Sunshine on My Shoulder

Sunshine on My Shoulder

By: Tanya Larsen

The sun bore down unrelenting, highlighting every crack and crevice in the dry earth Below. The only moisture to be had were the sparse droplets of sweat gathering at his bushy brow. It was wetter here than in his mouth, where his slightly swollen tongue held residence. He wondered if cracks would begin to appear on his tongue as they appeared on the rain barren earth on which he had been walking for what seemed an eternity.

Mathers would not allow himself to do the desert cliché and look up into the sun as if that would change anything. He would, however, afford himself a quick glance forward to see if he were any closer to civilization of any kind and just saw more sand. He was down to his boxers and undershirt at this point, not caring if he froze to death during the harsh night. He no longer cared that his too small undershirt which barely covered his expansive midriff. He no longer cared that his previously too white legs and knees jiggled with every step. He felt he was still vaguely doing well as what did bother him was the fact that his socks were uneven and sand covered, sticking out of his dress shoes.

He chuckled slightly and hated the hoarse, crackling sound as it escaped his dried, alligatored lips.

It had been five days, that he could remember. Five days of wandering the desert. Mathers had never been so happy to see his wife's dry banana bread in his life. He had also come to appreciate her weak lemonade which was also part of the 'Hunny Kit', as she called it.

He would leave for one of his quarterly road trips to Marchet for it's luxurious,

golf filled hotel and she would make him a 'Hunny Kit' which consisted of banana bread she had spent all day baking (which he hated), a gallon of what he thought was lemon flavored water but knew was her version of lemonade which she considered too sweet, various granola bars (to keep him regular since she knew his diet was not healthy when he traveled) and an odd assortment of leftovers in a little cooler that she hoped he would choose over the high fat and high sodium hotel food.

The cooler never had a chance, even in the air conditioned car. He had tried many times to talk her out of it citing everything from it being a waste since he couldn't eat it all in time to trying to get her to at least make something that would last. It never registered with her. She was set in her ways, and was under the delusion that the world had changed course to follow them.

Once the car's tire had rolled for the last time before flub, flub flubbing flat against the sandy shoulder, he knew she had been right about the cell phone. He hated those darn things. But, knowing it was a necessary evil, he had kept it with him fully charged at the ready. She had wanted him to get one of those fancy protection boxes to keep it safe, even if it fell into the john. And had he gotten one, his now cracked and broken cell phone would have possibly have been much more helpful. His knee still pulsated with the thin cut he received when he went down to inspect his tire.

Everything had gone wrong. From the bolts breaking during the tire change, to the phone to the maps app on the phone that had led him here, against his better judgment, that this was a shortcut. It had apparently been offline for a while and had been spitting out random nonsense leading him to wherever the hell he ended up. Damn, technology.

And now, here he was, six days in, five walking. No water, no food and no idea of where he was headed. He had to, finally, just pick a random direction and begin walking. Lifting his left, ringed hand up to his head, he ran it over his balding head carefully, blistered and burned from lack of protection. He brought his hand down and found himself licking up the last few droplets of sweat from his shaking hand.

No mirages. He had hoped for a few, at least. Would have made for at least a bit of break in the monotony; some form of amusement. Preferably one involving a hot to trot blonde and a pool. His girlfriend would be worried by now, with no one to call to check on his whereabouts. Connie would begin worrying around Saturday evening as she was under the impression he had limited phone access (and time) once at the conference. Truth was, he didn't want her hearing the amazing lovemaking that his girlfriend was capable of.

He did love his wife, she was just...a wife. Marion, though... wow. Even in his exhausted, near death state, he knew it was wrong, but got excited by the thought, just the same.

A beeping noise had been ringing steady for some time in his ears, but as of yet, he could not place it's location. It seemed to come from in his head and the sky all at the same time. The sun became too hot, the sand to thick to tread. The world turned white hot and drowned out his vision. And then nothing.

“Marion....Marion...” Mathers mumbled deliriously. Connie just sat by and held his hand. She hoped, prayed that on at least one occasion he would utter her name. 46 years of marriage and she was not unreasonable to expect that, at the very least.

Nurses came and went, checking Mathers' stats, alertness, etc.. She hated the generic ICU room with its gray walls and unassuming windowless, monotonous decor, but assumed they did not get many complaints. She knew it was early but could not sleep. That's how she had wound up here in the first place. Anonymous flowers had arrived at the house the evening before and she knew it would be from the very woman her husband called for now. Connie had run a quick comb through her hair after hours of sleepless tossing in their marital bed and headed for the hospital.

There he lay, white as a sheet. She wondered if he was dreaming of all the things he had hoped to do to her when he got to convention. She sighed. She knew he had been going to her for years, but had become numb to it. He was a good man, provided well and had not forgotten an anniversary or birthday in all their married life. He no longer fancied her, that she understood. She had not taken care of herself as she probably should have. She had allowed her hair to gray where others had dyed theirs into unnatural colors. She had a muffin top that she wore sweaters to try to hide while others took up yoga. Her cooking was subpar and her bread always flat, just as she was. She felt that with all that, for him to stay showed that she meant something to him. And she would take that over being alone and ending up with a hundred cats any day.

The nurse came in once more to check on him and announced that his fever had finally broke. She informed Connie that she would tell the doctor and he would be in shortly after rounds, more than likely. His knee had been swollen up to twice its size after having caught tetanus from the fence in the garden. Coming out to find him flayed out across the walk had frightened her immensely. Connie immediately thought stroke or heart attack. His bag was laying in the dirt of the flower bed and he had fallen holding his knee. She had known it was cut, but Mathers was not one to go on about injuries.

The good doctor explained his delirium was more than likely the cause for why he thought he was going on a trip that day, when in reality it wasn't for another month. She hoped that was the case. Although, she wondered...

As she sat by his side, she wondered what he was thinking, dreaming of. She stood to stretch out her aching back. She glanced down at her husband once more and then turned out of the room and headed for the hall. Her anxiety raised whenever she stepped out there. The incessant beeping from every angle; the constant click and talking from intercom to intercom calling for codes and doctors.

Walking down to the bank of elevators was her only reprieve. A window overlooking the city was there that she came to often. Yet, this morning as she watched, the sun began its daily ascent and colors ablaze took her breath away all over again. Light tipped the silver, gleaming buildings and alerted the city it was time to awaken.

Mathers loved the sun. She wished he was here, with her, to see it.