Hot Daze

Days like these were always dreadful to the community of Belleville. The sun was shining and the birds were out, there was no school and no places you had to go. Of course there were a few summer assignments but no one ever minded those, that is if they did them. The scorching, blinding, make you sweat from your eyeballs, heat. Which was something we were and weren't always used to up here. Like throwing a snowball at the back of an Australian's neck it was a cruel and unusual punishment thrown in the middle of the year. But that's just life, eh?

When it came to me though, I loved this weather. While my friends were inside, with their A/C's crying bloody murder or outside making a backyard Niagra falls to cool down, I took walks to enjoy the day and laid out in the grass for a nap somewhere. Though I always came back home dripping wet with sweat falling down my brow, the sensation of the heat stimulated me in a distinctive way. It had such a familiar feeling to me like a reintroduction to an old friend. I felt secure and important when it came to it, I know it sounds odd but imagine trying to explain it to a bunch of 9th graders.

Just like every other kid who was blessed with a peculiar interest in something I got my fair share of burning looks and unkind whispers behind my back. That's what fourteen year olds do right? Make fun of each other, I won't lie and say I've never done the same. I’ve come to terms with being a "heat creeper" a while ago. Words hurt but only if you let them, so I chose to say only sometimes. Dad says I’m “too young” to be so insightful but I’m sure he was just blowing me sunshine. Sure it wasn't easy but it really helped, kids could be mean.

On the third day of summer I stepped out into the blessed shining sun and stomped my feet over to my best friend, Oliver's, house. My loose clothes let my arms and knees breathe just to soak up some heat and catch the passing breeze. He lived in a small part of town, it was a cul-de-sac type of neighborhood that was about three blocks from my house. We met when I used to live around here, my house was the one to the left of his. I loved that house and lived in it for most of my life, up until two years ago when we had to move out. My father couldn't bare living in that house anymore no matter how much we'd miss it. Looking back on it in his shoes I couldn't blame him. He had gone through so much living there I wish I didn't give him so much backlash for moving when we did.

I opened the gate to Oliver's house and escorted myself around to the back. Ollie’s house was like a magazine cut out compared to the houses surrounding it, which all seemed much more inviting. The place was grand and modern. It was kept pristine with decorations ever still making it hard to tell if anyone lived there. It was a two story forest green and white building that was just surrounded by plants. They gave it a bit of a mystical "nature is calling" feeling that I commended the groundskeeper for. There were light pink floral tiles which led up to the dark brown arched double doors. I found it intimidating, just as anyone else would, but only used it once. Call me weak but the door was heavy like someone was pulling on the other side to keep you out, the sight of the front of house made me feel unwelcomed and de trop. The scenery was ironic but looked like a metaphor for something I either couldn’t understand or was not meant to. Their family didn’t even know how to take care of plants.

Their grounds keeper, Clarence, took good care of them instead. I waved at him and winked slightly (though it might have looked like my eye twitched) as I trotted up to the back door and swung it open with such excited force I almost threw myself back. He was a quite handsome man, we found out he was in his 23rd year last year when he invited us to his, kid friendly, birthday party. His dark brown sweat soaked hair was always slicked back and his jawline could cut someone. It was a puzzle why he never went into modeling with a face like that. His eyes a fair shade of hazel which made a jaw dropping contrast to his dark skin. He never wore long sleeves and showed off the tattoos on his arms. I managed to memorize everyone and always asked what they meant and complimented him on any new one I'd see pop up. I remember last summer I had a colossal crush on him and came over so much get to possibly squeeze in a conversation. Oliver of course knew and was highly disgusted with my fondness of the man, saying "Oh pick up your jaw you're getting drool on the carpet". We later that summer agreed to hang out at my place until I got over it. Well until I said I did, there may be some lingering feelings lying around but we'll keep that between us.

Making my way into the house, it was evident that someone was cooking something, sweet. Oliver's mother and I shared a few things in this world but we both had an extra stomach for sweets. She enjoyed baking and eating, I relished in watching, waiting and savoring. Sometimes we would sit together and watch videos of people cooking things she wanted to try making and I wanted to try eating. Over time this became something we bonded over strongly. Stepping into the kitchen area of the house I saw her from the back doing what looked like whisking in a bowl while slightly swaying side to side. She had her phone plugged into some speakers beside her that were softly bumping Lofi Hip Hop beats, which was another thing we'd come to bond over. I continued to tip-toe through the kitchen strolling pass her trying to go by undetected. My efforts were proven futile as she paused what she was doing and began speaking to me through her back, causing me to stop mid-toe.