In the Shade -- flash fiction

image from globalwanderings.co.uk

It wasn't the desert that killed Jack. It was the city.

Too many morning alarms so he could be at work on time. Too many days at work. Too many people he only knew by names on the screen and phone-call complaints. People with too many problems and too few solutions. Solutions they would resist anyway. Too many phone calls.

How could she have forgotten her phone? She never went anywhere without it. Damned car. Poor old thing. She'd call Trenary Towing when she got home. A walk would do her good.

Living in the desert, they woke up when they woke up. Usually before the sun came in the bedroom window. A window with blinds closed on summer days to keep out the heat. Open every night, rain or shine, so they could watch the sky. A sky so dark they could travel the stars back to the beginning of the Universe.

Walking in the early afternoon sun, she missed the dark. Heat shimmered across the macadam ahead of her. Only three miles to the house.

Jack had insisted on a wrap-around porch. For shade. Even in the winter, the sun would send him into his chair in the shade.

They walked in the city. Not every day, but some days for miles. The buildings confined the sky to a strip no wider than the street. And the wind blew all the time, moving up and down the streets, in and out of the alleyway tunnels. Kicking up odd bits of paper and grit. With all that concrete, where did the grit come from?

Out here, as far as she could see in any direction, was all the grit in the world but no wind. Not this afternoon. Not a whiff of moving air. A bright pink string fit snugly under her chin. She would not lose her hat if the wind did blow. A hat provided the only shade between there and home. On a day like this it could save her life. Of course, a breeze would be nice.

There were hills in the city. Not steep or particularly noticeable with the buildings and trees. Except when they walked. Walking, she knew where the hills were. Even if she didn't notice the extra effort needed going up, she felt the relief coming down.

Desert terrain was more subtle. When she first came there with Jack, she thought the road was flat and straight for as far as she could see. And Jack always said "you can see as far as you can look."

Even now she couldn't see the house. The road rose gradually to the west. So gradually that she never noticed it in the car, but she could feel it now. Maybe she was getting too old to live in the desert.

In the city, there were always people. Day and night. She never adopted the trick of avoiding eye-contact. She connected with people on the street, fleetingly most of the time, but comfortable.

Growing up in a largish town, she enjoyed knowing some of her neighbors, but didn't miss knowing all of them like she might have had she grown up in a small town. She found it surprising and fun when she ran into someone she knew on the street in the city.

She knew all the people likely to come down the road in the desert that hot afternoon. All four or five of them. Most of them'd still be in town at work. Or finishing their lunch in the air-conditioned comfort of home. There'd be no "Hey, Miz O. What you doin' walkin' this time o' day?" The letter carrier wouldn't come through until after three.

There'd be no ride today. She was glad she wore her good walking shoes. And it wasn't that much farther.

In the city people sounds were everywhere. Horns honking, people murmuring to each other or shouting at each other. They talked on their phones. Music tumbled out of the bars, and trucks rumbled through the streets. Even birdsong. Sparrows were everywhere.

In the desert, especially in the heat of the day, it was quiet. Nothing to hear but her thoughts.

Unlike in the winter when the city and its people were drab and dark, in the summer the city's sights were almost a visual assault. People's clothes were a jumble of design and color. Eye catching signs were everywhere -- "Est'd 1907" carved in stone, orange flashing numbers counting down seconds left to safely cross the street, garish Going Out of Business signs, small neon signs discretely naming an upscale restaurant or club.

Signs in the desert were more discreet. Tiny tracks in the sand. Three toed prints of birds. A sinuous line left by a snake. A lizard's toes on either side of a line. But in the heat of the afternoon not much moved to leave tracks or signs. Life sought shade.

She stopped at the side of the road for another drink from her water bottle. Her car was always properly stocked for life in the desert. And she was still hydrated well enough to sweat. A good sign of life in the desert. She'd learned that from Jack. Sweat was the body's natural evaporative cooling and in that heat she could use whatever cooling there was to be had. She walked on.

She should have taken the car in for an oil change last week. They would have checked the engine like the warning light said to. But it wasn't flashing yet. Didn't she have until it flashed for problems to be eminent? Jack, Jack. Would she ever get used to doing the things he always did?

Still, she was in pretty good shape. "For the shape she was in," Jack would have added, then laughed.

She topped the rise and there it was. Her house with Jack's wrap-around porch and a chair in the shade.