Arena

It’s true. I swear. I remember when you were allowed to drive a car—even a four-wheel drive that emitted more than 200 grams of CO₂ per kilometre, even if you were the only one in it, even if you could have caught a bus—all day, and only pay for petrol. No fines, no charges.

As for planes, if you had the cash you could fly as often as you liked—no records were kept—and often there were empty seats. There was even this thing we called ‘first class’, where you could pay for twice as much space as all the other passengers.

A few summers ago, my grandmother saw me look twice at a dress in a department store and made me try it on. It was dusty blue and sleeveless. Its high neck fastened with a button above an open back. One sash wrapped halfway round the waist; one emerged as if by magic from a slit. I tied them in a bow against my hip. From the waist to just below the knee, generous folds of fabric flowed. When I walked, they swished against my skin. I didn’t want to take it off. Last summer, I wore that dress so often that I joked it was my ‘summer uniform’…