A NEEDED COVER

by

The water was snow-melt cold and the Arizona sun was blistering hot. My rubber air mattress gave off that pungent hot plastic odor. My tee-shirt dried quickly in the sun but the key to when to roll off the mattress and into the river was when the hair on my head dried and I could feel the heat of the sun beating through my skull and soaking into my brain. A quick roll followed by a sudden gasp, a head submerged for brief seconds, and instantly, all the heat was gone. Then, back aboard my floating bed, the steamy heat from the mattress felt comforting. I dozed, soaking up the heat until it again became uncomfortably hot. Now and then, I'd stare with idle curiosity as we'd pass by small Indian shanties near the riverbank, and even managed to wave carelessly at the gawking, usually half-naked children standing in the shade of the trees beside the river, unattended in their poverty and need.

It was a good year for me. I was young and free of responsibility for the most part. Weekends were generally spent roaming the desert and nearby foothills in and around the Phoenix area, or, as this day, floating down a river with a group of friends all day.

But this day would turn out different for me.

I'd been in the water since early that morning. It was now nearly three o'clock in the afternoon. The rocks along the river radiated the heat they'd been soaking up all day. The river shimmered with the brilliance of the suns rays beating upon its surface. And that day, as I strode out of the water and up to my waiting Ford Bronco, mattress in tow, I felt strange. I stumbled once, suddenly dizzy. Once in the vehicle, I remarked to one of my friends that I had a headache, a rare occurrence for me. On the way home, I felt slightly nauseous.

I had sunstroke.

That day altered my physiology. I was different after that. Heat became an enemy. I'd never relished the Arizona heat, but it never really bothered me. I'd learned to live with it. Or, so I thought. Now, heat suddenly became an enemy. It botherd me, whereas before, it had not. The long, sun baked days of Arizona suddenly got longer and definitely more uncomfortable.

I had grown up in the public swimming pools in Phoenix, Arizona, and used to love to lie on the hot, wet cement, drinking in its warmth. Now, I found myself not so willing to expose myself to the relentless heat. Instead, I sought the shelter of shade, of air conditioning. And often, I found myself wearing a hat, something I'd never done before in my life. I detested hats. Now, I had a new respect for heat, and for the brilliant suns of Arizona days.

Most of us in America have been floating down a river on a rather idyllic journey for the past several decades. Life has been good for most of us. We've had success. The money has been good. We've stared with a modicum of curiosity at the poor amongst us, curiosities to be studied, and we've waved at them, to show our friendship, gestures that meant more to us than them, and done perhaps to ease the conscience that says we're all "equals," when something else deep inside refuses to accept that ideal.

We've floated this river for a long time, now. We've taken our pleasure from it. We've enjoyed the extremes—the cold and the heat and the luxurious basking warmth in between.

And we've been careless about our love of the extremes.

Our heads have been overexposed to the brilliance of the day, and the focus and glare of the light has given us a national sunstroke. We stagger as we leave the cool waters, not understanding the strange malaise that has come over us. The aching in the head is new to most of us. We've not experienced this before.

How better it would have been for us to have floated down the river, not taking pleasure in the journey, but rather taking note of those along the way, and stopping along the way to visit, to comfort and to inquire of their needs. Even short visits along the tree-lined shores would have brought us briefly into the shade and would have cooled our heads. Our help to others, to those needy, would have been help to ourselves. But, we did not know our vulnerability, did not realize the need to protect our heads. We were too busy enjoying our own pleasure.

Morality is a hat we must all wear

The End

Copyright 1999 Voyle A. Glover

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