No one has grass in their yard in Phoenix, because it dies. So people have gravel. I used to visit my Grandma in Phoenix in the 90s and I still remember all the shades of beige in her neighborhood, stucco houses with white fences and yards full of dusty pebbles. The only color in the suburbs was the electric blue of everyone’s chlorinated swimming pool.
I remember the oppressive heat; the first flight I ever took alone was a flight to Phoenix - back when they still gave you metal airplane wings to wear on your tee shirt and a McDonald’s Happy Meal on board; in that pre-911 oasis, my mom walked me to the gate and I walked down the jet bridge feeling like an independent woman for the first time. When I landed my grandma picked me up in her silver Toyota Celica and gave me a Phoenix Suns hat; it was required by law that summer to wear a hat outdoors and to always bring water with you.
I was a chubby kid, and a Tom boy, and I can still picture the baby fat in my armpits, a baggy tank top draped over me, at the grocery store with my grandma’s Virginia slim cigarettes burning in her opposite hand, I wondered how she could possibly breathe in hotter air than we already were. A fire burning in between her fingers and filling her lungs; I can still see her face, a little rubbery from the Phoenix sun and her red-dyed hair. She smiled at me and in the moments that she smiled, she was beautiful. Our refuge was her smoke-filled kitchen, air conditioned until ice cold. The funny thing about hot places is they cool down the inside so much you need a sweater.
I ate yogurt that we’d freeze with popsicle sticks in it. Bing cherry Dannon was my favorite. The cups were large; they’d last a while. I still remember the shape of my grandfather’s hand: her second husband, his name was Harry and he always wore a cowboy hat. He had stubby fingers and dirty fingernails and I remember the way he looked at me when he was filling up the gas. It’s so hot, it always felt bleak.
This is all to say I've never properly dealt with the deaths of my grandparents, and I didn't realize that until I flew over Phoenix today. It’s funny the things we do when we get old - like move to Phoenix because it’s warm, but it’s so warm you spend your life indoors, in an air conditioned living room watching reruns of Price is Right.