I distinctly remember the first home I got sunburnt after my move across the pond. It was a Saturday, a beautiful one, and I was a, now normal, mix of happy and on the edge. The horses were sweating away in their paddocks and the goats shielded themselves in their wee shelter, refusing to show the sun a single toe.
We’d often sit and chatter in the car but today was an exception given that the car is currently a heat trap licensed to kill. The spot picked for a natter today is right in the path of the sprinklers, which hits us every thirty seconds with blissful splashes of desert water. My friend, Lucy, is sitting atop a spare yoga mat she keeps stashed in her car and I’m sprawled like a starfish on one of the pony’s muck speckled rugs.
“It’s too hot to think,” I mutter from my position, face covered by the hoodie I’d snagged from the passenger seat of my car. I’d wondered where the wee bugger had went and, there it was, hiding under the passenger seat with two receipts and a Tim Horton’s paper bag tucked under the armpit.
“You’ll get used to the heat soon enough,” Lucy remarks, rather unapologetically, as she tends to do. It’s one of the reasons I took to her so quickly. You always know where you stand with someone like Lucy like right now, for example. Right now, she’s very much in disapproval of my sloth-like form as I lie splayed amongst the dandelions. Storm-clouded grey eyes fix onto me as she scoops sun-bleached hair into a ponytail and slides a pair of fancy sunglasses on. Her pointed features give her glares extra gravitas. “Have some dignity, woman,” she says, poking at my midsection, “what if that handsome delivery guy shows up and you’re all legs a-kimbo.”
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“He should love me for who I am, or not at all,” I respond indignantly. “Plus, he’s not even my type.” This earns me a deck chair pillow to the head. They were in the midst of drying on the grass, which explains the damp cotton taste now present in my mouth. It goes silent for a moment and I look from beneath my hoodie to find an empty yoga mat.
Despite the intimidating exterior, feared by both suitors and potential friends alike, Lucy is a big softie at heart. She suddenly appears before me, shaking an iced drink in my face. The ice cubes clink together as condensation climbs the cup’s exterior. It’s a mix of cranberry juice and sprite, which Lucy assumes I like.
“Don’t pass out from heat exhaustion, please. I’m not dragging you home,” she puts the cup in my hand before settling back onto her yoga mat.
i grin widely from beneath my hoodie cover. “You’re the best!” I squeal. Lucy waves me off. After a large sip, I feel half normal again. “Ach, nothing better than this combination. Jamie used to make me these all the time.”
Lucy squints in the distance, “I don’t think you’ve mentioned him before. Who’s Jamie?” She asks.
Who’s Jamie? What a long story that is.
“You’re shoulders are super burnt.” Lucy pipes up.
“SHIT!” I scream.