Change

Change

June 20, 2050

Mississauga, Ontario

Part 1: Time is Money and Money is Time

It was June twentieth, the one day of the year - my Dad and I would go out on top of the neighbourhood hill, right by Sheridan Creek to watch the sun set - on the evening of the summer solstice. The evening was young - 7 pm maybe, but we had prepared just enough time for the whole showdown. 

“Two hours and two minutes to go bud,” my Dad said, glaring at his watch apprehensively. He nervously gathered the snacks - our yearly favourites: Chinese coconut buns, mini cinnabons, salt and pepper popcorn, chocolate flavoured pop-tarts decorated with multi-coloured sprinkles and the best one yet - the 1960 Little Debbie honey buns! It was the perfect sweet and salty combination and Dad knew exactly what it took to get my taste buds dancing. 

I watched him - pacing the room - back and forth - back and forth. Into the kitchen - back to the living room - turned on the T.V - turned off the T.V. Looked for his water bottle as it stared him down dubiously on the kitchen counter, two metres from where he stood. 

The clock struck once - twice - BAM. Dad was out. 

“Dad! Dad!!” I screamed, scrambling on the ground, over his still, boiling body. I shook his shoulders, gently slapped his cheek, tears trembling down my face as lethal seconds passed me by. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Wake up. Wake up.” I cried out for help, even though I knew no one else was in the house. Mom was at her kickboxing class and Jason, my brother was at soccer practice. 

I called 9-1-1, but nobody answered. It was all so weird - like the odds had been against us and we were just figuring it out. 

“Ahh - woahhh,” Dad moaned out. I turned towards him, immediately dropping my cell. 

“Dad!” I helped him up, guiding his back towards the wall. I prepared a glass of water for him to drink. 

“The sun - the sunset - we gotta -we gotta see it-” he groaned. 

“Nope - we’re staying home. Absolutely not.” I said firmly with conviction, as if 13-year old me could even assert some kind of power over my 58-year old father. 

He got up abruptly, as if he had a mission to complete. “Nope - we’re leaving now. We’re leaving - now.” 

He could barely speak - out of breath from his sudden fall.

Dad grabbed the basket of snacks, finally located his water bottle and said “let’s go.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this insistent and shall I say - irresponsible. The father I had known never took chances - simply because he never had to. Everything was pretty much provided - and going to be “okay” - at least he assured us - things would be. It almost seemed as though he knew this regardless of the uncertainties of life. But now - this - was not the feeling I got at all. It didn’t seem to be a feeling he possessed in that very moment either. He didn’t know what he was doing. 

I followed, skeptical of what life was about to shove in my face - I simply wasn’t ready for a change - especially if it meant Dad passing out again.

“C’mon Stace. We’re running out of time,” Dad called out.

Part 2: What it Takes to Succeed 

I followed Dad through the woods that engulfed our house. It took us three minutes to walk towards the driveway, which was connected to the main road. Grand, I know. Something my Dad did not exactly pay for.

My grandfather was a merchant in the early 1930s - during the Great Depression, he decided to throw all his chips in for a small grocer he set up in his rural neighbourhood in Lynchburg, Tennessee. He was smart - back then, education wasn’t the main way people got by - it was through entrepreneurship. He found an opportunity - sought after it - and then reigned.

“Sometimes you gotta start from rock bottom Stace. Sometimes you don’t. And when ya don’t got no rock bottom, you sure are one lucky soul…” Grandpa used to tell me in his southern accent. I didn’t know what he meant then, but now - I do. 

Anyway, keeping it nice and short - Grandpa made a fortune from his rural town village grocery which he called “The Times” - short for “Signs of the Times.” 

Ya’ see, at that time, Grandpa had this theory that the Lord was returning since yet another global crisis was going down - World War 2. With the war introducing new technology like atomic power, with the potential to obliterate the entire human population and electronic computers used to read Nazi Enigma codes - Grandpa thought humans were getting too smart and invasive. 

“Soon enough - they’ll be trottin’ their way up - tryna get to heaven. Things just don’t work that way Bub,” my Dad said imitating grandpa’s famous quote when Dad was a child. My Dad rolled his eyes, never taking a word that left Grandpa’s mouth seriously. 

But anyway - let’s get back on track here. Grandpa expanded throughout Tennessee, then into the South, and finally all the way up North to our home and native land - Canada. He set up shop in Toronto - deciding to move, dedicated to the growth of his business. He’s lived here ever since. 

By the time grandpa died - he passed all he had down to his only son - a.k.a Dad. Dad got the two cottages up north, the southern summer estates and a new house hidden way in the woods - but close enough to the city - and that’s where we come full circle to where we are right now. 

I followed Dad through the web of branches we hadn’t cut after promising my brother, Jason, Frozen fanatic, we’d “let it grow.” 

We finally reached the end of the driveway. “Alright fifteen more minutes to go.” I gasped for air, already feeling exhausted from my driveway hike - like I hadn’t done it everyday. 

We traveled down Elm’s pathway, through Bayou circle and up Streams court. Our neighbourhood is a whole maze - believe me. 

“We’re here,” Dad said with expectation. 

Part 3: Uncertainty

Dad stared into the leary, dark blue sky. It didn’t look the way it always did.

“C’mon Stace. Over here.” Dad beckoned. 

I followed him over towards the grassy hills that faced the whole scenery. Dad set the basket on the grass and began whistling the infamous Coon song he whistled every summer solstice. He said he thought the song was delightfully amusing, and imitated what he called the “contemporary battle of identity for minorities.” He genuinely believed the song made a point and I found it repulsive.

 “The good Lord don’t see no color Stacey - we’re all one and the same. A small minority goin’ be rich - and the rest poor - that’s just the way the system works...” Grandpa used to tell me. As usual - Dad interrupted and never listened to a word he had to say. He was stuck in the ways he learned from his high school clan. 

The clock struck the minute hand before eight. It felt like time was moving in on us; I swore when I checked thirty seconds ago, it was only 7:45. 

“Time don't wait on nooobody Stace - you either get left behind like little Kevin McCallister in yo’ unholy ways or find the Lord, be blessed and head on up to heaven,” Grandpa used to tell me each morning I woke up “thirty minutes later” than he did. He was right - every minute wasted felt like a step away from the finish line - and the finish line didn’t seem any closer, living in the house with Dad. Time was moving faster than it ever had before - tick --- tock - tick-tock. 

I looked up at the sky - the clouds, moving in closer, almost as if they were about to swallow us up in a monstrous, deeming fog. The temperature dropped - unlike any other summer solstice and I was getting scared. 

Shivering like a sheep without wool, I asked “Dad, are you not cold?” 

“Yeah it’s getting a bit nippy out here, eh?” He gathered our favourite wool throw from last year’s trip to Scotland, and covered me in it. He then took one out for himself and opened the snack box with a beaming smile spread across his face. “Shall we?” He asked as he handed me a plastic plate. 

I giggled, feeling once again a sense of comfort, seeing my Dad’s face, his smile, reminding me of every other summer solstice - reminding me that it had to be even more beautiful, than those we had seen before. “We shall,” I answered, taking the plate.

Part 4: Unfamiliarity 

“Dad pass those honey buns - we can’t let em’ go to waste.” 

“Sure thing - Stace,” Dad replied. 

I turned right, towards him, as he handed over the honey bun; within my peripheral vision, I saw a raccoon approaching from my left side. It seemed far enough in the distance, so I didn’t pay it much mind. 

I took a bite of my honey bun. 

It came closer. 

Another bite. 

Closer. 

A third. 

Even closer. 

My last. 

Stace- !” Dad screamed. 

The raccoon had come right up to my left side and snatched the honey bun right out of my hand, gobbling it down its little throat in a matter of seconds. My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The raccoons I was familiar with would never come that close. The raccoons I knew were afraid of humans. The raccoons I remembered  minded their business with humans at day and wandered around, like thieves at night when neighbourhoods fell silent. Undeniably, this raccoon - I did not know. 

The raccoon stood there. Munching down what used to be my honey bun. 

I sat there - wondering how on earth a creature so small, powerless and inferior could have the gall to sit within my presence, as if it were okay. Never had I seen a raccoon so overt in its authority over humans. 

I continued staring it down - waiting for the second it would dash away. But it didn’t. It simply sat still. 

“That’s a funny lil’ raccoon, ain’t it?” My Dad giggled, purposefully speaking in Grandpa’s southern accent.

“Hpmh! It sure is.” I wasn’t laughing and I sure wasn’t about to get all cozy with my new furry companion. Something was strange. Something was different. 

A sudden adrenaline rush filled my entire body as I looked around - searching for any other deviant creatures. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Birds were oddly much closer to us than they normally would be. Foxes bordered the inner circle of the forest gap we sat within. I turned my head to look behind. Chipmunks roamed the grassy fields. A Blue jay flew down to the dandelion next to me, collected medium-sized sticks and fluttered back into the grand oak tree to the far left. Tiny spiders, no longer afraid, climbed onto my hairy arms, almost as though they threatened to bite off the hair to spin a web. I brushed them off. 

I couldn’t believe my eyes. 

 These animals and insects didn’t seem bothered or threatened by my Dad and I - at all. They sort of just - did as they pleased. 

“What in the Mother Mary -” Dad cursed. 

“I know.” I responded, as the both of us started to realize the reality of the situation. 

“We gotta go - Stace. Let’s go!” Dad exclaimed. 

“But what about the summer solstice?” I begged. 

“Let’s go. NOW!” Dad demanded, grabbing my hand. He was starting to get scared - fear quivering in his ocean-blue eyes.

I didn’t mean to be drastic but - I didn’t want some ignorant little animals to ruin our Daddy-daughter yearly tradition and they were doing more than that - they were ruining my fondest childhood memories. 

It began to rain. The rain shot down - almost like it had a vengeance against the entire human race. The clock struck the fifty-ninth minute after the eighth hour - I wasn’t leaving until I saw that sun. There were only 3 minutes left till the summer solstice. 

I let go of my Dad’s hand, running towards the direction in which my compass had indicated “east.” I wanted to be front row for the sunset - just like every year before. 

“Stacey-Ann Johnson!” Dad yelled. He never used my full name. Never - unless he was upset. 

I ran further into the east side of the woods. Was I scared? Yes - I had never seen so many foxes gathered together in a clan. It seemed as though they were planning something - like some sort of a revolution. News flash - World War 3 was about to go down and instead of the Soviet Union and China, our enemies were going to be a bunch of deranged forest creatures. 

I continued my journey east - pushing branches aside - plowing my way through to my ultimate destination. 

“Stacey.” My Dad beckoned from behind. 

“I gotta see it. So do you.” I responded. 

“This isn’t safe. I don’t feel safe anymore. If I don’t - then I can’t protect you. We need to go home now.” Dad shouted. His voice getting louder - angrier - weaker. 

I started to cry, feeling disoriented. I didn’t understand why the strongest man I knew was beginning to look like the weakest - absolutely powerless in the new world we were discovering.

I continued through the woods, persistent to see what I came for. I reached the “golden stone” my Dad and I marked six years ago to see the sun again. The oak tree that was beside the golden stone in the past, was nowhere to be seen. 

I stopped to look up in the sky - no sun. There wasn’t even a shimmer of sunlight to provide proof of the sun being near. “It - it - was sunny - all day,” I gasped for breath after my marathon of a chase just to see the sunset. “Where was it?” I started to get upset. A collapsed father. A strange raccoon. A confrontational, impertinent bird. Now - a missing sunset on the summer solstice evening. I had enough of it. I struck the “golden stone” with my backpack, kicked it far ahead and slumped into the bush that stood beside me. It was over. 

Footsteps approached from behind. 

“Stace - !” Dad exclaimed. Phew! It was just Dad. “You went the wrong way. You - you - went the wrong - uhm - way.” I got up, offering him a seat by the bush, seeing he was tired. 

“What do you mean I went the wrong way, Dad?” I was absolutely flustered. My whole world was falling to pieces now that there was a possibility that I wasted my time travelling the wrong way.

“The sun - the sun is over in the - the east. It’s set in the east.” Dad gasped for breath. He seemed discombobulated, himself. 

Somehow, I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that I missed my first summer solstice sunset. The whole night had just been a complete mess.

“Let’s go Dad.” I said quietly. 

“Look Stace - this whole thing -” he reasoned with his hands, “tonight was just a complete misunderstanding. Neither of us knew the sun was planning to set in the east instead of the west, where it always has. Can’t you see something - something’s different? With all these animals acting - all - all entitled. Walkin’ like - walkin’ like they’ve got power over us. I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking this is craaaa-zy!” Dad yelled out at the top of his lungs - as if the whole forest was interested in what he had to say. 

“Listen Dad - I’m not in the mood for your drama - this doesn’t seem like some imaginary dream to me. If it were - I would have woken up from this nightmare already. And even if this is a dream - it doesn’t seem like it's finishing anytime soon. Let’s just get back home.” 

We traveled back - this time on the main road. We weren’t in the mood for making any new “friends” in the forest. 

As we walked on the road, the sky grew dark and grim faster than it usually did. 

“Hey - isn’t that Mr. Johnson - since when did he own a Mercedes Benz? The last time I heard - he was working on the front-line as a caretaker, huh Stace?” Dad whined, nudging my elbow. 

My eyes widened - I realized life wasn’t just getting funky in the forest - or within nature, as a whole. Things, people - mainly power were starting to take a harsh turn - and it was turning against those who had it before. 

“Dad - Dad,” I said nervously shaking his arm. “Let’s get home - we gotta get home.” 

“Stace - you alright?” Dad asked cautiously.

“Just - just - listen to me. We gotta get home, okay?” 

“Alright. Let’s get home.” Dad gently took my hand and led the way. 

We started walking faster. I looked down at my watch - it was quarter to 10 pm. “Walk faster.” I said firmly. 

We walked faster. Our arms pumped in unison. We approached Carnell Street - our house was fourth on the left. 

We walked briskly. We got to house one. 

We jogged - got to house two. 

We ran - got to house three. 

We tripped - crawled - gasped for breath - got to house four - I looked up. 

A Mercedes Benz just like Mr. Johnson’s was parked right in the driveway. The lights were on in the dining room. 

With the ever-so-bright Sherwood chandelier shining down on a family - not my family - “the coons” as Dad called them - the Johnson’s family calmly passed around the salad bowl and shared a glorious meal. 

And it was at that moment - I remembered the end of Grandpa’s favourite MLK quote, “that’s just the way the system works...and since we know that the system will not change the rules, we are going to have to change the system.” 

Undoubtedly, the system had changed.

One day, the sun rose in the west and set in the east - and nothing was the same.