A Woman of Sunshine

Our story began during a scorching summer in the mozzie-infested, outback town of Alice Springs. I just got off the Stuart highway, seeking out a place to crash for the night. Pax was barking obnoxiously from the back of my ute – typical.

“If ya keep that up, you’ll be sleeping out ‘ere for a week” I’d said to him, but he was a stubborn collie. I took the chain from the trailer and whistled the rowdy dog along, following the concrete path towards a sign reading, ‘MOTEL – ROOMS AVAILABLE!’. There was a mustard Ford Cortina parked out front. What a hideous colour, I’d thought. When I strolled into the gloomy building, I was blinded with more yellow; a woman, golden haired with a radiant, contagious smile, who stood before the grumpy receptionist. Her dress was as much a ray of sunshine as she was, but despite her joy, it seemed Grump was denying her a room.

“They’re all taken, love.” The plump receptionist told her whilst adjusting her thin-framed glasses.

“Then how come ya sign says they aren’t, love?” I’d intervened, because I was as dog-tired as my old man seemed to be every hour of the day, and my last resort was to crash in the tray of my ute.

“Sign’s broken. Look somewhere else.” Grump didn’t even look at us as she said it. This woman of sunshine met eyes with me, and for a moment I thought wow, just wow, and when she walked out the door with one final sigh, I trailed after her like a lost pup.

“Hey lady!” I, an idiot, called to her. Ah, she was the owner of the obnoxious yellow ford. She only snorted, paying me no mind as she slid into the driver’s seat and rolled down her window. What am I doing? I’d repeated over and over in my head as I ran out in front of her car. I wouldn’t blame the woman if she’d chosen to run me over.

“Can I help you?” She poked her head out the window, eyeing me from over her rounded sunnies. No, she couldn’t, because what was I even standing here for? I’d ask myself that for the rest of the night as I laid in the tray with Pax five minutes later, reminiscing in the memory of her smile as I counted down the hours until the sun’s return.

The following day, I’d gone to the pub for lunch. They’d had one of their classic deals going, so I figured it was gonna be the cheapest option for a jobless bloke such as myself. I’d been fired from the factory a few days earlier, and got so pissy about it I’d driven here, to Alice Springs. A couple fellas entered the pub as I’d taken long swigs of beer, one of them with a laughing lady on his arm. I’d envied them, and it reminded me of the sunshine woman. I knew I needed to get a name off ‘er; couldn’t keep calling her the sunshine woman. She was just a lady who fancied the colour yellow.

“We meet again.” Scrape. A stool was pulled up beside mine, along with a blur of golds, yellows and blues. “Beer, please?” The blur, which had become the figure of a honey haired woman, asked the barman.

“We do.” I’d been terrified, why? I hadn’t a bloody clue. “Should prolly introduce myself, ay? I’m Trev.” Give me a name, I prayed.

“Nice to meet you, Trev.” The barman passed her a pint, I pulled a lighter and pack from my pocket and lit a cig. When I offered the pack to her, she ignored me.

“You got a name, lady?”

“I do.”

What would it take to get a damn name, I’d thought. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to give me her name, might’ve thought I was some creep. I kinda felt like one, ‘cause damn did she look good in those jeans.

“You like dogs, lady with an unknown name?” She looked at me then, and that’s how I got her name. Apparently, all ya gotta do to get a woman to like you is own some energetic fluff-ball that they can love more than you. So, as she’d sat in the back of the ute, givin Pax a good scruff, she’d told me about herself. Her name was Robyn, she liked to read and venture ‘round the place, her favourite colour was yellow – a shocker -, and she undoubtedly loved my dog.

That was the moment I fell in love with you, Robyn. It was like overdosing on dopamine and serotonin and every other happy hormone that exists, all at once. I only fell deeper from there.

We saw each other many times after that: at the pub or at the supermarket, when I walked the dog or when you window shopped. We’d always stay and chat, and tell each other what we planned on doin’ for that evening. One night, you invited me to the motel you were stayin in. Not the one that Grump worked in, but another that had an honest sign. I was so frantically, inescapably, entirely in love with you at that stage. The outside world whooshed by like it never existed, like it was only us in that dull little bedroom, but you never failed to make things a little brighter. You’d asked me a question that night, both of us blanketed by the dark.

“Trev…” you’d whispered.

“Sunshine?”

“Do you have family back home?”

“I moved out a while ago, my mum’s not around and my dad’s gettin there. I’ve got other family in the Blue Mountains though.” I’d said to you, and you’d asked me if I went to see them often. I said not really, and you mumbled an ‘okay’, and when I asked if you were okay you said you were fine. I’d been educated by my mother that if a woman told you she was fine, she was the opposite, but I was stupid enough to stop worrying about you. When I had to go back home, knowing I had to find a new job at some point, I’d told you to come find me. I’d given you my address, my phone number, my full name and birthday and all my favourite bush walks. I’d pecked your cheek before I hopped in the ute, let you give Pax a pat in the trailer, and I’d told you I would see you soon before I drove down the red dirt road.

The nursing home contacted me in late February, two months since I’d seen you walking down that road, and here I was believing you hadn't a care in the world to tell me you never wanted to see me again. They told me Pax wasn’t permitted to enter the home, so I had to tie him up at the gate.

“Derek?” You’d said when I walked in; I’d laughed at that. You’d mistaken me for my cousin, who you hadn’t even met yet, but I guess I’d told you enough about him when we were in Alice Springs for you to know. You did meet him that week though, when I brought my family from the Blue Mountains over. The following week, I got you a ring in a box of velvet gold. It took a little while for you to remember I was your fiancé after I proposed, but the wedding went ahead, and we drank and danced to ‘You Make Loving Fun’ because anything Fleetwood Mac was your anthem. Even Pax was there, who you sat with and let him shed hair all over your wedding dress. You hadn’t wanted the typical princess gown, instead you’d gotten a simple white dress with long bell sleeves, and you’d worn it with your favourite brown boots that wouldn’t blister your feet. Your bouquet consisted of sunflowers and baby’s breath, with a golden bow to tie it all together. My little cousin Rosie caught it when you threw the flowers to the crowd, and wouldn’t stop squealing about how a handsome bloke would give her a ring as sparkly as yours. That was the best night of our lives.

A couple weeks after our wedding, you lost the ring. The nurses had asked you if it had fallen off your finger, but you said you had no idea what ring they were talkin about. I was wrong for being angry with you that night, it was bound to happen with your condition. When I realised I wasn’t angry, only afraid, I cried in your arms and begged you not to forget me, and all you could do was stare. But I want you to know that I don’t blame you for forgetting, Sunshine. It was never your fault. So, I wrote this letter to help you.

We live in the nursing home now, as husband and wife. If I’m not at home, I’m at work, but don’t worry - I’ll be back soon, and I’ll tell you all about the adventures I had today. Pax is allowed past the gates now, so if ya look out the kitchen window, you’ll prolly see him out the back. He’d love to go for a walk with you, his leash is hanging up near the front door, and your favourite boots are there too. I love you Robyn, no matter if our story didn’t all go to plan. I will always be here, and so will this story, so you can always remember how I fell in love with you, a woman of sunshine.