Life On The Surface Of The Sun

I grew up in the country, outside of a small town, which was itself on the outskirts of Houston. We lived in a doublewide trailer, sharing the land with yaupon bushes, pine trees, stray dogs, and mosquitos. Every summer, we’d gather around the ol’ thermostat and yell cuss words at it, in unison. It was the only time Ma would let us young’uns cuss.

Sometimes we’d harmonize. Daddy would sing bass, Mama would sing tenor. Me and little sister would join right in there. “Fuck that piece of shit,” we’d sing.

You see, way back in 1989, a tornado barreled through our home.

The twister tragically robbed me of the most important thing in my world: the reliability of our AC unit. From that fateful day onward, the unit stopped working every single summer. And remember, summer in Texas begins on Easter and ends around Thanksgiving.

If you haven’t spent three months in a Mercury Grand Marquis with the windows rolled up, or on the planet Mercury, then you probably can’t fully appreciate the devastation of losing your AC during a Southeast Texas summer.

Try to put yourself in that place for a minute. I’ll be your guide.

Imagine the air is so thick and humid, it’s like trying to breathe with a sweaty jockstrap covering your nose and mouth. You are constantly damp, and that’s at best. If your heartbeat elevates at all, you will sweat through your clothes. No amount of antiperspirant protects you. Whichever uncomfortable sweat that torments your…