by Maureen Winemiller
“Mr. Sunshine” is an honorable mention in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2024 Fall Fiction Contest.
Walter Schmidt hurried up the cement path that led to the modest bungalow on Pine Street. He had lived in the run-down house for almost forty years and knew the walkway like the back of his hand. He knew where the pavement was broken and uneven, where tree roots, now long dead, had cracked the cold, hard stone desperately trying to push themselves into the light. Clumps of grass and weeds used to grow in between the seams of the cement, but they were long gone now, too. Growing up, his mother had hated the audacity of those weeds. They were an unsightly blight she’d say. But now, as Walter looked at the naked pavement under the harsh glow of halogen lights, he couldn’t help but miss the unruly clods of crabgrass and stubborn dandelions that had always managed to call even the most inhospitable soil home. Those were all distant memories now—the smell of fresh-cut grass, making a wish as dandelion seeds scattered in the breeze, even mother, God rest her soul. Though, Walter wondered if maybe it was for the best that she wasn’t around to see what had become of everything.
From a yard adjacent the path, Walter could hear the Paterson children playing. The backyard lights were on full power, causing the front of the house to cast a severe shadow over the walkway. Walter sighed. If one errant Paterson child was home from school, that usually meant they were sick or had conned their beleaguered mother into letting them stay home. If the whole slew of Paterson kids were home, that meant there was no school. There would be five bored, rowdy, and generally unmanageable troublemakers set loose on the neighborhood. Walter looked nervously at his watch. Three-thirty. The delivery company had said his package would arrive between four and eight o’clock. The last thing he needed was one of those little delinquents getting their hands on it. He had waited so long, after all, and it wasn’t like they would really appreciate what it was. They had been born after it had all happened.
As Walter walked past the house he heard a voice call out from the shadow, “Hey there, Walt. You off work early?”
Walter stopped walking and focused his eyes as Calvin Paterson’s tall, thin frame emerged slowly from the darkness and walked toward the path to greet him. “Hey Cal, yeah, I had some business at home to take care of. Kids off of school today?”
“Power went out, and can you believe those clowns never hooked up the backup generator? The whole five blocks south of Elm doesn’t have power and they don’t know when it’ll be restored. 150 kids at the elementary school who’ve got to stay home now.”
Walter shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other, trying not to belie his impatience to get home. “I’m real sorry about that. Hope they get the power back on soon, or at least the generator up and running.”
Calvin Paterson moved as if to say something but was interrupted by a shrill shriek from the backyard. “Those damn kids. I’ll tell ya, we don’t get a moment’s peace around here. But what can you expect? It’s not like when we were kids and could just come and go as we pleased. Now everything is about this shitty power grid and lights and generators.” Calvin turned and started walking toward the commotion in the back yard. “We’ll see ya around, Walt” he called over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, they’ve been asking about you at the neighborhood council meetings. People are going to start talking soon if you keep brushing everyone off.”
Walter began to mumble an excuse but realized, with a sigh of relief, that Calvin had become completely distracted with the mass of children who had spilled in from the backyard. He quickly turned and hurried toward his home. The houses on Pine Street were close together, and it only took him a minute to get to his front door. He scanned the entryway eagerly for a package or sign of any disturbance. Everything looked exactly the same as when he had left that morning, except for a flier left on the doormat advertising the next council meeting. It was a half sheet of white paper with simple bold lettering:
Come out of the darkness.
There is enough light for everyone.
SolTech is lying.
Meeting this Friday at 7:00 PM.
Oak Street Library.
Walter studied the flier before crumpling it up and putting the wadded up ball into his pocket. What was the point, he thought. He did admire their tenacity and had once been an enthusiastic member of the counsel, but it had been twenty years now, and their tenacity hadn’t done anyone much good. It was getting harder and harder the more the memories of the old time faded. There was a whole generation now who had only known the glow of halogen, the flickering of unstable power, and the hum of generators. Walter thought about the Paterson children, who had never felt warm radiance from the sky or seen a clover outside of a picture in a book. It was a nightmare when it had started all those years ago, but now it was somehow…normal.
Walter let himself in and kicked off his shoes. The microwave clock glowed green: Three forty-five. He wasn’t used to being home so early and sat awkwardly at the rickety dining room table. Normally, he’d come home, pop a dinner in the microwave, then find his shows on the TV, but it was too early for all that. Walter doubted he would be able to eat anyway. The anticipation was kicking in, and his nerves were doing a number on his stomach. He got up and found an antacid in the cupboard. The delivery could be any minute now, and then what would he do? Should he open it right away? He knew he needed to secure the windows. The blinds were all but useless, but he could at least draw the heavy, old drapes closed. He couldn’t let the neighbors know what was going on. It wasn’t in Walter’s nature to be greedy, but he had spent his whole life savings on this, and he intended to enjoy it in private—away from judgmental whispers and screaming children.
Walter had come across the advertisement six months prior. At first he had ignored it, much like someone of his status would have ignored an advertisement for a Lamborghini or luxury yacht back in the old times. It seemed like something so lavish, so unobtainable, that he would have felt like a fool for even considering it. But the inclination had worked itself in, and after a while, Walter couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He had to have it. So he withdrew most of what he had in the bank and wired it to SolTech.
At six fifty-seven the bell rang. Walter jumped up and ran to the door. A man in a blue uniform was already back to the street and opening the door to a nondescript white van. Walter looked down at his feet and saw the neatly wrapped brown package. It was smaller than he had anticipated. He picked it up gingerly and marveled at its weightlessness. Back inside, Walter closed all the curtains and sat on the faded, red carpet on the living room floor, the package positioned in from of him. Shaking, he opened the brown paper, revealing a smooth, white box. Walter’s hands were sweating as he fumbled with the lid—finally tearing it off with an unceremonious yank. The light poured out. Pure sunlight. He felt the warmth on his skin as it bathed his whole body in starlight. The glow filled the tiny living room. It filled the house. It poured through the seams of the curtains and under the crack of the door. Sunlight flowed out of the chimney and into the darkness. Like a beacon in the night, Walter’s house glowed with pure radiance. He knew the neighbors would know. Soon the whole town would know. But in that moment, he didn’t care. The light transported him to the time before it all happened. To a time with dandelions and clovers and mother fussing that he had tracked freshly cut grass into the house. He remembered a time when he opened his window at night and heard the chirps of crickets instead of the hum of generators. Walter didn’t care what they would think of him or how awkward tomorrow would be. Even if only for a moment, he had come out of the darkness and into the light.
Category: Competition, Featured, Short Story, SNHU Student