Finding somewhere to park on a Saturday afternoon in downtown El Paso is no minor feat. I roll the window down in my tin can car and let the warm breeze cool my sweat as I wait at the red light. Heat rises from the cement, and the feet of the men and women crossing the street in front of me sizzle in the blistering waves that make me thirsty.
When I find a spot and step into the heavy sun, I feel my clothes peeling from my back and thighs. The friction of walking into the busy crowd warms my body further, and as I pull my woolen hair into a bun, my elbows bump the sticky shoulders of the women talking loudly to their daughters. The shops compete for the pedestrians; young girls with big smile scream for you to step on in, step on in.
Children cry and reach with filthy fingers for the candy dripping from the silver carts at every corner. As I stand at one of these and reach into the sloshed ice to pull out a glistening bottle of water, I feel the steam from the ice evaporate against my skin. The water vanishes with a sizzle on my tongue at first, then finally small, cool river reaches my throat, my teeth freeze, my pores rise. I press the fogged plastic against my forehead and feel the loose stands of hair hug the bottle as I pay the young man who won’t look me in the eye. The cold sweat of the bottle mingles with the heat of my own and rolls over my temple and cheek, slips off of my chin, and disappears into the yellow sidewalk. I feel strong enough now, I think, to brave the heavy sun for one more block.
