The oxygen swam into my lungs, suffocating them with moisture the instant my foot crossed the threshold between the plane and the jetway. The hot air enveloped my being, following me around like an ominous cloud. Even wearing the least amount of clothing possible, the air still poured into my body and seeped out in the form of moisture. It was about ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit with 100 percent humidity. Hot enough to make the seemingly pore-less person drip sweat within a matter of minutes. To be exact, it was the amount of time it took to walk from the plane to the air conditioning. I timed it. The model in front of me had armpit stains the size of grapefruits by the time she reached the middle of the jetway, and by the time she reached the end, it looked as if she had stepped out of a steam room.

I was a long way from Chatham. One thousand, five-hundred, and sixty-two miles too many.

I was standing outside, waiting for my father to pick me up and take me back to the overly air conditioned building I called my house. Home was too kind a term. Home was one thousand, five-hundred, and sixty-two miles away. Home was where I could wear makeup without looking like a raccoon by the day’s end. Home was where I did not have to taste the sweat that seeped into the seam of my lips within minutes of being in the presence of the sun.

Our overly priced car passed the movie theater on the drive home. The parking garage was filled with cars even more expensive than ours, and the sidewalks were buzzing with people dressed in thousand dollar outfits. Of course, all on their way to see a movie in extravagant leather seats accompanied by exorbitantly priced wine in their cup-holders. Silverspot was a poor substitute for the quaint Orpheum, which was full with two theaters and people watching movies in sweats as if they were in their own living room.

By the time I reached my house, it was time for Florida’s daily rainstorm, or rather, hurricane. The dark clouds hovered just inches above the streetlights, making almost a tunnel of gray, and the rain pummeled the tops of the cars. The constant gloom made you dream of the sun, and made you wish you were dripping sweat. It was the underworld, or the closest I will ever come to it.

I counted every raindrop that dripped down my window, hopelessly awaiting the sun. Eventually, I gave up. Any hope that I had was lost.

What a long way from Chatham I was. It was a faint memory by then, sunny Lighthouse Beach, where there wasn’t a raindrop in sight, and not a cloud in the sky. One thousand, five-hundred, and sixty-two miles too far from home.