The smothering blubber of summer humidity gathers strength in my neck of the woods and somehow I am ashamed of how easily it can decimate my energies. Well, shit! It is like crawling into bed with a Walmart lady and being forcibly enfolded by a space-hogging fatness that gives no quarter.
Somehow it reminds me of a school dance I went to in the seventh or eighth grade, a time when fat kids were singled out for a knee-jerk ruthless teasing. Somehow, I ended up dancing with a fat girl. I think her name was Audrey. And with a few steps, all of my male certainties about fat kids were thrown into a cocked hat.
First of all, I realized that Audrey was incredibly nice. Just a really nice person. Probably nicer than I was. And second, she moved with a lightness I could feel where my hands took their ritualized position in her hand and on her waist. It was like holding a feather. Though I could see her plainly, still, it was as if she were barely there. It was beautiful. How did she do that?
I never did find out, but I know it melted me.
The summer heat is nothing like Audrey.