Thursday, July 21, 2011
Mr. Lucas standing against the brick wall of their apartment, cigarette ash visible. Heat lightning. His talk of going fishing the next day. Dad fooling around with the antenna in the attic to improve TV reception, grumbling about "sun spots." Headlines of tanks rolling through Berlin as a wall is built. Tension as electric as the static from storms. Hitting 'em out. Shagging flies. Guzzling ice tea so cold it burns. A hot bath to feel the contrast. No shower head. Talcum powder. Nervous about September and school. Seal off rooms with fans on exhaust during the day, on intake at night. no such thing as AC. The drone of a ballgame. Haircuts cut so short. Delivering the Shopper. Asking the Italian lady for some water. Ice water. Take it in like a boy in the desert. The beach, Dad and Mom never once ever going into the Sound. Fear of atomic war. Rabbit ears. Potato salad. The little metal box for the milkman to place the bottles. Caddying. The straps digging in, the thirst. The spidered night flashes but no thunder.