From the day
Perspective: The Teenager · Tactile
The July heat is thick enough to choke a horse, making my heavy wool trousers chafe against my legs, but I feel fit as a fiddle now that I’ve wrestled the latest Meccano set from my kid brother. The cold, jagged edges of the zinc-plated strips and the greasy slick of the tiny brass bolts are far more satisfying than watching the dust settle on the parlor floor. Stamping my feet to the jaunty, brassy rhythm of "Blaze Away" blaring from the neighbor’s new gramophone, I try to ignore the grisly chatter about that trolley accident in Yonkers. I'd much rather focus on the smooth, painted enamel of my Lionel train car, imagining it racing far away from this stifling house.