The Little Light We Have

For there is always light,

if only we're brave enough to see it.

If only we're brave enough to be it.

-Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb”

When the world froze and the sky turned dim, people stopped living. Yes, they were alive, but the two concepts were no longer the same. Everything seemed to harden. The ground, as it froze. The sky, covered in iron-gray clouds. The lives of people, every day, as they struggled to go on in a world where even breathing was a difficult task.

In reality, there weren’t really days at all. Nor nights. Or, if there were, they blended together into a blob of human existence that was quickly fading. The little light that came from the weak sun was exactly that - little. It was dim and pathetic. It no longer was difficult to look up into the sun’s face. The feeling was similar to peering at a lit match that was far away. 

Lucinia glanced up at it now. Her face was wrapped in layers of scarves and hoods and hats. The especially large hood of her coat slipped off now as she tilted her gaze up to the sky. For a moment, even as she immediately felt the effect of the missing cover, she scanned the sky, looking for the sun. After a desperate moment in which she wondered if the star had finally gone out, she saw it, hovering anxiously over the world. Lucinia sighed and put her hood back up. In her mind’s eye, she saw the sun as a bright and blazing ball of gas, majestic and powerful, holding itself high over the earth like a guardian angel. She sighed again, not knowing how this tiny light could have possibly ever been such a thing. She knew it had been before, of course. Her mother, years and years ago, had seen it, and her grandparents, and her great-grandparents, and all those before. They had been so fortunate - Lucinia had not. 

Lucinia brushed past the few other people that were outdoors. Few ever were, but she was practically every day. She was one of the few children in the city that still went to school. Most parents couldn’t afford it, some just thought it pointless. “Why should I send my child to learn of the world that is dying? Why should they waste their time educating themselves about skills they will never need when the sun finally goes out? When nothing is left?”

When we are all dead and gone, Is what they would not say, because it was too painful coming off the tongue. It was too hard.

But Lucinia’s mother was a straightforward sort of woman. “If they all expect to die uneducated anyway, they might as well go throw themselves off a cliff and be done with it.” She would say disdainfully. “My daughter will learn all there is to learn, even if the sun does go out. Death should not regulate what we do or do not do in life! How foolish!” So Lucinia went to school every day. She walked the half mile to the only functioning tram in her neighborhood and rode the remaining ten miles to her school house, a small building with minimal heating and even more minimal attendance. 

It was, in no way, a well-funded school. Seven years back, the city had voted for its discontinuation entirely. Only the protest of a few esteemed citizens, such as Lucinia’s mother, stopped this. All the same, the city only dribbled money and support out to the school every once and a while. Lunch and breakfast were not provided, there was only one computer in the entire building, and every desk and chair was old and broken. 

But Lucinia loved it. She loved learning. She loved her teachers and her broken desk. Even the walk back home for a meal every afternoon made her happy, knowing that after filling her stomach with warm food, she would be allowed to return. And, most of all, she loved the few friends she had made, the ones that could also afford to come to school. 

She greeted one now. Flor, a girl with caramel-colored skin and dark hair that fell over her shoulder in waves, was easily the person that Lucinia had known the longest, besides her own mother. Their fathers had been best friends before they had, and after Lucinia’s father died, ten years ago, Flor’s family had practically lived with Lucinia and her mother, keeping them alive until they could stand on their own two feet. Lucinia and Flor were fifteen now, inseparable, and never unhappy when in each other’s company. “Even when the sun goes out,” Lucinia’s mother liked to joke “These two will keep glowing. They would be the only people left alive, and I don’t suppose it would bother them one bit.”

“That’s not true!” Flor and Lucinia would cry together. “We would miss you!” Flor would add, and Lucinia would nod. They did not say that they would surely meet the same end as all the others. They did not want to think about it.

Mother would sigh. “Sweet girls. And I would miss you, also.” It was all in happy conversation, but, like everything else, it was clouded with sadness. At this point, the whole world knew that there was no if, only when. The earth had an incurable disease. 

And yet, Flor and Lucinia lived as many young people lived, like they would never die. Their days were flooded with happiness when in each other’s company. They never fought, never tired of each other. 

Today, Flor was accompanied by Nadia, a girl that Flor and Lucinia had added to their small, rather exclusive group years ago. She was a small, fairy-like girl, practically the opposite of Flor, at least in appearance. Her short, straight hair was a shiny yellow color. She was practically a head shorter than both Lucinia and Flor. And though all three friends acted like the world would never end, Nadia seemed to practically believe it. When they went outdoors, she blew kisses to the sun and let her hood down. “To feel the breeze,” she said cheerfully while the other two shivered. “Isn’t it lovely today?” The wind bit at their flushed cheeks and howled, but Nadia smiled like it was whispering and friendly. She pretended not to hear when anyone mentioned the dying sun, and her blue eyes would flash dangerously. 

“Even when the whole world ends, she’ll go on pretending.” Said Mother sadly sometimes.

Now, Nadia flounced up to the other two. “Good morning!” She exclaimed. All of her layers were shed, except for a colorful sweater and a scarf to match. Nadia never wore anything gray or black. Lucinia doubted she even owned an article of clothing with those colors. She pecked Lucinia on the cheek, then began to chatter as though she had only spent five minutes apart from her friends, not a whole weekend. 

“I’ve heard wonderful news, Luz!” Nadia was the only one who called Lucinia that name. Not even Flor did. “I discovered why Mrs Whittmar has been missing from school for the past few days.”

“Really?” Said Lucinia, mildly interested. Their English teacher, Mrs Whittmar, had been absent for a few days. “What is it?”

“She’s having a baby!”

“A baby!” Lucinia and Flor exclaimed as one. Lucinia felt suddenly lightheaded, like she was floating. Few people even considered having children these days. It was seen as a practically terrible thing to do - bringing an innocent baby into a dying world. Into a freezing world. A harsh, unkind world. 

“That’s wonderful!” Said Flor, just as Lucinia asked “Are you sure?”

“Yes, it is wonderful, and of course I’m sure!” Said Nadia. “I heard it from Mrs Whittmar’s husband - he shops at papa’s store sometimes.” Nadia’s father managed a successful food market, filled with fresh meats and even some fruit - which were rare. Nadia’s mother had a small greenhouse in which she grew lemons and blueberries and other delicacies. 

“It’s just - well, it was good that she would get married, but a baby! It just doesn’t really make sense. Mrs Whittmar always seemed like such a sensible person.” Said Lucinia, unsure.

“Sensible!” Said Flor, like it was a disgusting word. “Sensible!” She cried again. She seemed unable to say anything else. 

“Having a baby isn’t ever sensible, Luz!” Said Nadia, perhaps saying what Flor could not. “I mean, having this organism growing inside you - it’s very weird.”

“I only mean, with the way… the way things are now…” Lucinia trailed off, catching that dangerous glint in Nadia’s ice-blue eyes.

“Well, I believe it’s wonderful, and that’s all there is to it.” The small girl waltzed away, evidently riled up by what Lucinia had said.

“Besides, what would you have her do with it?” Said Flor quietly as they, also, went to their seats. By it, she meant the baby, Lucinia assumed. “Get rid of it?” Flor shuddered. “We could use another light in this world, Lucinia. Don’t think it would be a good idea to get rid of it. Don’t. Even.”

*****

That night, under layers of blankets, Lucinia was wide awake. She was still processing what had happened that day. Her teacher, having a baby. Her and Flor, having a fight. Or something very similar to one. Of course, they hadn’t remained angry with each other, but there was an uncomfortable feeling that surrounded them for the remainder of the day. And they didn’t walk home together, like they usually did. 

Yes, the world was ending, they all knew it, and yet, these two things were more important, more terrible, more amazing than that. 

We could use another light in this world, Lucinia.

But was the use of having another light if it was only going to be snuffed out?

*****

Mrs Whittmar returned to school the next day. Her step was noticeably lighter, and she couldn’t seem to keep a smile off her face. Nadia, Flor, and Lucinia were probably the only ones in their class who knew why. Although, that wasn’t saying much, considering there were only twenty-two students in the entire school. 

Lucinia waited anxiously the whole day for Mrs Whittmar to announce her news. It was obvious that she was bursting to tell someone. Or everyone. But the hours came and went, and, as the three girls stepped out of the school doors, they all realized at once that their teacher hadn’t even mentioned the baby. 

“When do you suppose she’s going to tell everyone?” Asked Flor quietly. “I mean, she can’t exactly keep it a secret forever.”

“I don’t know. But didn’t she seem so much happier today? It was so lovely to see her smiling like that.” Said Nadia. 

Lucinia shivered. It was always cold, of course, but now the wind was even harsher, the ice beneath their feet even harder. In the sky, the sun seemed to flicker, a candle trying to stay lit against all odds. It was at times like this that their days seemed especially numbered. The next day, things would return to normal, and people would return to pretending that maybe nothing was wrong. 

“Maybe she doesn’t want people to know.”

Flor and Nadia looked at each other, then at Lucinia. Their gaze was accusing, as if saying, not this again. 

“All I’m saying is that… maybe other people will disapprove. I… I don’t.” I just don’t want another life to be wasted. Another good thing turned sad. 

Flor smiled. “I guess. But her husband didn’t seem to be so cautious, if that’s the case. How else would Nadia have found out, after all?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.” Said Nadia cheerfully. She linked arms with the other two girls, though it meant exposing her hands to the cold. Together, the three walked home, happy.

Above them, the sun continued to shine, but only barely. 

*****

The days continued to pass by, as slowly as ever. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but the weather seemed to get colder. It was October, but there weren’t really seasons anymore - everything was winter. When Lucinia was little, she fantasized that an evil witch had put a spell over the world, so that it was always winter. Soon she realized that this wasn’t a spell, if only because spells could be broken. 

Two weeks after Mrs. Whittmar returned to school, she announced that she would be having a baby, probably over summer break (Summer. Ha). The class smiled and congratulated their teacher, but after school ended, there were mutterings from students and teachers alike.

A baby. In times like these. The woman must be out of her mind.

A baby. How sad.

A baby. And who knows what will become of it now? Of all of us?

Flor and Lucinia exchanged unhappy glances, while Nadia stared straight ahead with those hard, unforgiving blue eyes. Her usual bright demeanor was gone. Once or twice, she would glare at the mutterer, open her mouth to say something, then close it again and slink away resentfully. The walk was unusually quiet. Nadia left for her house - A small, uncharacteristically gray home with a few wide windows - with barely a goodbye. Flor and Lucinia gazed after her for a moment before continuing on in silence. 

They approached Flor’s home. Suddenly, Flor halted to a stop and stared a hard, resolute stare at Lucinia. “Why can’t people just be happy anymore? Why do we always have to be so sad?” She said angrily.

“You know why.” Lucinia didn’t want to look at her best friend. She was afraid that Flor would see that she, too, was another one of these sad, scared people.

“No, I don’t. The sun, the cold. You know they’re just excuses, Lucinia. Excuses to be sad when we could try to be happy.” She paused. “Look at me, Luz.”

It was the first time Flor had ever called her that. In her surprise, Lucinia did as her friend asked. 

“Just try. Please. For me. For the whole world. Even if it is dying. Even if we’re all going to die.” Her voice was strained. “I mean, why should we let death tell us what to do? Why should that matter as long as we’re still alive now? The fact that death will happen shouldn’t make life any less wonderful. We should savor it while we still can.” Flor looked at Lucinia pleadingly. “Just try.”

With that, she walked away.

Lucinia stood very still, a mixture of despair and hope and many other unexplainable feelings stirring inside of her. Her head filled with words that she had heard all her life filled her head. She had never paid attention to them before, but she did now.

Death should not regulate what we do or do not do in life.

We could use another light in this world. 

Even if the sun goes out, these two will keep glowing.

We could try to be happy.

Just try.

Just.

Try.

And one thing became suddenly clear as Lucinia made her way home. Even in these unsure times, the frightening times, even with the sun dying and the days cold and long, even in the darkness and sorrow, she had to try. Try to love. Try to be happy. Try, try, try. 

Because, after all, light was a precious thing. The world could use much more of it.

And if she could be that light, that hope, that happiness, that love, shouldn’t she at least try?