On One’s Land

I once asked my dad: If someone laid down on the pavement in Tucson on a July afternoon, how long could they survive? He said two, maybe three, hours. I’d never known a heat that could kill as quickly as the cold does in Boston, where I’m from. Dad grew up in Tucson. He knows both.

I followed his wake to Tucson for grad school last fall, and the heat broke my thoughts. I’d known to expect it, but there’s mind knowing, and there’s body knowing. At orientation, we stood outside during the session breaks. Most days, I bought a bottled water from the vending machine. I don’t usually buy water—wasteful—but I bought the condensation dripping off the plastic, the toothaching chill of the first gulp. I needed