Eight Minutes and Twenty Seconds

“It’s happened now. It’ll be eight minutes before we can see.” Juliette pulled at her older brother’s sweater arm, eyes out onto the horizon. It was Monday, 2:46 pm, the middle of an unseasonably hot September in Questa, New Mexico. The sky screamed blue all around them, no clouds, no birds, no wind; only blue, pressing on and on, forever away over the burnt hills and yellow fields, speckled with rocky patches like a five o’clock shadow. The sun hung round and beautiful and perfect in the midst of all that blue, and, as Juliette had so curtly pointed out, it had just exploded.

Rich heard about it a week ago while half-listening to the news, fixing Juliette’s Raisin Bran in the kitchen a room over from their boxy TV. The news anchor, Bradley Corbin, whose son Rich had biology lab with, spoke nonchalantly of solar flares, or a solar storm (?) — something like that. Rich couldn’t quite remember now. It might knock the power out, he had said, and Rich was happy at the prospect of missing school. Bradley and Sandra… Or Sarah, or Sally maybe, the female anchor whose name Rich didn’t know, (but he knew his dad liked because he had come home once and bragged about seeing her at the bar — he had been at the bar a lot of nights, the past few weeks), talked for a little while about the importance of keeping candles and canned goods in the cupboard in case of a blackout, before moving on to a story about a bobcat breaking into someone’s backyard over in Santa Fe. It ate three chickens.

In class that morning, Jake Buckley told Rich his dad said the “sun stuff” was a government conspiracy — “It’s all calculated,” he had said, “my pops said they’re goin’t cause a power out, nationwide,” he swung his 7:30 am RC Cola around for emphasis, “so they can sneak new fighter jets off to China.” 

“Yeah, sure, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Casey Howards, Rich’s other only real friend at Questa High, chimed in, rolling his eyes. Casey’s mother and Rich’s mother had been childhood friends. “Why would we be giving secret fighter jets to China? Whose them?”

“Pfft,” Jake smirked and shook his head like he felt bad for Casey’s stupidity. “Because they’re using ‘em in the secret war with Russia. Since Putin kicked the bucket, there’s been a power grab over there and-“

“Putin is alive!” Now Casey looked like he felt bad for Jake’s stupidity.

“Yeah,” Rich laughed, “Jake, your dads an idiot.”

“God,” Jake said, “you’re all such sheep.”

Ms. Collins walked in and told them all the shut up and sit down, and Rich was happy to end the conversation. He loved those guys, of course, he did — but sometimes he couldn’t stand arguing about whatever conspiracy Jake’s dad had found on Reddit that week or where to spend their Saturday, in the parking lot of the mini-mart or in the parking lot of the new mini-mart across town. It was all so bland, so typical and mundane, a reminder that they were all stuck here.

Rich had been dying to get out of Questa since before he could remember, away to some place where people discussed actual global conflict issues and a bobcat eating a few chickens wasn’t considered a top news story. Only two semesters to go. He was due to ship off to New England around this time next year, majoring in English literature. His dad thought it was stupid, no money in that, and he wouldn’t be able to handle the cold anyway. Rich knew he meant it the sort of I-only-want-what’s-best-for-you-son sort of way. His father was never cruel. 

His mom had thought it was sweet. She loved Rich’s stories. 

He wanted to be a professor, and Jake wanted to take over his family’s landscaping business here in Questa, and Casey was going to California to study business so that he could — his words — “make enough money someday to bulldoze this to godforsaken town off the map forever.” They promised to keep in touch. Casey also always said that once he got his fancy mansion in the hills, they could all come live there, rent-free. It was a nice dream.

That class period was the last time he had seen either of them. He got called out of school halfway through first period by his father — Julie threw up in the hallway on her way to class and their father had already gone to work. He didn’t have any time off left to come get her and the office ladies, after the summer before, let it slide that Rich had to leave to collect his sister. He wouldn’t be 18 for another three months — he was young for his grade. 

Julie stayed out sick for the rest of the week, and Rich stayed home with her. In her second grade class, they were starting the year out with grammar and times tables, which she was distraught to be missing out on. Rich promised her she’d get caught up and practiced the sevens with her each night. In the mornings they watched PBS Kids, and in lieu of senior year busy work Rich filled his head with fluffy lion puppets and Word Girl. And they actually got to see their dad for a few minutes in the mornings, who was usually still sleeping when they left for school and off at work by the time they got back. Overall, it wasn’t so bad. It was nice, really. 

Rich’s friends texted for a little bit while he was out about all of the sun storm business; Jake saw on Instagram that a Saudi billionaire had been seen entering his underground bunker out in the middle of the desert, and Casey said on the real news they were talking about the election coming up, and that the solar flare — as he reminded Jake it was called — was probably a miscalculation. Jake said they had stopped talking about it to not alarm the public. Later, he texted a link to a YouTube video of the prime minister of France breaking down crying during a press conference. Rich said he didn’t care what happened as long as it didn’t interfere with the release of the new update to his game.

They tried to meet up over the weekend, but Jake was busy with a project with his dad and Rich was feeling lazy and antisocial after all the momentum of sitting around at home all week. Besides, they’d see each other on Monday. 

Now, Rich looked over the mountains, up at that blue, blue sky, and wondered about them. Were they where, what they were doing, if they were scared or sad or just kind of still, like he was.

Juliette was sitting now, a little up the lookout, on a yellow grassy patch. She ripped grass up out of the ground and threw it in front of her, so it floated down like confetti.

She checked her Super-Mario themed watch that she got in a Happy Meal a few months back. The red plastic strap was peeling away where she had fumbled pressing the clasp closed every morning since she got it. She didn’t even like Mario, but she liked having a watch because their dad had one, and she thought it made her seem very grown up.

“Six minutes now.” Julie fell over onto her back, glaring upwards, eyes squinted so they almost closed. The freckles that dotted her nose had gotten much darker over the summer, Rich noted. “Six minutes isn’t very long at all. That’s two times how long it takes to make mac and cheese in the microwave.”

Rich smiled. “Yes, it is. That’s good, Julie.”

She sat up again. “Are you hungry?”

Rich kicked the ground, watched the dust rise and fade away into nothingness again. Six minutes. “I could eat. Did you bring a pouch?”

“Yup. But I ate it on the way up, remember?”

“Oh. Yes.”

Julie picked at the grass some more, and Rich watched her, and the sun kept beating down. This morning on TV, instead of Bradley and what’s-her-name, there was only a flat yellow screen with red block lettering — “EMERGENCY BROADCAST” — flashing, over and over again. Beneath that were instructions… Stay inside, go into your basement. Like that would help. 

By Sunday, everyone pretty much knew the deal. The news didn’t talk about, because the news didn’t run. But Instagram and Twitter and Facebook and everything online was abuzz. Some guy in the white house had leaked some documents. 2:46 pm, Monday, September 23rd. The world was going to end. Rich thought it was pretty funny that Jake had actually been half right for once in his life. Some people said the explosion would cause the universe to be teleported into a new reality. Some people said Jesus would come down and save the righteous. Some people made memes, gifs of aliens watching from galaxies away on HD plasma screens, astronauts in orbit saying “oh… shit,” in speech bubbles. Rich supposed they might as well. 

He and Julie and their dad sat around the table Sunday evening and ate pre-made frozen lasagna and talked about how Julie was feeling better, and how next week they would take a fishing trip, and how Julie wanted to paint her bedroom a new color. Turquoise, she said. Their dad’s hands shook as he wiped silent tears away from his eyes until his cheeks shone, and he kept on mentioning how much he loved them both and how proud he was of them. Julie seemed confused and said she loved him too, and there was no reason to cry.

And today, Rich and Julie had gotten up, eaten breakfast, and packed a few things for a hike. Their dad left the night before and hadn’t returned; he left a note on the table for Rich, which he found before he got Julie up, folded nicely, and pressed into The Grapes of Wrath. Rich had read it in fifth grade, and then six times after that, and he loved the ending. He packed that, and a couple of other books he loved, and his father’s coffee mug and his mother’s blue silk scarf in his bag for the walk up.

“I love you,” the note read. “I’m sorry. I love you I love you I love you I love you. Do not tell Julie anything.”

“I wish Dad didn’t have to go to work so much, don’t you?” Juliette asked as Rich handed her a fruit pouch for the journey. He could tell she was sad.

“Yeah, sweetie. I do.”

They took the trail behind the house, the one no one knew about but them. Rich told Julie they were going to see an eclipse, a once-in-a-lifetime one. 

“It’ll take a little over eight minutes before we can see, and the sun will seem totally gone,” he said.

She brought her green polka dot sunglasses.

They hadn't been on that trail since before last summer. It was too hot all the time, and besides, that summer they spent a lot of time taking a strew of buses back and forth to and from Albuquerque — broken outlets and air conditioning that blew hot, dusty potholes courtesy of the New Mexico State government, pre-recorded Kids Youtube videos on a rented public library tablet. Julie laid the long way on the seat, with her head sideways in Rich’s lap, and mostly slept, and watched her videos, and ate fruit pouches and goldfish for the twenty hours it took to get to the University of New Mexico Cancer Center. It was the best in the state, one of the best in the country. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it didn’t matter at all now. 

Rich watched Juliette ahead of him, twisting her hair between her little fingers and gazing up, and thought about how she looked a lot like their mother. She probably wouldn’t have remembered her very well in ten, fifteen years' time, which made him sad until he realized it wouldn’t make a difference now. She liked visiting the center all right, he thought. The cafeteria was good, and they always stopped off and got their mom flowers on the way. Sometimes balloons, if they had the money. 

“Three minutes!” Julie shot up, ran over to her brother. “Three minutes and we can see it. Are you excited?”

Rich looked down at her and smiled. “Yes, yes! He picked her up and hugged her, and felt her feet dangling against his knees, and pressed his face into the crook of her neck. She smelled like the grass, the rocks, like sweet earth. 

“Okay,” she squirmed in his arms, “that’s good.”

He set her down. “I love you, Juliette.”

“I love you, too.”

“Come,” he said, taking Julie’s hand and guiding her to the very edge of the lookout, over the safety rail, which he helped her over. The two stood, their feet just inches from the drop-off point. Rich’s hand held tightly onto Julie’s. He took in a deep breath.

“I LOVE YOU JULIETTE!” He screamed out into the mountains, into the valleys, into the stream below. “I LOVE YOU JULIETTE!” 

Julie laughed and laughed. “What are you-“

“I LOVE YOU JULIETTE!” He screamed, and she laughed some more. “Go on,” he tapped her nose. “You try."

“I LOVE YOU RICHARD!” Julie called out through giggles, her little voice echoing down the valley.

“I LOVE YOU RICHARD!” Rich repeated. Julie laughed harder and harder.

“I LOVE YOU JULIETTE!” She yelled.

Rich was out of breath, and he smiled down at Julie and the two huffed and puffed and laughed. He thought she was so beautiful.

“How long now?” He asked.

“One minute.” She pulled her glasses out of her pocket and put them on, sunlight jumping off the dark lenses and up and away.

“Okay. Phew. Okay,” Rich breathed and looked out.

The rocks across the basin stood proud, jutting up and out in every direction from the mountainside, little caves and pockets of still water that glistened, giant diamonds in the red sand. Even from up here, Rich thought he could hear the stream running. And that blue, blue, blue sky, everywhere and forever. 

He thought it funny how badly he had wanted to get out of this place. This was everything. And he knew that it would be again. Different, and the same.

A hawk took into the sky from a hiding place below, its wings seeming to stretch out over the whole valley. 

“Wow! Did you see?” Julie asked, turning to Rich.

“Yes, sweetheart.” There were tears in his eyes.

“You’re crying,” Julie said.

“Happy tears.”

“Happy tears, that’s nice.” She smiled and looked back out over the mountains. “It’ll be any second, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Rich replied, and he let the tears keep coming down his face, and he smiled, too.

He squeezed Julie’s hand a little tighter, and they both looked up at that blue sky, and the sun beat down, and they waited.