There’s the rub.

Reading Time: 3 minutes

The old house on Oak Hill was drafty. It would have been more so if it hadn’t been spit and pasted together with layers of wallpaper from the inside and asbestos siding on the outside. Forget the windows. They were drafty. Probably a good arrangement in hindsight because we used open faced gas heaters to heat each room. They were the old timey ones, where you could see the flame. The ones that if you walked by the breeze concocted from your billowy nightgown around your legs could blow them out, letting the gas flow into the room. It’s a wonder, or a miracle, we weren’t asphyxiated.

I’m what you might call a window layer. No matter the season, when I was old enough to push furniture, my bed resided near a window. In the spring I watched as trails of sugar ants found their way through the cracks where the wall joists met the window frame. It summer I marveled at the sucking breeze of the big window fan as it blew across my freckled face. In the winter, the window panes of the old house would sweat and drip, freezing on cold nights, to make inside icicles upon the sill.

It was those nights, as I lay by the window, that for whatever the reason a human body