The Sun Shines This Way

Matthew imagined that today would be his last. He lay in his hospital bed and stared at the two peaks that were his feet under the white bed cover. They seemed distant and detached”maybe they were false feet and his real ones were safe in some contraption to fool a non-existent audience. Then a magician would come and split his body in half. He could hear the gasps of the crowd and the sneer of a few skeptics. The skeptics were right”his feet were still his own.

A beam of sunlight filled the room as the clouds parted, adding a spark of beauty to every object it touched. He swung his face toward the light and fought the desire to squint. This was his last sun and he wanted to enjoy it, but the clouds closed in again and the room became dim, leaving behind a gray morning.

A young nurse came in with a clipboard and smiled at him.

"Good morning, she said.
"Good morning, he responded in an unclear voice made rusty from not talking.
"Did you sleep well?
"It was alright. I don't hurt anymore, he said. "I just feel numb all over.
Her smile faded. "Yes, I know, she said.
For a minute she checked the equipment that read his vital signs and then injected medicines into the tubes that extended from his wrist.
"Could you sit up for me? she asked.
Matthew strained to pull his body upright and groaned.
"Cough into this cup for me three times.
Matthew drew a breath of hospital scented air and shot it back. The coughing became uncontrollable and he filled the cup with saliva, mucus, and blood.
The nurse placed a napkin over his mouth and drew his head back.
"It's O.K., she said, "you're alright. The coughing stopped and the pain inside his chest subsided.
"Now just lay back and rest. I'll bring some juice for you in a few minutes. She took the cup, sealed it, labeled it, bagged it, and left the room.

In the silence of the room he began to replay events of his childhood, a practice he had become accustomed to doing in the last two weeks that he was sick. When he closed his eyes he was no longer Matthew Saunders, patient 1539A of room 32B, he was the nine-year old Air Captain of the American Airforce. He sat in a large television box and surveyed the Atlantic which was the living room floor. The flaps of the box were the wings of the plane and he tilted them to either side whenever he made sharp turns. The afternoon sun lit the Atlantic and today it looked like the skies were clear.

"No troubles today, the child said. He tilted the cardboard flaps and leaned against the side of the box. "I'll haf to go back home.

But not all of the thought was pleasant. His mother entered through the front door in apparent distress. Her bright skin was now dull and her features hung downward.

"Come on Matty, we have to leave, she said lifting him out of the television box.
"But where, mommy?
"Away. We're leaving here, she said, sniffling and wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. His younger sister and brother, twins, stood at the door with their thumbs in their mouths, much too young to understand the rapidly changing world around them. Matthew's father stood at the other side of the hall that led to the front door and watched them with his arms locked across his chest and a stern expression set in his face. His mother carried his sister and led his brother by the hand to the door.

"Come on, Matty, she said.

Matthew stood by the door and stared back across the hall at his father. For once his father did not look upon him tenderly, with respect for his son's youth and innocence. Instead, his expression was cold. Matthew knew that if he ever saw his father again that it would be infrequent and under the restrictions of the law. Even as a child he felt that his world was changing at a painful pace.

------------------------------------------------

When he opened his eyes, tears ran loose. Life could be cruel”of that he was sure, and now he felt better about death.

Then there was a sound at the door and his wife walked in with a proud expression upon her face and a cup of juice in her hands. She walked to his bedside, placed the cup on a table with some of his most pleasant possessions, and kissed him. Lifting her head away she left a tear on his nose and she rushed to wipe it off and kissed him again.

With the little strength he had he placed his hand in hers and they coalesced.

"The nurse says that you're fighting it.
"I don't feel like I am.
"But you are and there's hope, she said. Her voice broke on the last word. "You wouldn't leave me in that house? she sobbed. "To be by myself for God knows how long. I can't live that way, Matthew.
"I don't think I can win, Anna, he said without pain.

Her grief got the best of her and she sobbed with her face in her hands. After a minute, she drew her face away and wiped it clean. She got up from the chair by the bed and walked to the window. The clouds opened up and the sun illuminated the contours of her face.

'She is beautiful,' he thought. They had shared good times together and had outlasted all of their friends in marriage. He closed his eyes again and imagined Anna's life if he died today.

But instead he could only see his mother sitting on the front porch and staring into the morning sun, drowning in her loneliness while Matthew watched from the field. He played with his siblings who had grown old enough to talk. They scooped sand from the sand box in old mugs and poured it into the grass. The wind would lift the sand away, erasing their progress but the twins found this funny and enjoyable.

"It's a ghost, they laughed, and then poured out more sand.

By now he had reached the age of 13 and nothing in his life seemed to make sense. He looked back at his mother from the field and prayed that she could find happiness again in life, and he made plans to be a better child, to help out taking care of the twins, and even getting a job at Mr. Bakers bicycle shop now that they no longer had their father's income to support them, except for the small checks every now and then. He saw a tear fall from his mother's eye, or at least her swift motion to wipe it away.

If he didn't try to live, he would be forcing Anna into the same lonely life that he had struggled to help his mother overcome.

Suddenly, he felt someone shaking him by the shoulder and shouting his name. He opened his eyes and saw his wife staring down at him.

"I thought you were gone, she cried.
"I was only making plans, Anna.
"Plans for what? she asked.
"For when I get better and we can live happily again.

Anna began to choke tears of joy.