The Shift

I had heard about the project to change the rotational direction of Earth for the first time in grade school. In second-grade, Teddy Sutton’s dad came in with a big model of the planets that had been commissioned by his work that conducted research on switching the tradewinds. He let us take turns spinning the planets in any direction we wanted and sent us home with our own plush ball that looked like the Earth. Teddy got to be the line leader for three days in a row after that.

My fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Janis, had a short bob haircut that seemed to float around her small head; it reminded me of an astronaut’s helmet. She told the whole class about the purpose of changing the rotational direction and explained how engineers could capture a lot more energy from solar and wind power generators if the sun only rose in the west and the tradewinds blew from that direction.

Over winter break that year a satellite community on Mars sustained a large explosion from solar generators and a few dozen residents were killed. Some of the survivors from the Mars station came back to Earth and started a campaign for the change in rotation to take place sooner rather than later. They called themselves “The Shifters” and gave speeches about how the sunrise every morning in the east was a reminder of the death of their loved ones. From then on everyone spoke of the goal to reverse the rotation colloquially as ‘the shift’.

That spring in a unit on government, Ms. Janis was lively as she explained what civic duty was and what ours was: we were to think really hard about the shift. She had us all practice in class every morning and assigned a homework log our parents had to sign that included a daily shift mediation. We were all excited for the day when enough brainpower would have been harnessed for the shift to happen. A sport was made up over guessing when it would happen, no one was ever right, and Ms. Janis was not happy when she found out about our game.

After Ms. Janis showed us an international website, Teddy’s dad had helped create, which had a live feed of brain power dedicated to the shift, I began checking it every day. I was so enamored with the shift that when we got to choose a topic to research and present to the class on for science fair in fifth grade, that was my topic. By grade seven, when asked what I wanted to do when I was older, I would proudly say I was going to be a planetary calibration expert. Freshman year of high school my wardrobe included almost exclusively space-themed outfits, including metallic boots, earings of planets and stars, and sweatshirts with “Spacecadette” embroidered in. When it was announced the day the Earth’s rotation would be reversed, it was my senior year. I saw Teddy’s dad on tv that evening talking about the way they calculated the amount of brainpower and how given current trends it would happen in a few days.

Everyone stopped their normal lives to prepare. Large buildings were reinforced with steel beams, just in case there was an earthquake, viewing shelters were built for people to gather inside of for the first sunrise, and most importantly all the wind turbines and solar panels were turned around. I’d already been accepted to my university of choice to attend their special astrophysics college, so I wasn’t upset when the schools shut down for a few weeks because I had nothing to prove academically.

I felt cheated over the whole situation. It seemed like I had spent the last eight years of my life working to be at the front edge of the scientific community when the shift finally happened. Everyone who knows me has been giving me solemn looks recently. I had essentially worn a sign around my neck for the last few years that said I wanted to be part of the group of scientists who did the shift. Now the sign reads, “My only life goal was accomplished…”

For a few days before the shift was thought to occur, I was getting up to see the sunrise. A little path not far from my house leads to a large open field where I have always been able to get a good view. In the distance at the opening where I was planning on sitting, I see a large gathering of people. I’m surprised because nobody had been there the last few days when I came, but I’m soon overcome by a stronger emotion, I feel unoriginal. It becomes obvious I wasn’t the only one with this idea to see the sunrise from this spot this morning, the same way I wasn’t the only one who was excited about the shift. As I get closer I recognize some of the darkened silhouettes and carrying voices as those of classmates and neighbors, so I turn around.

I decide I will just go back and watch the sunrise from my house. I feel defeated and my shoes seem to be the only ones who understand. From the dew on the grass I walked through, they had gone from damp to soaked by the time I reached my porch. I can feel the moisture leak onto my feet through my socks. I realize I forgot to look up the whole time as I sauntered back. I check for the sun and it’s not there. The sky seems significantly brighter than it had been just ten minutes ago. I turn around. It all shifted last night.

The sun was peeking up over the horizon and shining through the houses in the distant west. I brought my attention to the wind, but couldn’t feel anything. Everything seemed very still. I wondered where Ms. Janis was and if she could see this sunrise, and if she also felt as though nothing had changed.