Around August, you wait for it. You wait for the day when you’ll need a jacket or a sweater, where walking from your house to the curb doesn’t cause you to sweat like you’ve ran up a flight of stairs. Each day that you open your door and it isn’t cool, where it’s still warm, it’s a disappointment on the grandest of scales. August is supposed to be cool! Even though it is never cool in August, we always expect it to be.
September is hot, too, but then, one day, it rains as if the heavens hate us and the next day it is a different world that we live in. It’s so nice outside! There isn’t that oppressive heat, the unending need to dab sweat off your forehead. Your t-shirts aren’t soaked in your fluids and you can wear clothes again, glorious clothes! You can wear jackets and scarves and that sweater you got but was too hot to wear and you can wear clothes, clothes, clothes. You spend more time in your closet. Instead of thinking, “What won’t suffocate me?” you think, “What will look nice?” You can wear clothes because clothes are fun. There is joy in garments, a joy rarely understood until you open your door and it’s cool outside.
October is more of this. More of long days that get shorter, leaves wiggling down from the trees, more hot drinks on the porch where it’s a little too cool but you suffer through it anyway. You know it just started, this wonderful season, but you also know that it will soon be over. It will not always be so wonderful. You take walks. You sit in parks. You wake up earlier and go to bed later. The planet we live on doesn’t seem like it hates us as much as it usually does. It almost seems like it loves us.
November and it’s cold. It’s not cool, like a refreshing drink. No, it’s cold now. Clothing is no longer fun but a bitter need. December is worse, with a wind that should kill a man but somehow doesn’t. Once, waiting on a bus, I yelled out, “We aren’t supposed to live here!” Saying in words the thought that dictated my existence. Why am I even out here? I am going to die! And January is more of the same, February more of the same and then March, with a bit of Spring finally, finally starting to sneak it’s head out.
April comes and Spring is finally full on. Jackets are back. Nice days that aren’t too hot. And this is when I get sad. The days will get hotter. And hotter. And hotter. By May, it isn’t comfortable outside any more and then June and July, the Devil’s twins, rage and roar and scream and there is nothing but heat, the non-stop bombardment of heat, death by heat, life by heat, days where you lay on the floor and wait for whatever comes, a reprieve of sorts, maybe forgiveness, a few minutes peace from the Sun and it’s assault.
Then August and you wonder when it’ll get cool again.