Variation Venus

It’s almost 100 degrees Fahrenheit inside my Los Angeles apartment. I stare at the ceiling, wishing I had something to keep me cool. If only an invention existed to change the air and make it cooler. Sadly, there is no such thing. I often imagine an alternate timeline where such a thing existed. It would be a utopia. This universe, it only exists my imagination, of course. 

Back to reality. I once attempted to use a swamp cooler with ice water to make the room cool, but all it really did was increase the humidity. Which made it hotter and very uncomfortable to move. I never attempted it again. So, here I sit, 7 months pregnant in a hot room.  

Even my unborn child seemed to agree that this heat was ridiculous. It took the sharp kick to my ribs as a sign to get up and stand in front of the window and wait for a cool breeze. There wasn’t much, but it seemed cooler outside. A little stubborn part of me kept me from walking 15 feet to my front door.   

I stood by the window waiting for another slight breeze, but it wasn’t enough to reach me. The door was only 15 feet away. I could go outside. But should I?

Going outside to sit in front of the doorway was not something that normal people did. Why do this? I would open myself to ridicule from the community. Me, a pregnant woman, seeks cool air by standing in the doorway for a breeze. My mother would shame me. Nope, I’m staying near the window. 

I felt another kick to my ribs. This one was sharper and stronger.

“No, I’m not going to the door,” I stubbornly tell myself. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to. But lord it’s hot. I looked at my front door. A battle began between my overwhelming sense of anxiety, clashing with my the need to just feel one cool breeze again. 

Without realizing it, I move closer to the door step by step. My hand is on the door handle, and I halt one last thought of everyone I know making fun of me for stepping outside just for cool hair surfaces itself. At this point, I’m sweating a lot. I’m covered with a layer of sweat, both sticky and smooth, as if it has become a second skin, serving as undeniable proof of the relentless struggle fought within, setting ablaze an untamable fire.

“I can’t live like this” My eyes closed, I turn the door nob and step into the breeze. 

The breeze feels amazing against my damp skin. I open my eyes, expecting to see everyone I know looking at me and judging my actions. But there is no one. It’s just me outside my home taking in the afternoon breeze.  

I feel another thump against my ribs this time. At the surprise kick, I giggle. And poke my belly.

“OK, yes, this was a good idea. “

Wow, it’s been hot 🔥 in Southern California. It is very uncomfortable. The story was inspired by that very heat, a memory when I was pregnant with my first child, and “what if” AC was never invented.