Flashback

Two weeks ago, I decided that fall had arrived. I turned off the air conditioning, threw open the windows, and breathed in the crisp air of an autumn evening. For the last fourteen days, I've smiled smugly to myself, thinking about how green I've been and how much I must be saving on my energy bills. But the summer decided to return for a last laugh, and tonight I found myself sprawled on top of the sheets, with the comforter thrown aside, still too warm to sleep.

Suddenly, the heat and the sleeplessness cast me into memory. I remembered other nights of temperature-induced insomnia; at my grandparents' house, at age nine, lying as still as I could, listening to the cicadas chirp and the frogs sing, and willing a cool mountain breeze to wake the air from its steamy stupor. After 60 Minutes, Murder She Wrote, and a bowl of ice cream, I'd be sent to bed. And as much as I wanted to be obedient and just go to sleep, the doldrums of hot air prevented me from sailing off into slumber. So I'd stare at the ceiling, straining my ears for the chiming of the grandmother clock, the whooshes of passing cars, and the faint murmur of Granddaddy watching TV in the basement.

In the stillness, it almost seems possible that tomorrow I'll wake up to the smell of blueberry muffins and bacon, nine years old again. I almost feel like tomorrow I'll go swimming, play Scrabble with Grandmother, eat fresh blueberries, and fall asleep waiting for the thunderstorm to cross over the mountains and bring cooler temperatures through the screened windows.

But here no grandmother clock chimes on the quarter-hours, and I'll wake up tomorrow to an alarm instead of the smell of bacon. Tonight i miss being nine.