I sit on my porch, fanning myself with a next-to-useless book. Another sultry Tulsa day, another sultry Tulsa night. I watch my neighbors' sprinklers. They are the automated kind, and they come on every 6 hours for 45 minutes. The neighbors had them put in last summer after they came home from another one of their long trips and their grass was all dead. As usual, no one is at home.
"Hey, Peet!" someone calls to me. I turn and look at the porch of the house on the other side of mine. Rosemary Henderson is out on the porch, waving like there was no tomorrow. I wave back to her limply. Not because I like her, but to keep her from coming over to talk. I find her exuberance exhausting - not to mention exasperating.
It really is hot outside, I think to myself. Despit the fact that it is around 10 o'clock at night, it is still close to 100 degrees. The sprinklers next door are tempting. In a moment of spontaneity I push myself out of the lawn chair and scamper across the property line. I go and sit by the nearest sprinkler head, revelling in being doused from stem to sternum by the icy cold water. My jean shorts are clinging to my legs and my white t-shirt, I'm sure, is now doing little to disclose my bra. However, the coolness is too delightful for me to be bothered by my clothes or the fact that pieces of grass are beginning to stick to my bare legs.
"Hey, Peet," a voice says. I look up and see Meredith, another of the neighborhood girls. "What are you doing?"
"Takin' a bath," I tell her with a grin.
She looks around as though she's afraid we might get caught doing something wrong. I just tug on the hem of her cotton shorts and tell her to sit down. "The Hansons wouldn't mind even if they were home," I assure her. She plops down on the grass, and she begins to get soaked as well.
"Have you met the newbies?" she asks me after a minute.
"The newbies? Who?" I ask.
"You remember the old Shaffner house?" she asks. When I nod, she goes on to explain, "Well, someone moved in there. I saw them. There's a girl our age in the mix."
I raise my eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yeah," she says. "But I don't think she's very interested in making friends. She never comes out."
"Maybe she's just not used to the heat," I say. It's a reasonable excuse. I know that if the airconditioner at my house were working, I would not be sitting out in my neighbors' yard cooling off in their sprinklers.
"MEREDITH!!!"
Both of us look up. Mrs. Pinkham, Meredith's mother, is standing out on the front steps of their house shouting. She's got her hands on her hips and looks a bit ticked off. Meredith sighs and clambers to her feet. "Later, Peet."
"Bye," I say, as she trots off. I sit there in the grass for a few more minutes until abruptly the downpour ends.
Grumbling to myself I get to my feet and walk back over to my porch. I try to sit outside and continue reading my book, but by now the mosquitos have found me. At a loss for anything better to do, I go inside.
