THE DARKNESS OF JUNE

THE DARKNESS OF JUNE

By KELLY SULLIVAN PEZZA

When you looked out the window that summer morning six months ago, you should have seen the sun. That’s what was promised to you right? That’s what was predicted. But it was raining that day. It rained all morning and all afternoon and it was still raining when you drove to June’s house early that evening.

Had you felt deceived yet? After all, you had planned to work in the garden that day. There was a tomato bed to weed and chives to cut and basil to be thinned out. But out of nowhere, black clouds rolled in and turned everything a somber gray like the quality of those old movies that are so disgustingly poetic.

Chase was working late and you hated being home alone on Friday nights. For nine years, that had been movie night. That had been the night you’d make popcorn and change into pajamas and agree on a military movie for him or a serious drama for you. You still remembered the first movie you watched together nine years ago on your first date; it was the Wizard of Oz because you were both so nervous it seemed like a safe thing to do for some reason.

You ended up burning the popcorn that night. He fell asleep on your couch before the Cowardly Lion even got his courage. But something more important was happening and neither of you even knew it. I think you mentioned something about that at your wedding two years later.

Jane was standing beside you that day. She cried as you read your vows. Your little sister, your Maid of Honor, she hugged you and told you how happy she was that you had found the other half of your heart.

You and June were always more like best friends joined at the hip than sisters. You never even quarreled except for that one time when you were sixteen and June was fourteen and you went to the movies with the boy she had a crush on. She was furious at you and said she’d never forgive you. But, by the next week, you were back to sharing clothes and secrets and dreams.

June hadn’t found the other half of her heart yet. But you kept telling her to be patient, that love would come when she least expected it. She didn’t seem to be in any rush. Unlike you, she was a free spirit, independent and excited about wide open roads and unexpected plans.

Do you remember the thunder early that summer evening? It was deafening. Sounds reverberated in your ears and you had to wonder whether or not you were really hearing something or if it was simply an echo of something you already heard, tricking you, playing games with your mind.

Lightning struck the metal swing set at the public playground that night. That nice old couple that lived across the street said they watched a ball of light roll across the ground and climb up to the electric wires, sending a shower of sparks all over the roof of the old tobacco mill. By the time the fire department was able to quell the flames, the fire had damaged it so badly, it was barely standing straight. Remember they had to tear the rest of it down the next week? It was irreparable they said. But driving down that road hasn’t felt the same since it’s been gone. It’s now just a big empty space loudly announced that something was missing.

You told me about the strange thoughts that repeated in your mind as you drove through quickly deepening puddles in the road that evening. You wondered how did they not predict this? A major storm and no one saw it coming? Your plans had been ruined without warning. Where was the sun that should have been beaming down that day?

Although it wasn’t really a big deal, losing a day of sunshine, you said that that wasn’t really the point. You seemed obsessed with trying to figure out how a storm could rise up and take over without there having been any hint that it was on the horizon. You had to change your plans. You stayed inside and made an apple cake, washed the laundry, cleaned the refrigerator and read a magazine.   

That night you had to make other plans too. You thought that maybe you and June could pick out a movie to watch. She loved horror movies, the really bad ones with the dumb teenagers who liked to run outside in their pajamas when they heard a noise. She was always into the B-movies. She thought the movies you liked to watch were boring. But that was okay. You could make popcorn and enjoy a little predictability.

You raced to the door of her house through the torrents, soaking your new white sneakers in a muddy puddle at the foot of the steps. You turned the knob and pushed your hip against the door, quickly ducking into the dryness of the living room.

June was lying there on the brown sofa you helped her pick out last winter. You never called before you came over but this time she jumped. She pulled a gray throw blanket up over her. You recognized it. It was the one you had given her for her birthday the year before.

She stared across the room at you. You stood there, your long hair dripping with rain onto the frayed doormat, your white sneakers caked with wet mud and your gaze frozen. Beside June was the other half of her heart. Clutching the rest of the blanket over himself, he simply stared at you too.

No one said anything. The rain pounded against the windowpanes angrily. The lights in the room flickered on and off as another crash of thunder shook the foundation and lightning struck the playground and showered its fatal sparks. The storm raged. No one had seen it coming.

She really hadn’t forgiven you. June smiled. And your husband simply lowered his head.