He looked up at the blue sky over the garage roof and pointed his muddy thumb straight at the sun.

Six months of late-summer heat had settled over the red soil of Tulsa by the time August came.

The kitchen stayed cool under the ceiling fan while the cast-iron skillet sizzled on the burner.

I poured thick batter onto the hot iron and carefully shaped the edges into the spiky tail of a stegosaurus.

Benji sat on his wooden stool at the laminate counter, swinging his legs against the rungs.

“My teacher says kindergarten’s got real desks,” Benji said.