like the rock bears the weather

He lies staring half-lidded at the ceiling from his bed, covers kicked off to the side. His only companion is the sound of the old air conditioning unit in his window, and the box fan angled out of his bedroom door to cool the rest of the house. The windows are shuttered but the sunlight is unforgiving, streaming in through the cracks and lighting up the space in a dim yellow. He stares. The world feels slow and unfocused yet the hours tick by. He doesn’t move. Nothing but the nagging heat, beating over him in waves. His head hurts. He drifts on the edge of consciousness. He can’t remember when yesterday ended and today began. He stares. He drifts. He sweats.

By the time he bothers to turn his head and look at the clock on his side table, it’s 2 pm. The heat hasn’t given up but the light in the room has shifted since he last registered it. He watches dust particles catch in the sunbeams for a while, then covers his eyes with his arm. His phone buzzes once. He considers the thought of looking at it but can’t find the willpower to move. He drifts. It’s 3 pm. He remembers the phone and peels his arm away from his face. He shifts to the side to get a better reach for it, shirt sticking uncomfortably onto his skin. He wraps his fingers around the cellphone and brings it up to his face, squinting against the harsh light of the screen.

It’s Wayne. He sighs and closes his eyes, rests the phone on his face for a brief moment before looking at it again. The screen comes away smudged and slippery. Gross. Shouldn’t have done that. He wipes it on his shirt, which is also gross, so it doesn’t really help. He frowns. He taps on the message.

wayne [2:24 pm]: hey kitty ((: made you a sandwich before i left this morning, it’s in the fridge. see you later 💖💗💕💘💖

Walt groans at the nickname and shuts the screen off but the message brings him a little closer to earth. He wills himself to move. Sandwich. I can get up and walk to the fridge for a sandwich. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and considers his feet while the dizziness in his head from the sudden movement subsides. He blinks. He stands. He doesn’t bother putting pants on over his boxers as he stumbles past the box fan through the doorway.

He walks to the kitchen. He opens the fridge door. The cold air that escapes it helps to clear the fog away a little more, and he sticks his face inside for a moment’s relief. He finds the sandwich in a plastic bag on one of the shelves and pulls it out, closing the fridge door and rounding the kitchen island to sit at the table. He sits. He looks out the window across from him and into the lake…

He opens the plastic bag and stares at the sandwich. Ham and cheese. He eats the sandwich mechanically and slowly, the bread sticking to the roof of his mouth between bites. He continues to watch the lake, the bright light of the sun catching the water and burning his eyes.

The light has shifted once again by the time he snaps out of it. It’s 4 pm. His eyes hurt. His head hurts. He feels the faint breeze coming from the fan in the hallway, not quite enough to make the room a comfortable temperature. He glances out the window again, this time at the lawn in the backyard. It’s looking pretty dry and pathetic. He knows the feeling. He thinks of Wayne and his plants. He thinks of the sandwich left for him that morning. He closes his eyes and sighs. I can do this for him. He gets up from the table, throws the plastic bag away, and opens the sliding glass door to the yard.

The house was warm, but it is sweltering outside. He’s sweating again immediately, the humidity sticking to his lungs as he breathes. He squints and tries not to get lost in the sparkling lakewater, searching the ground for the end piece of the hose that Wayne uses to water his plants. He walks. The dry grass pokes his bare feet. He spots the spray nozzle sitting next to the house and picks it up. He plugs it into the hose and hot water immediately sprays out the end; he drops the thing and jumps back, startled. He picks it up again and aims it out into the grass for a moment as the water cools down.

There’s a random assortment of plants encircling the house. It’s not a typical garden; a mixture of pansies and hostas that were put there on purpose, and wildflowers and clovers that weren’t, among other things. Wayne didn’t have the heart to remove them. Walt couldn’t tell the difference. He aims the hose and sprays the plants for a good long while. He can’t remember the last time either of them did this, but the plants don’t seem any worse for the wear, if a little dry due to the last few days of heat. He uses his arm to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. He can’t remember if they own a sprinkler. He points the nozzle straight up into the air, the cold water sprinkling over the grass and himself. He jolts at first, but it feels nice. It’s been a while since he felt something nice.

After a while of spraying the hose aimlessly, he’s soaked. The hose turned off, he lies in the grass to dry. He smells the plants and the trees and the dirt, feels the heat of the sun offset by the cold water drying on his skin. He closes his eyes. He feels okay. He feels okay. He stays that way until he doesn’t know what time it is. He doesn’t fall asleep but he does begin to drift again, the light against his eyelids slowly becoming less harsh and red. He hears a car pull up on the other side of the house after a while. He opens his eyes. It’s no longer unbearably hot, the sun now set far enough that it’s not beating overhead, but his skin feels warm in a way that suggests he might have burned. He sits up. He definitely got burned. He blinks. His head feels fuzzy but it no longer aches. He hears the lake water lapping against the stones on the shore…

He hears the sliding glass door open but he doesn’t turn around. He knows who it is.