An excerpt from Temperature Check, an Adult thriller featuring Kara, a 22-year old recluse whose life is changed overnight when she is the subject of a viral video, setting off a domino-effect of events.

I put on thick corduroys and a wool argyle sweater, grabbed a blanket and my clunky black plastic sunglasses and headed to the park. My mother said the sunglasses made it look like I belonged on the short bus the first time she saw them, proceeding the hearty squawk she made when I knew she was particularly tickled. I stopped wearing them for two days after that comment. Then I realized that the glasses made me feel safe—not only from the pulsating rays of the sun, but from the eyes of others.

I made it to the park at about 11:30 am, just before peak daybreak and the typical crowd began to gather. At this time it was other unemployed folks like myself, and touring groups of pimply blonde high schoolers from Scandinavian countries toting bags from the Times Square Footlocker or Zara, laughing and gossiping amongst each other while their gray haired chaperone sheepishly herded them along. The stay at home wives of Wall Street’s finest pushed strollers along the park’s perimeter and competed with other thin, box-shaped women and their tiny white and brown dogs to see who could complete the six-mile loop around the park’s perimeter the fastest, their Caribbean nannies doting alongside them. Chinese grandparents gathered for tai-chi. Frazzled young women and the occasional young man led groups of preschoolers through the park, all linked by a stretchy length of rope, as if they were being guided on a safari. 

I moved to New York City last year at the age of 22. I had spent the last four years slowly cracking at my associate’s degree at the county-wide community college, spending my time between the classroom and my movie theater job, where I swept popcorn from under velvet mauve cushions and picked at Subway sandwiches while my coworkers smoked weed in the neighboring church parking lot. 

I lived in a studio in Harlem, paid for by my mom. “Just until I can find a job,” I said to her, even though we both knew my effort in applying to jobs would be minimal and she had more than enough money funneled away to support us until either one of us died. It’s not like I was asking to be put in Park Avenue townhouse or anything obscene like that. I lived on the fourth floor of a walk up, with hallways so long and narrow I questioned how any of my furniture would get inside. Old R&B tracks, slamming car doors, and whooping shouts and laughs floated up to my window from the street below, filling the air around me like a hug.

The ritual began as follows. I woke up at 8 AM on the dot after a blissful and deep sleep ranging anywhere from ten to thirteen hours. I had done away with my alarm clock after graduation and figured this was my body’s natural resting point. I spend the next hour preparing for the day ahead. I began with a series of stretches, a child’s pose into down-dog into a forward bend into tadasana then eagle pose back into child’s pose, repeated three times and topped off with another forward bend. I had a glass of water, brushed my teeth, cooked breakfast. Two fried eggs, multigrain toast, and a banana. No coffee or tea. Caffeine didn’t really seem like a habit worth taking on, like cigarettes or drinking alcohol. 

I sat at the round table in the corner of my apartment, about ten feet away from my bed. I stared out the window and made my way through breakfast, observing the children walking towards the subway station for school, the grandmothers walking their dogs, the men and women in uniforms heading to work. 

Of course I made exceptions to my rules. Weekends, for one, were a no-go. Too many sunbathers and picnic-ers and bluetooth speakers and eyes. Rainy days were out of the question, too. I never understood people who enjoyed rain.  

I’m not sure when the idea for my project first came about but it felt like a good use of time. I’m soaking in vitamins, I told myself. This is nature’s SAD lamp. A DIY sauna, if you will. 

I made a habit of planting myself in the middle of Sheep’s Meadow in the heaviest clothes I could wear without effectively passing out on the subway or the sidewalk. Never on rainy days, though, I wasn’t crazy. 

I sat in one spot, facing the twin peaks of the San Remo. I let the sun penetrate my soul. I baked in my clothing, beads of sweat traveling down my body and collecting in cool layers between my rolls of stomach fat. I questioned my existence, softly cursing and moaning aloud. 

Then the earth would rotate and the sun rolled down from its mantel. The trees and skyscrapers casted long shadows across the park starting small then gradually stretching forward, and the sweet relief of the shade fell over me. It felt spiritual. I felt cleansed. It felt like I had survived. 

Until I didn’t.

Process

I have been obsessed with Otessa Moshfegh’s writing since I picked up “My Year of Rest and Relaxation” from the New York Public Library in the Spring of 2023. I loved that the language was simple yet her characters’ and their stories were both powerful and relatable, in a dark, raw, and funny kind of way. It was the first time in a long time a book actually made me want to write creatively again! The inspiration for the plot of Temperature Check came from my own experience in Central Park in the wrong clothing on an unexpectedly hot day –you want to enjoy the nice weather, but it almost feels like torture. Until the sun sets and you decide it was ultimately worth it. I was moved by the sensation of moving from physical pain to relief and was inspired to capture that feeling on the page. And thus, Temperature Check was born.