When The Sun Shone

I have about half an hour to go before I get to the house. 

At the start of the trip, I had tried to keep my mind off of things, mostly with the radio. Unfortunately, every song had been eerily unfitting - exuberant pop, ballads of romance, lively jazz. Too happy. Too naive. And I steered clear talk radio altogether - there was probably no one in their right mind who would be on air today anyway.

Eventually, I gave up, focusing on the long winding road ahead of me. Houses melted into the rain, turning to long stretches of field and a gray, murky sky. People got far and few between, until there were barely any to think about. 

And now it’s just me.

At the moment, I feel comfortable with the silence, grounded on the road, my fear turning to light, weary anticipation. It’s raining, though not as heavily now - the flecks flickering by brings a sense of comfort. Oddly enough, it reminds me of those times as a kid when I hid from the rain, terrified - I used to be convinced that thunderstorms brought death. After all, we lived out in a relatively dry patch of land right next to a cemetery, and it seemed like every time it rained, someone in the family had gone and died. Our cat, Socks, from old age; grandpa, heart attack; aunt Miriam, straight up vanished. I’m not quite sure what made me stop being so scared of... 

Andrea had loved the rain.

I turn on the radio again - being alone with my thoughts makes me feel sick all of a sudden. A few cars pass by here or there, cutting through the fog, the remnants of it sticking to their bumpers for a moment, clinging desperately. Stay.

But no one wants to stay in this - everyone is escaping. To their parent’s houses, to an old friend’s, to the very edges of the ocean where nothing can touch them. 

Anywhere is better than sitting at home.

Waiting.

I feel my hand against the smooth rubber groove of the steering wheel, anchoring my feet to the floor. Now isn’t the time for thinking like that. 

A gas station rests on the side of the road, placed there for aimless truckers - it’s hauntingly empty. I pull in, feeling my brakes squeal in discontent. It stops, rocking me back to face the pump. A gangly freckled boy no older than sixteen (seventeen, maybe?) runs up, craning his neck to peer into the car. 

I cock an eyebrow at him. He says nothing.

“Twenty…twenty regular.” I hold up the money - earned on my last shift. 

He flashes a finger gun at me, taking the two tens with his free hand.

“You got it.” 

I watch him walk over to the handle, tugging on my seatbelt in thought. After a moment, I can’t hold in my curiosity. 

“Shouldn’t you be with your loved ones right now?”

He takes in my question for a brief moment, then shrugs casually. “Ah, well, you know. I will. Just thought I’d see if anyone came in.” He goes to get the handle for the gas. I sit there, eyebrows crinkled. The fact he’s here at all, willing to help people, not out of necessity, but just because, is weirdly inspiring. My respect for this complete stranger swells almost instantly.

“Well that’s…really nice of you, man.” I say earnestly. He chuckles, slotting the pump into position. 

“Thanks…so…where’re you going?” The kid walks back over, dusting off his hands.

“Place where I grew up. I’m meeting up with my brother and his wife.”

“Nice, nice…”

“You?” I lean back a bit, oddly grateful for the social interaction after hours of isolation.

“I’m gonna visit my mom. Bake with her - it’s her favorite thing to do, so I figured…and then later I’m having some friends over. We’re gonna play games.” He smiles. “I always lose.”

I nod in bitter understanding, the tension in my shoulders dropping. “Felt that. Owen would turn off the console anytime I was about to win.”

Gas Pump Kid laughs. “Oh, that’s evil.”

“I know, right!?” I cry.

The boy walks back, shaking his head with a smile. He takes the pump and closes my car’s fuel tank with a small slam. There’s a moment of thought on his face, his smile dropping. And then he hands back the two tens I gave him.

“Wh-”

“Keep it.”

I shake my head automatically. “That’s not fair. I need to pay for it.”

He laughs, which sends chills down my spine.

“No no, it’s on the house.”

“...You sure?” 

He grins lopsidedly at me, as if he’s afraid that I’m being serious.

“Seriously? Of course I’m sure. Go be with your family.”

I take in a breath, nodding as the guilt gently dissolves from my chest. “Thanks. Tell your friends I think you’re cool.”

He gives a genuine laugh. “They’d never believe you.”

I match his grin. “Couldn’t hurt.”

 The car starts up again, rumbling - ready to continue the journey. As I leave, Gas Pump Kid offers me a big thumbs up. I copy him, making a silent promise to never forget him.

The road continues to stretch on and on, until finally, finally, I turn right. Deliberate roadways twist and turn, leading to neighborhoods devoid of people. I feel as if I’m caught up in a horror movie - which, although normally I’d love that - now feels heart-churningly awful. I continue on, until I’m only left with a single house waiting for me at the end of the road. It’s surrounded by large, gnarled trees that strike up into the sky like fingers, leafless and charred. The house itself leans slightly to the left - it always has - and a large teal-tiled roof shelters the wooden structure, the odd Autumn leaf stuck in between the cracks. 

My tires crunch against gravel and dirt until I stop, right next to Owen’s truck. A strange giddiness overtakes me - I can’t remember the last time I’d seen him that wasn’t over a screen. I approach the house, hopping up the steps like I would every time I came home from school. In my excitement, I ring the doorbell, which chimes out brokenly. 

A huge wave of nostalgia washes over me, and I grin.

“Hey old girl,” I greet warmly. “I see you’re still kickin’.” 

The door suddenly flies open all of a sudden, revealing a pair of bright brown eyes and a pair of pink-sleeved arms that are outstretched to embrace me.

“DevDevDevDevDevDev!” Marilla exclaims, and a sudden rush of affection I never knew I had for her nearly blinds me. The sister-in-law I had never really wanted - the one who took away my brother from us. At least, that’s what I had thought when I was fourteen. Turns out, she’d been pretty awesome. She loved musicals like I did, helped me cook on phone calls when I didn’t know how to, and it had been surprisingly natural to open up to her.

I hug her back, and take in the rest of the house.

It’s…dusty. Not necessarily dirty, but definitely unkempt. The lights are on, bathing everything in a warm tangerine glow. The other thing I take note of is the smell.

Back at the apartment, everything always smelled of distant garbage and some lady’s musty furniture across the hall.

But here, the air smells like burnt wood and maple, tantalizing on my tongue. 

Back at the apartment, everything always smelled of distant garbage and some lady’s musty furniture across the hall.

But here, the air smells like burnt wood and maple, tantalizing on my tongue. There are flames roaring in the fireplace, and I light up completely. 

I’m transported in an instant back to Christmas, mom holding the camera, dad trying to keep me from peeking at the presents. My mouth tastes like peppermint and my PJs are soft, decorated in reindeer. 

I glance at the kitchen, the dining room, remembering all the times I did my homework while sitting on the counter (to mom’s annoyance), or “helped” to cook (much to dad’s annoyance). 

“You made it!”

Owen’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts, and in the blink of an eye, he’s buried me in a hug as well. I tut.

“Of course I made it!”

“Here, we have the upstairs set up…it’s not much, but…we figure it’s…you know. You been listening to the radio?”

I shake my head. “What? No. Why?”

He winces. “They say it’s coming sooner than they thought. We don't have much longer.” 

My heart sinks, and I numbly follow him and Marilla up the stairs. The stairs I’d chase Owen down whenever he stole my toys, or the ones he’d jump down to prove he could.

"Where's Andrea?" Marilla asks curiously. I take in another deep breath.

"With family. She couldn't...didn't...she promised she'd call."

"Oh." Marilla frowns. "I see."

We make it up to the top floor, where tons of pillows and old stuffed animals are set up on the couch. I sit...and the enormity of everything comes crashing down.

The world is about to end.

I want to let the past wrap its arms around me, until I’m buried so deeply in it that I forget I ever left it.

Laying with Andrea, looking up at her photos stretched across the ceiling, giggling madly, talking about our dreams and desires, looking at each-other in a deliriously wonderful drowsiness before one of us would cave and fall asleep. 

Owen introducing his dog to us, the giant bumbling mass of white and brown fur jumping on me mere seconds after being freed from his leash, leaving me dizzy and giggly.

Holding up my cast with pride, letting my classmates sign it, hearing their excited whispers, mingling across the classroom as they tried to guess what had caused the injury. A skateboard incident, I eventually announce, much to the utter delight of the small crowd around me.

A girl I never caught the name of handing me a note during class, telling me she hoped I was okay after she had heard me crying in the bathroom. 

Watching my favorite movies. Listening to music. Swimming in hotel pools and running barefoot across pavement. Smelling fire and brushing hair and babies laughing.

Anger wells up inside of me, bubbling over into tears that slide down my cheeks, spill from my front, hitting my legs and smearing my vision. My hands rise to my scalp, tugging at hair that protests loudly, stop it, please stop it, because even at the end of the world my body can’t bear to be in pain. Even while the mountains are collapsing and cities are left in rubble…even when everything’s dying…I don’t want to feel it.

A broken, choking sound rips itself from my throat. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Marilla whispers gently. “Please, please don’t be.” She sniffles, hugging me fiercely. She hugs me from behind, while Owen is quick to hug me from the front, like a tent sheltering me from the storm. Here I am, being consoled like a child, yet I can’t stop bawling. It all feels so unfair, so cruel.  Gas Pump Kid hadn’t even needed to come into work, yet he did, and I realize with even more guilt that I didn’t even get his name. In what world did he not deserve more time?

I sit there, letting them embrace me. They feel strong and confident despite it all. They are warm and sturdy, Marilla 

The dust lands, and I squeeze my eyes shut while Marilla stops singing and begins coughing into her arm. I tilt my chin up, and the image of warm grass on my skin fills my mind. I remember running, crawling, jumping through the dew dropped grass, flinging mud at one another with reckless abandon, howling with laughter. 

The howling is getting louder. I grip my arms. 

The smell of hot dogs, squirting mustard and ketchup with all our might. A picnic blanket laid out, filled with large pitchers of lemonade and watermelons the size of our faces. Crunching, guzzling, sticky sweet delights. 

A large crunch somewhere in the distance, like buildings being overturned and smashed into debris.

Chasing Socks through the garden, having mom wrap her arms around me to kiss my forehead.

I take my arms and wrap them around Owen and Marilla’s waists. Their strength never wavers for a moment, still locked in protective embrace. Sounds are crashing down around us. I can tell that the lights are beginning to flicker.

“Love you,” Owen whispers. 

“I hate you!” I scream at Owen, tossing my empty squirt gun at him. He runs away, cackling maniacally, and I’m left to look at my dress, which has been completely drenched. 

“Love you too.”

“Always,” Marilla adds, and I feel her moving her hand to cup his cheek. 

The house is falling. The paintings are coming loose, the floorboards whining. The wind is tormenting the air, thrashing the walls. It’s falling, and taking the most beautiful place I’ve ever known down with it.

In the last few moments, I open my eyes. I breathe. I think the last thing I remember is imagining the sun on that day. And how brightly it shone for us.