September Sunshine (standard:drama, 2259 words)
Author: K. Derby	Added: Jan 01 2004	Views/Reads: 9028/2340	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
How would you react if you were told you were going to die?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

entirely clear:  she needed me to do some work around the house and I 
wasn't going to be able to relax.  Screw her.  I was done with her 
whining and nagging. 

"A doctor called for you, he said to call back, it's urgent." 

I ignored her rampant curiosity as I went upstairs and tossed a few
clothes into a duffel bag.  I was traveling light, not wanting to be 
burdened by any reminders of my life here. 

I reached into my nightstand and felt around underneath the top, where I
had taped my bank account pass book.  My secret stash, my getaway 
money.  Collected over the years, one small amount at a time, laundered 
through the petty pilferings of small change I could accumulate from 
groceries and last minute purchases at convenience stores. 

It was thirty thousand dollars.  Scraped together, a dollar at a time,
over twenty years of marriage. 

And I knew what she would do if she found it.  She'd want to spend it on
new furniture to replace the old stuff.  Or some family vacation to a 
southern resort. Or maybe she'd insist on using it to pay down the 
monstrous debt, accumulated while sending the eldest leech through 
university. 

No way.  It was mine. 

I stashed the evidence of my secret hoard deep into the duffel,
listening to her mindless prattlings still coming from the kitchen.  It 
had gotten that I knew what she was going to say before she said it.  
She was predictable. 

I took a last look at the bedroom, practically gagging on the stench of
her perfume.  Soon I wouldn't be smelling that odor anymore.  Jauntily, 
I walked down the stairs, every step bringing me closer to the door and 
the freedom that I craved. 

"I'm making pot roast, your favourite, be back soon," she said
approaching me, probably wanting a kiss. 

I had no use for her kisses.  That desire had fled me shortly after our
wedding night.  Drunken need, not passion, had spawned the other two 
children.  I counted those two episodes as personal failings - 
something to be examined relentlessly for lessons to be learned. 

I told her that I wouldn't be back and that I had reached my limit for
her and her foul brood.  The expression on her face was worth it, 
letting her in on my plans.  I slammed the door and practically skipped 
to my car. 

I drove to the mall that I usually frequent.  It was close to work and
my routine was to have lunch in the food court there.  That was where I 
would start my new life, short as it would be. 

As luck would have it, Sandy was still working at the muffin shop.  I
asked her if she could take a break and she said that she could.  I sat 
at our usual table, waiting for her to finish off with a customer. 

Now I don't want you to get the wrong impression, I hadn't cheated on my
wife, though you probably wouldn't blame me if I had.  Sandy and I were 
in the habit of having lunch together, on the odd occasion when her 
shifts allowed it. 

She was about ten years younger than me, slightly plump, but her
expressive eyes and massive chest made you ignore that.  The important 
thing is, and I need to stress this, is that I loved her. 

She didn't know that, and quite frankly, it wasn't important that she
did, but I knew, and that's all that I needed. 

I told her that I had left my wife and that I wanted to sleep with her. 
 I let her know that I would pay one thousand dollars for that 
privilege. 

At first she was shocked, but I knew that it was just an act because she
didn't have much money and could really use the thousand to take care 
of her three kids. 

As an aside, I'd like to point out that the three kids, different
fathers for each one, were still young, but old enough not to be a big 
distraction.  They sounded like brats, but she seemed to like them. 

Not that I wanted her kids anyway.  Not that they'd be a distraction
either because I knew that she disposed of them with various and sundry 
grandparents for most of the time. 

She agreed, surprising me with the quickness of it.  We went to her
apartment and went at it like wild animals. 

The next morning, she demanded payment for the previous night and we
drove to the bank together.  I could tell that I had made an impression 
on her, because when we left the bank she was holding me very close and 
asking if I wanted to spend another night with her. 

Since that was part of my plan, I agreed. 

We were interrupted during the afternoon by my daughter.  Somehow she
had found out where I was, and I dimly recalled taking her to the mall 
to have coffee one day while she was buying school supplies.  She must 
have seen Sandy then.  Oh well. 

As usual, she was dressed like a sleaze, her tight jeans and T-shirt
advertising her easiness for anyone willing to spare a glance.  I 
wouldn't have been surprised if she had some guy hoping to score 
waiting for her downstairs. 

She tearfully asked that I come back home and informed me that Mother,
my useless shrewish wife, was devastated by my departure and would do 
anything to have me come back.  She personally begged me to return 
home, for her sake if not the rest of the family's. 

I took great pleasure in slamming the door in the tramps' face as I went
back to the open arms of my one true love. 

After that second day, and after having paid for several days in
advance-  going to the bank was getting kind of tiresome, I let Sandy 
in on the fact of my immediate demise. 

This was at lunch, in some cheap diner, and I guess she thought I was
trying to get some sympathy from her because she wanted me to make love 
to her on the spot.  That's assuming I read the expression on her face 
and the movements of her hands on my thighs right. 

I made her wait until we got back to her place.  To her kitchen.  On the
tiled floor to be precise. 

After, she confessed to having some money problems and, gosh, wouldn't
it be nice if I just gave her what was left of my thirty thousand.  
That way, she rationalized, we wouldn't have to waste any of my 
precious time by going to the bank.  It made sense, of course, because 
it would take a lot of time to get dressed every day, driving and 
lining up and all of that. 

We made one final trip to the bank to get the cash, which I gave to her
on the spot, much to the disapproval of the bank manager - Bob.  He 
took me into his office and asked me what I thought I was doing. 

Another aside.  Bob and I had gone to university together and, while I
never really liked him, my shrew did, and he was always being invited 
to parties and barbecues at my former house.  He obviously considered 
himself my friend. 

I told him to go to hell. 

When we got back to Sandy's place, my eldest son the jock, who seemed to
have sobered up enough to stand upright, was waiting for us at the 
front door of her apartment. 

He also begged that I come home and that my former-and I'd like to
stress that- former wife was desperate.  He claimed that it was a 
mistake, the doctor had called and explained something to the shrew, 
and that I needed to call the doctor and talk to him. 

Oddly enough, he seemed to know Sandy, claiming to have met her at some
party or other.  He pulled me aside and told me that she was nothing 
but a sleaze. 

I felt a great deal of pleasure as I broke his weasely nose. 

After he had gone, Sandy told me that she needed to run some errands and
left, promising to come back soon. 

Frankly, I was glad for the break- I was still kind of sore from the
floor episode - and took the time to call the doctor. 

I assumed that he was wanting to talk to me about my refusal of
chemotherapy, how I should take every chance given to me, but I was 
surprised when he told me that the lab results had gotten mixed up. 

It turns out that I wasn't dying after all. 

When Sandy got back, I broke the good news to her, finding it surprising
when she didn't react joyously, the way that I thought she should.  
Instead, she told me to go out into the lobby as there was a surprise 
waiting for me.  It was funny, but I thought that I heard the door lock 
behind me. 

The surprise turned out to be that there was no surprise at all. 

*** 

I stood outside in the dull September light, a bitter breeze -  a
foretaste of winter to come-  was whipping my hair.  Looking down, I 
saw the plain brown box weighing heavily in my hand. 

A plain brown box, not too big, nothing special, except that, inside, it
contained a simple fact: I was going to die. 

I stepped away from the gun shop and walked towards my car. 


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