I hadn’t had to run my heat until that night. The warmth of the apartments below and to the sides of me was enough to coax the temperature to comfortable. But three weeks after moving to Charlotte, the wind began to carry with it a licking chill. The sky hardly changed from the time the sun had fully risen until it began to dismiss itself. The white sea never parted, nor indicated its tide. It made me wonder where this wind came from. What sort of wind comes though without moving the clouds along?
The baseboard heat dried the air. Walking from one room to the next I would meet a pocket of it and instantly my face would feel singed. The blood in my cheeks raged to the surface too quickly, and I felt the sensation to scratch it with my cool fingertips. I found it impossible to homogenize the air in the small place. If I left the heat on as I slept I woke up sweating. Without it, though, that night I would have frozen in stillness.