Two Inches of Shade

June twenty-first. The summer solstice, which means the longest day of the year, which in this city means the longest stretch of concrete baking under a sun that has apparently decided to take the season personally. I want to be clear that I was the one who said it wasn't that hot. I want that on the record before I say anything else.

Simone and I had walked maybe four blocks from the climbing gym, no session today, we were just picking up something from the gear shop, when I made the claim. It's not even that hot. I said those words. Out loud. To another person. Simone did not argue with me. She just looked at me the way she looks at things she already knows the end of, and kept walking. By the time we hit the corner near the bodega, I was squinting so hard my face hurt and doing the thing where you raise one hand like a visor even though it accomplishes nothing. Simone, meanwhile, had crossed her arms and acquired the expression of someone who has been patient for several blocks and is prepared to be patient for several more.

Simone's 'I told you' face. Undefeated.

We spent maybe three minutes wedged into the strip of shade under the bodega awning. It was genuinely maybe two inches wide. We were both in it anyway. That's when the photo happened, I laughed, Simone delivered the look, someone passing by apparently documented the moment on our behalf. I'm grateful. I would not have had the presence of mind. The outdoor skills workshop is in a few weeks and I keep thinking about the fact that it's probably outdoors, meaning no awning, meaning I need to recalibrate what I think heat actually is. Simone has already looked at trail maps for the area. I'm pretty sure she's going to be right about everything there, too, and I'm going to act surprised.

Two inches of shade. Shared.

Happy solstice. Wear sunscreen. Don't say it's not that hot.