The ceiling fan, the air conditioner, and another fan are spitting their measly attempts at cool air in my face. My body is sticky, my hair is stringy and the backs of my knees are glistening. Sister’s music whines while her fingers clack fiercely on the keyboard. They pause. She is thinking.
The two dogs sprawl on the carpet; their black, furry tummies that are slowly heaving up and down are the only reassurances that they’ve survived the vicious heat.
Various cellophane wrappers and lone papers flutter with each spin of the fan’s blades. This room is a sad attempt to retain any scrap of this family’s existence. See this clay-molded elephant, with the red and gold paint? Oh, it has been around forever. Even before our identities floated away, disappearing into the heat waves.
I take this pen and comb it through my hair. The air flips the pages of this notebook. Today is a lazy day. I feel no need or desire to leave here, busy myself with something, or indulge myself with friendship. I will sit here on this moldy blue couch, pondering lunch possibilities that won’t end up throwing itself from my stiff, cold lips into the toilet or on the floor.
I wish I were encased in ice, a sculpture commuting around the world, slowly melting so I can lick and sip the water leaking from my fingers. I wouldn’t hear anything but my thoughts bantering back and forth.
I look up. The music has stopped.
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