From here.
You forget that your parents decide to forgo air-conditioning until the summertime actually hits. The heat is sweltering, mind-melting and it sinks down onto your body like a thick blanket rolling you up tightly. You forget the fan in your bedroom may spin real nice but does little to turn the thick air into something cool. You don’t remember how quickly you dry off from a shower because the air is greedy and sucks up all the moisture. You forget that you used to sleep downstairs because it got too hot in the summers to withstand the heat. The clothes you wear hug your body because of the sweat and you forget that girls down here don’t sweat, they “glisten”. You forget that people in stores smile and say hello not because they know you but because that’s what people do. Country music lyrics ring true as you drive past fields that will grow cotton. The same cotton that makes you homesick when people talk about it up north, because you passed it every day and took a field trip to pick it just like the kids up north picked apples and pumpkins. You forget about the abandoned sharecroppers’ houses out in between two fields, where you have to pass through them and hope that cottonmouths aren’t chasing you. The houses are filled with old magazines from the 1930′s and discarded furniture. You forget that there’s a cotton gin (whose inventor, Eli Whitney, has been drilled into your head by countless southern teachers) in between some of the houses and that old bags of flour sink the attics of them down. You forget that the air is thicker down here, that the accents come and go because half of your heart is used to them while the other half is confused. You forget what it’s like to be hot. Not northern hot, where the heat can be heavy, but real hot, where your body feels lethargic and even your eyeballs feel like sweating. You forget that it’s only April and August is when the real heat is felt. You forget that kids only play outside in the winter, unless it’s to swim in the summer. You forget that pool water should be about 90 and feel like a slightly cooled hot-tub. That 70 degree water in April is unacceptable and a serious reason to wait until May before diving in. You forget what it’s like to have a winter that involves light jackets and the threat of snow causes schools to shut down. You forget hurricane season and the excitement you’re not supposed to feel but still do when one seems to be headed your way. You forget that whenever they say a hurricane’s about to hit your town, it’ll go a little north and hit North Carolina but if it’s supposed to hit North Carolina, it’s time to board up the windows and buy water because it’s sure to go south. You forget that the whole neighborhood shuts down at 10 pm and the streetlights turn on. You forget about the fireflies that you used to run around catching. You forget that birds sing and hammocks should always be beneath palmetto trees and next to a pool. You forget that iced tea should always be sweet and cool as can be. You forget how quickly you can tan beneath a southern sun and how that tan seems to last a little longer than any other tan. You forget what it’s like to be home.
I’m busy spending this week with a book in my hand from the public library that I forgot our town went crazy building and turned into a spectacle and a bottle of sun tan lotion beside me. Sweet southern comforts.
PS. South Carolina according to Flickr.
