Curtain Break

I live for the balmy nights.

Wandering down the cracked pavement that borders my street, there is no pleasure greater than feeling the nighttime breeze caress my face. My footsteps echo in the darkness, a hollow sound that pings off the shuttered, squat houses. Trees loom ominously above me, casting rustling shadows every few feet.

My watch beeps at me. 6:32am. I’ll need to hurry home before sunrise.

I stop briefly to retie my shoelace, looking down the lane. Save for the occasional porchlight, the neighborhood is dark, empty and completely asleep. Cars sit on their driveways, glimmering in the misty moonlight that filters in through a thin canopy of clouds. I frown as I consider that, suddenly annoyed.

If the cloud cover today is anything like it is right now, I’ll be stuck inside again. Though I shouldn’t really be surprised. The last time my town had an overcast day was 2 weeks ago, which was also the last time I stepped out of the house during the day. What a blissful afternoon that had been. I’d gone to the beach, pigged out on ice cream and lain in the gritty sand for hours, just staring at the bank of clouds above me. My heart aches just thinking about it.

I’m jarred back to reality by an empty Coke can clattering across the road. I curse and rapidly tuck the lace underneath my sock, springing to my feet. I’m furious that I let my reminiscing take up the last moments of this perfect night. Sure enough, I can make out the first streaks of orange painting the horizon. My watch beeps again, more incessantly as I sprint back toward my house: 6:40am.

I yank open the front door and bar myself in just as the first birds start to sing. Panting, I pull shut the aged drapes, casting the living room in a dusty gloom. I finally collapse into an armchair and sigh, sadly watching a sliver of sunlight creeping across the carpeted floor from a break in the curtains.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in that chair when the lights click on in the upstairs landing, and Rega walks downstairs dressed in her barista outfit. I hastily wipe the tears off my face and throw a blanket over my head.

It doesn’t work. She stops and stares at me, in the exasperated/patronizing way that only a big sister can pull off.

 “Seriously. How long are you going to hide, Rebus?”

I peek out of the covers. “Close the door on your way out”, although I say it half-heartedly because I know she’ll do it anyway. Whatever frustration Rega feels about my “illness”, she would never do anything to hurt me.

She’s on the verge of saying something, but appears to change her mind. Shaking her head, Rega grabs the car keys, and slips on her shoes before grabbing the doorknob.

Raising her eyebrows, she waits. I yank the covers back over my head and make sure I’m wrapped in complete darkness.

“All good”, I call out.

Even though I squeeze my eyes shut, I can still make out the reddish glow of the rising sun enveloping my eyelids when Rega opens the door. Just keep breathing, I tell myself. You’re safe. You’re OK.

It feels like an eternity, but the door finally shuts behind Rega, the glow fading with it. Even so, I keep my eyes firmly closed until I hear the engine sputtering to life, and the scrape of gravel as my sister pulls out of the driveway.

I throw the blanket off me and take several deep breaths to calm my racing heart. You’re OK.

I stand up, stretch and make my way over to the old Dell computer in the corner of the room. While I wait for my email to boot up, I heat up some leftover pizza and brew myself a pot of tea.

My watch beeps again: 7:35am. Nothing like a healthy breakfast for my midday snack.

While I eat, my eyes alight on the weekly follow-up email marked “URGENT” from Dr. Eroda. The Skoville Town Hospital has been monitoring me ever since that sunny afternoon 3 months ago, and I can’t really blame them. In our sleepy town of 2,579 people, the need for medical services is at an all-time low and the state government has been cutting our budget for years. Given that the hospital also employs a fifth of our population, our doctors would be foolish not to exploit my condition as grounds for additional funding.

Yes, I’ve become a cash cow for the Town of Skoville. I might just run for mayor.

I open the email and settle back in my chair, reading through the attached yes/no questionnaire and filling it out.

1.     Have you been avoiding the sun during peak times?

Yes.

2.     Have you been using SPS 101 sunscreen whenever you step out of the house?

They had to go invent a whole new sunscreen for me. Talk about innovation.

3.     Have you been wearing protective clothing if you must go out during the day?

Don’t worry, doc. I’m not going to spend the summer outside if I have to wear a trench coat. On and on the form goes, until I finally hit question 32, which never ceases to put a dry smile on my face.

32.  Have you felt anxious, sad or depressed during any point in the last week?

I admire your commitment to my mental health. But I’m just going to put “No” to keep things simple.

I hit send before I shut down the computer, finishing the crust of my pizza and hastily rinsing the dishes in the sink. I check my watch: 8:02am. I’m making good time, especially since I’ve been trying to go to bed by 12pm every day. That way, I get my 8 hours of sleep and wake up right before sunset, when I can go out and enjoy the day for real, starting with a glorious twilight dusk. My nocturnality has also given me an added advantage of being able to avoid the gawking stares and whispers from my fellow neighbors, many of whom seem to view me as a particularly strange exhibit that escaped the local zoo. 

Again, I can’t blame them. Given how boring this town is, I would probably do the same thing.

I make my way back to the darkened living room, where I collapse onto a sagging couch and throw a blanket over me. I hear the faint sounds of cars, laughing children and talking families as the entire town wakes. As I stare at the ceiling above me, a slow pounding is starting to build in my ears.

Suddenly, I’m just so sick of it all.

How is this fair?! My whole life turned upside down because of a condition so rare it makes ghosts seem likely to exist.

3 months ago, I had a real life. I was going to graduate from high school. I was going to experience senioritis with my friends. I was going to study engineering at a top college in the country.

All it took was one day to turn me into a freak, to keep me under daytime quarantine, to force me to postpone my education until “the situation can be better understood”. 

I remember that horrid day like it was yesterday…

--

“Down. Set. Hut!”

“1 steamboat, 2 steamboat…”

I feign side to side as I watch my teammates barrel toward the touchdown line. As Brad rushes toward me, I lock onto my target and launch the football with a flourish. A crisp, beautiful throw which sails through the air, glinting in the afternoon sun, before being caught neatly by Derek.  

“Woot! Woot!”

“Star quarterback right here!”

I took a short, mock victory lap before meeting my teammates at the center of the field. My vice-captain Brad is still clearly miffed that he couldn’t stop me, and I imitate his pouting face, which sends everyone into gales of laughter.  

“Alright Wildcats, bring it in!”

Like we’ve done dozens of times this year, the 11 of us huddle up. Tomorrow is the high school finals against the Cougars, and I can feel the nervous energy radiating through my team. I need to be strong for them, now more than ever. This is the first time our school has made it to playoffs in 17 years, let alone the finals, and the entire town is buzzing with anticipation. What I say to my team today may very well make or break our game tomorrow.

The sunlight glares off our blue and red helmets as I look at each member of my team, considering what to say. The dull, aching throb in my arms has become worse, though I ignore it for now.

“Boys, tomorrow is the going to be the most important day of your lives”, which gets a few nods and whistles.

“Tomorrow is the day we carve the Wildcat legacy on THIS field!“ I pound my equipment bag against the grass. My team is hyping me up, stamping their feet on the ground.

“TOMORROW is the day we go down as the GREATEST high school football team this town has ever seen!”

“Wildcats, Wildcats, WILDCATS!”

“TOMORROW is the day we – “

Pain flares across my upper back, and I convulse, clapping a hand to neck. What the heck? Everyone stares at me with some alarm, but I shake it off and try to get my rhythm back.

“THE DAY WE – “

My team cries out when my legs collapse from under me and I sprawl onto the ground, shaking uncontrollably. The pain in my back, my arms, my legs…God, it feels like someone is cooking me alive.

I’m dimly aware of Jose and Erik wrestling to remove my helmet, propping my head up, trying to force a water bottle between my bleeding lips.

“Call 911!”

It’s the last thing I hear before I black out, my entire body on fire. I swear I see the sun winking malevolently at me, the glaring rays stabbing every inch of me.

No. NO. Tomorrow is the day we …

The day we…

When I come to, I’m lying in a hospital, staring not at the sun, but a brilliant fluorescent light. I ache all over, but I’m able to tilt my head enough to see an IV drip fastened to a red hunk of flesh I assume is my arm. The beeping of the medical monitor is muffled, and the blinding, white interior of the hospital room is too much for me. I close my eyes gratefully, and slip once again out of consciousness…

The next few days are a jumbled blur. A sympathetic contingent of bedside nurses and physicians attend to my every need, but a few people stand out more clearly than others.

Derek, his face taut as he breaks the news that the Wildcats suffered their worse defeat in 7 years.

Rega, her face becoming progressively horrified as she reads my diagnosis.

“…an advanced case of Polymorphous Light Syndrome, I’ve never seen nor studied anything like it”, says Dr. Eroda to a flabbergasted panel of visiting biologists.

My recovery time remains indefinite, and the rashes refuse to recede from my body. One week goes by, and then two, and in all that time I spend mindlessly staring at a mounted TV screen, my friends breeze through the last of their exams, toss up their mortarboards at convocation, and have a blast at prom.

With summer work placements and college prep taking its toll on my friends, I get less and less visitors as the days go by. My chosen college revokes my football scholarship and suspends my offer of enrollment, pending when “the situation can be better understood”.

I’ve never had to deal with depression before, but for the first time, my mind goes completely blank for hours at a time, my eyes glossing over. I begin to lose my appetite, seeking solace in the dark cloud that irrevocably descends upon me. It is only when my catatonic non-responsiveness reaches the point of self-harm that Dr. Eroda permits Rega to take me home, so long as I protect myself thoroughly against the sun and comply with weekly follow-ups…

--

I yank the covers off and sit bolt upright, breathing heavily. That’s it. I can’t do it anymore. I check my watch: 9:03am. The sounds of laughter and tinkling ice cream trucks are louder than ever, sending a pang of yearning through me.

My eyes travel to the left.

The thin sliver of light I noticed earlier in the morning, shimmering on the carpet floor just a few feet away. The embodiment of all my anguish.

I stare at the sliver harder, narrowing my eyes.

Come on over, then, the sliver seems to be saying to me. Prove it, if you’re really not afraid.

I slowly raise myself from the couch and step gingerly toward the window, kneeling down next to the curtain break. I can see the glimmering ray, illuminating the spiraling dust.

How long are you going to hide, Rebus? Rega's voice echoes through my head.

My heart beats violently as I stretch my trembling fingertips toward the ray. The blood pounding in my head overshadows the calm, rational voice urging me to at least put on a glove.

I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of being someone I’m not. And I don’t care how childish it is, but I didn’t struggle through the deaths of my parents, 4 years of high school and a grueling football season to be vanquished by a ray of sunlight.

Gritting my teeth, I let the light bathe my bare hand.