In the shade of the Cactus Country bathhouse, I lay against the cool brick path with my hands in the air, watching blood seep from my split knuckles. Tucson's dry climate was hard on a body. By early afternoon, with the sun at its highest point in the sky, the playground's metal monkey bars could sear blisters onto my fingers. The black rubber of the cracked tire swing felt like sitting on a campfire...
I scratched at my ashen arms until they stung red and raw, aching in an almost pleasant way. Since the boy's family left, there had been no other children in the park to run or play or fight with. Nothing for me to do on long hot days like this but sweat it out in the shade until the sun went down.
After each strip, I glanced down from the paper and across the street, checking to see if Mom had come out of the Airstream to look for me yet. Our new home on wheels reminded me of an airplane, with interior storage compartments that folded up like overhead bins, cockpit-style bay windows at the front and back of its rounded ends...
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