Cold Sea

It's been so cold outside lately that when I walk along the city streets I feel like the wind is literally gnawing at my face. It's like it's trying to dig into me and it expects to find some buried treasure, something rare and amazing.

What a disappointment that's going to be.

Is it just me, or does cold weather just automatically trigger memories of hot weather, and vice-versa?

It's been cold outside lately, and walking around the city streets I thought of summer. Not this past summer or the one before that (or even the one before that), simply because nothing memorable actually happened and even if something memorable had happened I probably wouldn't remember it... If that makes sense at all. I was thinking about that summer when I was just about close to being four years old and we all went to the beach, we being my mom, my dad (step-dad?), my brother, and I. That was way back when my parents were really my parents.

I had never been to the beach before, and I had never been swimming before either. The whole concept of walking around with most of my clothes stuffed into a basket dangling from my mom's arm was completely foreign to me. After a six hour car drive which consisted mostly of me and my fifteen year old brother listening to Nirvana and Pearl Jam, I was eager to discover what could possibly be so fascinating that we actually have to travel from one edge of the world to another to go see? And I thought about the Chinese and how they spoke in their secret codes with their cone hats atop their round heads. But then my mom told me we were going to the beach, where there was a long stretch of water people would swim in and jump cold, curling waves. This was back when I wasn't afraid of water.

When we finally parked the car I was told to put on swimming trunks and to take off my shirt. Me being four and completely oblivious to what this whole "beach" idea was about, I complained and categorically refused to expose any part of myself that would normally be hidden by a shirt. Somehow, despite the kicks and screams my parents managed to take off my shirt and; Oh, this is just too embarrassing, I thought. Here I was, standing in the middle of a dusty parking lot stripped of my shirt and worse even: my dignity. So I cried. Big, crocodile, wailing tears that only a child can manage without effort or second thought. I bawled and there's my big brother being all; Dude, there's nothing wrong with taking off your clothes, as he's taking off his shirt. This was back when my brother hadn't shot himself in the head.

No longer crying but still sort of frustrated, I walked onto the hot hot hot sand with my bare feet and stared beyond all the half-naked people baking like potatoes or chicken filet or whatever food they most looked like. I stared beyond all that with my four year old toes digging into the burning sand and looked at that blue stretch of ocean, and I was just thinking about how this "beach" was way better than China when this big, fat, old, wrinkled baked potato stepped in front of me and blocked my view. And; Oh, isn't he just the sweetest little thing! And, hey, your cellulite is invading my view.

Cellulite is when your connective tissue pulls down tighter than the fat beneath your skin, forming what can look like little pockets of fat all about the affected area.

Or like the skin of an orange.

Or like some big, fat, old, wrinkled baked potato.

The potatoes were all burnt and distasteful. The water was too cold to swim in. The sand was too hot to play in. My skin was too pale to tan in. My bed was too far to sleep in. And is it just me, or does hot weather just automatically trigger memories of cold weather, and vice-versa?