My Mumbling Thoughts

The weather plays an important role in my memory, as I'm sure it does for many other people. It surrounds us 24/7 whether we consciously realize it or not. I think about it almost as much as a meteorologist might think about it, but probably in a different sense. I think if it's going to be extremely warm, then which summery top will I want to wear; or if it's going to be cloudy and rainy, I have to remember to pack my umbrella for the day, even though I hardly use it. I enjoy feeling the raindrops fall on me even if it is particularly cold outside.

But the weather triggers different memories inside of me, memories that don't necessarily hold any kind of importance, but are replayed across the front of my mind nonetheless. Whenever it's particularly cold and crisp, with the sun shining and being reflected off of the frost that has stretched out across the leaves from the night before, I remember the mornings when I'd be leaving for work early and climbing into my car. The garage door would be open with the morning sunshine falling at all different angles. I'd squeeze in between the wall and the edge of my car, crank on the engine, sort out which CD I wanted to listen to that morning, strap myself in with the seatbelt and wait until the car was warm enough so I couldn't see my breath every time I exhaled. Those were my mornings every single day, Monday through Friday while I worked back home. The routine is engrained inside of me, and even when I went back for Christmas holiday, sometimes I'd wake up and wonder why I was still in bed. I was supposed to be sitting in traffic fishing out my second cigarette with the window cracked so to not let all of the heat escape.

Summertime holds so many more vivid memories for me, though. The swealtering heat, the stale lingering moisture in the air and how I would do my best to not move unless it was absolutely necessary. With every movement I was sure that I was generating more heat and making it hotter than Mother Nature had already inflicted upon us. North Carolina summers were always scorchers and there were some days when Mel and I didn't do anything in the house except lay in our dark rooms with the ceiling fans on the highest setting to keep the air circulating. Momma hated running the air conditioner all day because it "ran her goddamned bill through the roof," so she left it on a timer and we would get our hands smacked if we dared touch it. Those ceiling fans were our best friends for nearly four months every year.

We would watch the evening news with Momma and the weather(wo)man would let us know if we were at level Red or level Orange, and if that was the case they told us it was probably best if we stayed indoors. If it was level Yellow, then it would be safe for us to venture out into the natural sauna and they would always remind us to wear our sunscreen for protection.

When dusk finally came late in the day people would step outside briefly to water their lawns. "That's the best time to do it," Momma would say to us. It was so the water wouldn't be wasted just evaporating underneath the unforgiving ball of fire that baked us with no remorse, never giving us a break until sunset. It was a temporary relief until the sun rose again the next day.

After a week of trying to think of new ways to prevent from melting, I would step outside and smell a change in the weather. The smell of rain was always so thick and even though the clouds had yet to roll in I knew we should be expecting a nice thunderstorm even without the help of our local weather forecaster. I became so in tune with predicting the thunderstorms that sometimes I would sit in our breakfast nook and wait as the dark clouds quickly took their respective positions above our house and watch for the first drop that would immediately dissipate after hitting the scalding concrete. One by one I watched as the raindrops fell and evaporated until there were so many falling that the ground couldn't keep up with absorbing them all. That's when I would stand up, push the chair back under the table and walk outside barefoot without an umbrella.

I would walk the entire neighborhood alone as my clothes became heavier with the weight of the rain on me and feel the warm water slowly run down the side of my face and hit me on my eyelashes. I'd be sure to keep an eye on where my feet would step as well to avoid smushing the worms that came up from the soil gasping and breathing the fresh air. Steam would always rise from the hot asphalt and I walked through the mist as if I were the only person in the world who ever did this sort of thing.

Usually the lightning and thunder would start erupting in the clouds after some time and that was my cue to start walking back home. Momma didn't mind that I liked going out in thunderstorms when it was a heavy, steady rain, but she didn't like it when I would go out with a greater chance of being electrocuted. After I was back indoors, I'd towel dry myself off, slip on some lightweight pajamas and feel like thunderstorms were Mother Nature's gift to us for all of the suffering hot days when we thought we could no longer take it.

We don't get many days like those here in merry old England. We get rain, but it's cold and there's never any steam rising up from the streets. I'd never take a stroll outside when the rain pours over here. When I'd come back inside I'd be purple from the cold and have to go to the hospital for hypothermia. Summertime here is very different and a lot more unpredictable than from North Carolina. Every day I'll check what the weather will be like, and if the temperature begins to peak above 72 degrees (F) I can already begin to feel the prickle of heat on the back of my neck and the sweat shine on my face. I get all sweaty with excited anticipation and can't wait to feel the warmth surround me, to feel the layer of humidity on my skin and have to peel my thighs off of plastic chairs and benches.

This week has been like that for me, pushing all of those memories up to the surface and leaving me aching to be back in our house in North Carolina with the windows wide open, drinking sweet tea, eating bar-b-que and wiping my forehead with the back of my arm because it's just so goddamned hot outside. The warm weather here (which is hardly 'hot' in comparison with the heat from home) is a decoy and off in the distance is a mirage of my past summers.