In play
by Benjamin Markovits
Stopping as the season starts
Every summer when I was a kid we went to Europe to escape the heat in Texas. At the end of August we flew back from London, were met coming out of the air-conditioned airport by a wall of wet heat, fell asleep on the ride home and woke up deeply confused to the pulse of crickets and sprinklers and the smell and sounds of our old house. My dad would carry us in from the car before getting the suitcases. Then we tried to fall asleep again, in familiar beds, twisting and kicking off the sweaty sheets. Heat is like the way a place expresses intimacy—the world feels very close. A few days later I was back at school.