SUMMER HEAT

SUMMER HEAT

“It's so hot you could fry an egg on the asphalt today.” gasped Kirk Greene as he

 entered his house and dropped his messenger bag and mail onto the floor. His pitbull stared at him in stunned surprise. Something was not right. The mail and bag were always placed neatly on the console table just inside the front door. The mail was sorted into various categories depending on its importance and urgency, then placed into the letter trays to keep it organized.

The house was only slightly cooler than the temperature outside. Kirk felt his chest tighten and his pulse was beating rapidly, he was perspiring heavily and feeling dizzy. He knew he was close to heat exhaustion.

“Get out of the way Killer, I need a drink.”

Roughly pushing the dog out of his way with his foot, Kirk walked into the kitchen with his street shoes on, totally disregarding the neatly arranged shoe shelf beside the console, a sure sign that something was wrong.

Killer cocked his head to one side with curiosity and followed his master into the kitchen.

Kirk stopped in front of the fridge, opened the double doors, and stood feeling the cold blast hit him. He closed his eyes and reveled in the cool air, then reached for a container of cold water and without even opening a cupboard door to get a glass, he downed half of it in one gulp. He closed the doors and went into the living room, taking the jug of ice-cold water with him.

Flopping down on the couch, he raised his feet and put them, shoes and all, onto the pristine coffee table. Kirk closed his eyes and breathed heavily while Killer sat watching him, wondering what was wrong with his master today.  Cocking his head to one side he watched the expressions on his master's face and determined that this was one of those days that he had better make himself scarce. He waddled into the kitchen where the ceramic tiles were slightly cooler. He took a drink from his water bowl. It was lukewarm but at least it was wet. He curled up and lay panting on the kitchen floor before he finally drifted off to sleep.

 Kirk shook his head in unbelief. It was one of “those days.” The type of day that Murphy's Law was made up of. Kirk had awakened during the early morning hours to the sound of grinding. Upon his investigation, he discovered his air conditioner on its last legs. It was coughing, sputtering, and grinding. Moments later it breathed its last and was silent. Murphy's law reigned supreme. Today the weather forecast advised a heat alert with temperatures predicted to set a national record.  In other words, it was going to be the hottest day of the summer. If that wasn’t enough trouble, his car had broken on the way home,  smoke and water pissed from the radiator hose as it limped into the service station. The garage mechanic triaged the vehicle and gestured to the long line of vehicles in front of him. It was a small enough repair but it had forced him to walk the last two miles in the unforgiving heat.  Each step made him angrier and angrier, until the last block he was seething with raw fury. His breath was coming in gasps, sweat was dripping from his brow, and his pale blue shirt was stained dark blue under his armpits. His loose tie lay limply around his neck, a testament to the heat of the day.

Kirk was generally a man who prided himself on his appearance, he was always fastidious in his personal habits.  This morning he had left his house at precisely eight o’clock, immaculately dressed in a pressed shirt and crisp tie, his belt and shoes were matching.

  It was not only his personal habits that were unparalleled. His lawn and gardens looked like they had been tended by a professional landscaper and every aspect of his house could withstand a military inspection. Regulation military corners on his bed, his closets organized to the nth degree. His kitchen cupboards were well organized, with labels all facing in the same direction. Even his garage, filled with shelves and labeled totes was worthy of being on the cover of Home and Garden Magazine. 

His cubicle down at the accounting firm was just as neat and tidy. Files were alphabetically filed and colour coded. Pencils and pens lined up in order of size and colour. His to-do list with his client's needs was itemized down to the smallest detail. He had more repeat customers than anyone else in the company. ‘A lot of good it does me,’ he thought. Today was the third time that he had been passed over for a promotion. It had gone to Ericson who had been with the company three less years than himself. He watched with eyes like daggers as Ericson strolled out of the boss's office doing a twirl of victory and a fist pump in the air. Ericson paused at Kirk’s desk and leaned over, “Sorry old man, to the victor go the spoils.” 

‘He will pay for that,’ thought Kirk, maybe not today but pay for it, he would.

Outside he heard the sound of metal on metal, a repeated bang bang, he raised his weary head and looked out the window. The banging came from the heavy hammer that the neighbour's oldest son held in his hand. He swung the hammer repeatedly striking the outlet of the fire hydrant that was situated on the corner of his front lawn. 

He immediately recognized his next-door neighbour's son, an industrial hammer held victoriously in one hand and a spanner wrench in the other. A crowd of children gathered around the hydrant dressed in bathing suits or shorts and T-shirts. With a final crash, the outlet valve was released sending torrents of water that jettisoned across the street and across his finely manicured lawn. The children shouted and laughed and some of the older boys jumped in front of the stream which sent them tumbling with the force of the stream. Mike shouted to the smaller children to move back to a safer distance and seeing the older boys tumbling in the wake of the rush of water, they heeded his warning.

 He knew the neighbour kid’s name was Mike as he often heard his father shouting at him for some reason or other while Kirk was out tending to his gardens. He had often had run-ins with Mike himself when the kid's football or basketball or soccer ball made its way onto Kirk’s property.  Mike had made it a habit of hopping the fence to retrieve the balls that often lay in his gardens on top of his precious heritage roses. On one such occasion, Kirk had witnessed the offending ball land on his pricey and rare Juliet Rose, crushing the blooms. Kirk was in his kitchen preparing vegetables at the time and saw the soccer ball fly over the fence. He quickly and effectively avenged his poor roses. He raced after the offending ball and stabbed it with the sharp knife he was holding in his hand. When Mike appeared at the top of the fence to retrieve his ball he was met by the sight of a grinning Kirk, holding his deflated ball out to him on the point of a knife. Mike had quickly retreated back to his own yard.

 Observing the noisy street party taking place outside his house, Kirk rose to his feet with a snarl and went to the door. A blast of humidity assaulted him.

“What do you think you are doing,” he shouted.

“Hi Mr. Greene, it is so hot out today.” it was Mike, the ringleader of the group who responded while the other children gasped in horror. Mr. Greene had a reputation with all the neighbourhood children. There was an unwritten rule, don’t mess with Mr. Green; don’t walk on his grass, don’t sell girl guide cookies at Mr.Greene’s door,  and never, ever go trick or treating at Mr. Greene’s house. There was an urban legend that had circulated that once upon a time, many years ago, a lone child, new to the neighbourhood, had come trick or treating at Mr. Greene’s house and had never been seen again. 

“We didn’t know you were home, your ca..ca..car was not in the driveway.” It was Mike’s younger brother who had drummed up the courage to speak.  He stuttered.” It is su…such  a hot day.”

“I am well aware of the heat. I said, what do you think you are doing?”

“Just cooling off Mr. Greene.” Mike was trying to act cool as a cucumber, he too had a reputation to uphold as leader of the rag-tag group of neighbourhood kids. He was the oldest, the smartest, the bravest, and the coolest.

A girl came running down the street carrying a slip-and-slide, a trail of flat plastic trailing behind her.

“Do not put that abomination on my property,” Kirk ordered sharply.

She quickly stuffed it behind her back. Like he couldn't see the trail of plastic trailing out behind her.

“You kids get off my property,” he shouted.

Mike turned and looked at the group of children

“Actually, Mr. Greene, none of us are actually on your property,” Mike spoke with a smirk on his face.

“This is my property and my house” roared Kirk.

“ No, I don’t think so. Technically, this is city property.”

Mike turned and looked at the children who had gathered behind him. He was not sure if they gathered in fear or support but Mike figured that many against one was always a good equation. Even if they were only kids.

“My Dad has always said that from the sidewalk to the street is city property and the fire hydrant, and all of us kids are therefore on city property and not on your property. If from the sidewalk to the curb is city property in front of our house next door, it only stands to reason that this is city property right here.” Mike folded his arms across his chest in defiance.

“You are ruining my yard,” Kirk shouted.

“ Actually, your grass probably needs to be watered, it's a hot day.”

“I know it is a hot day. You don’t have to keep telling me that. Now either plug that thing up or I am calling the cops.”

“We’re only having some fun Mr. Greene, and we will stay off your part of the lawn,” advised Mike, the other children nodded in agreement.

 Something inside Kirk snapped and he retreated inside his rapidly warming house,  a trickle of sweat rolling down his back. He appeared at the door a moment later, a shotgun in hand.