The Boy Who Destroyed the World

If anyone found out this was all my fault, I’m sure I’d be killed. I only wanted a little more time of summer vacation.

I learned in the fifth grade this sort of thing sometimes happens in places way up north. Places with polar bears and tons of snow. Places where they could use a little extra sun. Places like Alaska, or Russia, or Wisconsin. Places, that for days on end, the sun never quite makes its way past the horizon. Dad says this isn’t like that. Dad says this is different. Dad says this is bad.

It’s been twenty-three hours straight of sun. The sun rose at its normal 7:10 a.m. on Sunday morning. (Yesterday morning? This morning? Actually, I’m not sure how this works...) And the sun began to set at its normal 8:10 p.m. on Sunday evening. And then, just as the last glowing ray of light was about to fade from the horizon… it didn’t. And like a slow, golden yo-yo, the sun popped right back up again. It’s been retracing its path ever since.

Charlie, our “Indianapolis Channel 13 Weather Professional,” said we shouldn’t panic. He said this “weather phenomenon” is likely due to a major solar flare, or a polar reversal, or something else quite explainable by science. Charlie said a temporary Western Hemisphere heat wave was the only thing we had to worry about. Dad said Charlie was an idiot. He usually says that about him. This time though, I knew Charlie was wrong, but I couldn’t tell Dad that. I watched as beads of sweat accumulated on Charlie’s brow through our 4K TV. Maybe he knew he was wrong, too. Or maybe the heat was getting to him.

Mom spent the last hour on hold with Seymour Middle School. Apparently, parents all over the district had been calling in to see if the first day of school would be canceled. I reminded her that technically, as the sun didn’t go down all the way it was still Sunday and the first day of school wasn’t until Monday. Mom didn’t like that. She made me get ready for school, anyhow. If Mom only knew what I did.

After I got dressed, I met my family in the kitchen. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. Of course, it didn’t care that the sun rebounded back into the sky last evening. It continued to count minute after minute, and will continue to count minute after minute for infinity, or until we have another power outage, and then it will just flash 12:00 for a couple days until Mom pesters Dad enough to fix it. It said 7:00 a.m., nearly 24 hours of sun. Dad told me to eat my breakfast. Then he cussed at the Indianapolis Channel 13 Weather Professional. Then Mom mouthed to Dad to shut up. She was finally talking with someone on the phone now.

“Mom, is there school?” I asked as I shoved a pop-tart into my mouth.

“Shush… I don’t know. I’m talking with Grandma.”

Mom had dark bags under her eyes. She had been talking with Grandma intermittently all night, err… day… second day… still not sure how this works. Anyhow, Grandma was afraid the world was coming to an end. She had called around 2:00 a.m. to see if we had been raptured up into the clouds. When she had found we were still on the ground, she scolded Mom for not going to church more often with her. After thirty minutes or so of ridicule, mom reminded Grandma if rapture did happen, she was still on earth, too. That was enough to make Grandma cry and hang up. Dad made me go to bed shortly after, but around 4:00 a.m. I heard Mom call Grandma back to apologize.

I followed my sacred tradition of picking the frosting off the top of my pop-tart, burning the tips of my fingers on the magma-hot filling.

“Grandma wants to talk to you,” she said to me as she passed me the phone.

I looked imploringly at Dad, hoping he would bail me out. “Shouldn’t I head off to school, just in case?”  

For the first time this entire summer, I wished I was back at school.

Dad looked at his cell phone. “You don’t have to leave for another twenty minutes. Talk to your Grandma.” The way he said this, I’m pretty sure Dad knew he was next and was trying to stall.

I grabbed the phone from Mom, spreading sticky blueberry filling fingerprints all over her phone case. Mom’s eyes rolled in a surprisingly accurate rendition of the sun’s previous 24-hour trip.

“Hi Grandma,” I sighed into the phone.

“Have you been praying every night like I asked you?” Grandma never was one to mince words.

“Yes, Grandma,” I lied as I continued dissecting my pop-tart.

“It’s because of those kids in dog suits,” Grandma lamented.

“Absolutely Grandma, wait… what?”

“The furries!” Grandma replied, “I saw on the news that they demand litter boxes at school. God’s own children, made in His image, mind you, pooping in boxes like wild animals. This is God’s punishment for the furries! It’s their fault the sun won’t go down.”

“Yes, Grandma you are probably right,” I said, trying my best to sound solemn. If Grandma only knew it was my fault the sun had zigzagged across the sky. It was my stupid wish… “Say, Grandma, I gotta get going to school.”

“You mean you are still going to school?” Grandma gasped, “Just like the public school system to completely ignore a sign from God. I bet if some liberal riot leader would’ve died yesterday, they’d have taken the whole week off for it. If we aren’t all in heaven by this afternoon, be sure to call and tell me how your first day back to school went.”

“Will do, Grandma.” I said as I handed the phone back to Mom. My stomach was feeling queasy. I couldn’t even finish my second pop-tart.

Instinctively, Dad got out of his chair and made a beeline for the garage, “Better water the lawn before I head to work. This sun is gonna kill my grass.”

Mom shot him a sour look, then continued her conversation with Grandma.

“So, are you sure there’s school today?” I asked Mom as I dumped the remains of my breakfast pastry into the trash.

“School’s not far, just walk and find out,” she whispered as she covered the mouthpiece of her phone, “Head back if it’s closed, okay?”

I frowned, grabbed my backpack, and sulked my way to the front door. Instinctively, I grabbed my jacket from the coat hanger, but as soon as I stepped outside, I knew it would be suicide to wear it. It was 7:30 a.m. and it was already 90 degrees out. Dad was lackadaisically spraying the lawn with his garden-hose. Rings of sweat were already forming on the pits of his button-down work shirt.  His hand shaded his sweaty brow as he gazed Eastward at the sun.

“Bet the sun will just keep going in that direction,” he said more to himself than to me, “and we’ll all go on as if nothing happened. What’s so bad about the sun setting in the east and rising in the west for a change? Everyone’s panicking over nothing.” It was a stark contrast to his earlier opinion of a climactic catastrophe. Dad must be really worried if he was willing to agree with the Indianapolis Channel 13 Weather Idiot. Was it better for him to believe a lie, or hate me forever, or for at least the brief period we had left on Earth?

I shrugged and waved goodbye to him as I made my way from the driveway to the sidewalk. Dad continued to stare at the sun as it slowly approached the horizon. In less than an hour his theory would be proved false.

I continued on my route to school, using the shadows of houses and trees as best I could to block the sun's rays. Despite my best efforts, intense heat remained on my side, as if the sun was punishing me for making it work overtime. I kept my head down as I went, trying my best to hurtle each crack on the concrete, so much so that I nearly collided with Jake, my neighbor who was coming from the opposite direction.

“Woah, you’re going the wrong way, dork*.” Jake was in high school, so obviously he didn’t say dork, he said something very much worse.

“What do you mean?” I asked, as he piled his backpack on top of mine. I obediently followed him like a well-trained pack mule.

“School’s been canceled. For all of us. Everybody’s been sent home. Something about the teacher’s union saying they won’t work during Armageddon or some stuff* like that.”

If someone had told me a little over 24 hours ago that school would be closed, I would have been ecstatic. Instead, I felt like I was gonna hurl. Tears began to well up in my eyes.

“The heck*’s the matter with you, doofus*? Ain’t you excited we get more vacation? We might not be going back for freaking* months!”

Believe it or not, I liked Jake. He was the kind kid that taught the younger kids all the stuff their parents wouldn’t. For instance, a few summers ago he taught me what the word he actually said instead of “freaking” meant. He was the kid that wouldn’t tattle on you for lighting a bag of poop on fire on Mrs. Keen’s doorstep (in my defense though, it was his idea.) He was the kind of role-model a young world destroyer like me could trust, which was why I finally broke my secret.

“Jake… it’s all my fault,” I sobbed to my teenage confidant, “I wished the day wouldn’t end. As the sun was setting, I saw the first star in the sky, and I wished on it… I wished… I didn’t want to have to go back to school and now the world is gonna burn up and it’s my fault.”

Jake stopped walking and contemplated my confession for a moment. Then, he put a hand lovingly on my shoulder, looked at me with eyes far more wise than his acne covered face would suggest, and declared, “That’s the stupidest gosh* darn* stuff* I’ve ever heard in my entire life. What kind of freaking* Disney watching dork*face believes in wishing on the first star in the sky? What, and you think you are the only dummy* who hoped school was gonna get canceled today? The sun don’t revolve around you or me or any other doofus* kid. It revolves around the earth and it’s gonna revolve around the earth how it wants regardless of what baby poop*heads like you wish for. All you can do is make the freaking* best of it. Now quit your freaking* crying and enjoy your extra gosh* darn* day off from school.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes and cracked a small smile at my neighbor and exemplar. Jake always knew the right thing to say.  

“The earth’s gonna revolve around the sun how it wants,” I corrected.

“Huh?” 

Jake thought for a moment. Then he punched me as hard as he could in the arm. I called him a dork*. He smiled. Then, we both stared together at the eastern horizon as we waited for the sun to make up its mind.

Meanwhile, another boy in China…

If anyone found out this was all my fault, I’m sure I’d be killed. I only wanted a little more time to sleep…