well, he didn't, and the town didn't revive itself; everything remained firmly rooted in reality, much to my chagrin. Everything except the heat.
But, like I said, the daytime heat didn't even compare to the nighttime heat. It was far more stifling, and even worse, it was sticky. It relegated you to lying in your bed, covers strewn across the floor, sweating, silently praying for relief from the absolute misery. Except there was no escape. Not in this place anyways. It was a very old house, new to Noah, and it was in various stages of disrepair. Air conditioning was only one of the many modern conveniences that it lacked. Fans didn't help, they just recirculated the same old hot air, and you couldn't open a window. The noise of all the insects that buzzed around outside was too loud to fall asleep with, and besides, it was just as hot outside as it was in.
The previous night was hell. I had to get up three different times, going into the bathroom, turning the shower on to the coldest setting, and luxuriating underneath the frosty spray for a few blessed minutes. After the last time, Noah came in to see what was wrong, and I pretended that nothing was, but inside I was fighting the urge to scream out that it was all his fault. That if I wasn't so desperately in lust with him, I wouldn't have flown halfway across the country on my one short week of vacation just to put myself in such a physically and emotionally wrenching situation, and that I wouldn't be so uncomfortable if I could just make myself go to sleep rather than lie there knowing that he was in the next room, completely oblivious to me, picturing him peacefully asleep, even listening to him breathe through the paper-thin wall that separated us.
But I said that I was okay. And he stood there in my doorway, shaking his head and wordlessly studying my body as it lay sprawled across the queen-sized bed. I was dying silently. There he was in his boxers, nothing else, and he was just so beautiful and I wanted him so badly. Then our eyes met for a split second, and I swear he knew, but if he did, he left without any indication of it. I finally remembered to breathe, and eventually settled into an uneasy, fitful, dreamless sleep.
This night wasn't looking to be much different. I was so tired, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to force myself to sleep. The humid air was suffocating me again, and it was far too hot for real clothes. I wore a thin cropped tank top that didn't leave much to the imagination and an equally revealing pair of hot pants. I was barefoot and beyond caring what I looked like. Despite my near-nudity, the kitchen felt positively tropical. The lights were almost all off, the one exception being a lone bulb on the back porch that shone dimly through the screen door, and in the soft glow I could see Noah standing opposite me. He was facing me directly but staring off into empty space, as if in a trance, totally unaware that I had entered the room. He seemed to be concentrating on the low music from a small radio that was mounted underneath one of the cabinets.
Bryan Adams, I noted as I paused in my tracks, placing one hand on the Formica counter next to me, which was quite amazingly still cool to the touch, and the other on my stomach, nervously fiddling with my navel ring. (Everything I Do) I Do It For You. I breathed in deeply, then out again, and closed my eyes for a moment, collecting myself. It was then that he spoke.
"Hi," he said shyly, not at all like his usual outgoing self. He was wearing the same khaki cargo shorts that he'd had on all day, but no shirt, and his well-defined, muscular chest gleamed golden in the dim light.
"Hi," I replied, looking away, thanking the semi-darkness for masking my reddening cheeks.
"Too hot to sleep?" he asked knowingly, smiling at me.
I smiled back, blushing even more deeply. "You got it," I told him, and he nodded.
"That's the way it is out here. You just have to get used to it," he informed me.
I didn't quite know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything, but he seemed to sense my apprehension. He began to walk around the central island, towards where I stood, over by the dining table and the door to the hallway. He stopped directly in front of me.
"I love this song," he remarked quietly, and I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or just talking. But I took my chances and concurred anyways.
"I do too," I agreed, and he smiled again. I drew in a sharp breath as he held his hands out to me.
"May I have this dance?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, his face suddenly serious.
My heart and stomach flip-flopped, and I managed to choke back a surprised giggle. What was this? Me, a girl he barely even knew except through the stories that mutual acquaintances told. Me, who he had only actually met on one other occasion, when he and his best friend, my stepbrother Andrew, came to stay at my apartment for a weekend when they visited Boston. Me, the little girl, not even 20 yet, over four years younger than him. Me, the auxiliary sister figure. Only invited to his house as retribution for letting him invade mine. Or was that not it? I wondered as we stood there, not moving, his arms still open for me.
"Well?" he asked. I, rendered speechless, nodded my head, and suddenly I was in his arms, held so tightly, just as I had dreamed of every single night ever since the first time that I had met him. I rested my head on his strong shoulder, suddenly content with the heat and the atmosphere and every event that had occurred over the past two days.
He squeezed me even tighter, then brushed a wisp of hair out of my face and whispered in my ear. "Remember to breathe, sweetheart."
I smiled and did just that. "Thanks," I murmured, in a state of total euphoria.
"Anytime," he replied with a chuckle, then was silent as we began to move as one. I closed my eyes, realizing that maybe this heat thing wasn't such a bad idea after all.