Brighter

“I’m looking for independent thoughts here.” Ms. Imhoff paused, her dark gaze flitting  from student to student. Although I had holed myself up in the far left corner of the room, her eyes landed on me. 

“Jenée. Give me one suggestion of something planet-positive you can do for Earth Day tomorrow.” 

My hesitation drew twenty-nine pairs of eyes toward me. On the whiteboard was a list of bright red ‘Earth Day activities!’--a lifeline. I read her the top one:

“A fundraiser…”

“That’s already on the board, Jenée. What is one nonprofit we’ve mentioned whose fundraiser you could join?” 

There was no list for that. My face grew hot. Frustration pleated Ms. Imhoff’s eyebrows together. 

“I can’t remember. Sorry.”

“Steve, a nonprofit.”

“Greenpeace?” 

“Greenpeace. OK. I’ll post a list online of other fundraisers going on around L.A. tomorrow. Questions?” 

An impatient pause. 

“OK. You can go.” 

I immersed myself in a pack of six-foot lacrosse players. No use. Through their chatter, Ms. Imhoff called me back. 

“Are you getting enough sleep?” She asked.

“Yes,” I lied. 

Her eyes searched my face through thick glasses.

“You seem distracted. I was speaking with Mr. Tellerman the other day. He was impressed by how eager you were in his class last year and how analytical your questions always were.”

I barely heard what she said, too focused on the look of deep concern--annoyance?--on her face. 

“What can I do to help you?”

My throat was dry.

“Is there something, maybe at home, that you’d like to talk to someone about?”

“No,” I managed.

“OK...well, please let me know if there’s anything you’d like to talk to me or the school counselor about. We’re always available.”

I nodded and left before she could make any more implications. In the hall I could breathe normally again. I went to the library to do my homework, something my dad had mandated. Even he had begun to notice I couldn’t focus at home. 

I texted Alessandro, 

I feel stupid.

Immediate response:

Why? And you’re not btw. Heart emoji.

I imagined him saying it in his bright, warm voice. 

I can’t hang out in my own living room without thinking about her. After almost a year. It’s pathetic. 

Stop calling yourself that. Has she reached out since your birthday? 

She calls sometimes but I haven’t answered.

Sorry. I wish you could hang out here. 

My fault for being allergic to your cat lol.

I’d snuff him if you wanted me to…

I knew you couldn’t hide your dark side forever. You’ve been way too nice to me. I was getting suspicious.

He sent an emoji with a raised eyebrow, then:

Not to get all serious, but you know I love you, right? Heart emoji. 

He told me for the first time--in person--about a month ago. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He at least hadn’t said anything annoying about ‘giving me time.’ My mind wandered to his easy smile, that dumb beard he was trying to grow, the way his voice cracked when describing his plans of becoming a programmer, his eucalyptus-leaf smell. I wondered if it was enough to just say I loved him back. I remembered my dad telling me, “when you know, you know.” I didn’t. 

I chose a window seat on the 6:48 bus home. When we turned the first corner, a beam of orange sunlight blinded me. Eyes watering, I put a hand to my forehead. Without the light in my eyes, the warmth felt good on my neck. 

Sunset’s reflection on my mom’s sunscreened chest floated to the front of my mind. We’d gone to the beach almost every evening in summer, dad always at work. We became experts at timing the forty-five minutes each way. I would drink in the reflection on the waves,  imagine myself far beyond them, floating and bobbing. I went in the water sometimes but got cold fast. My mom’s wan hands squeezed my shoulders through the towel and rubbed my arms to warm me. Together we watched the sun wink goodnight, shivered at the dusk chill and headed home. 

I couldn’t quite conjure the sound of her voice. I tried, stupidly--and nothing. I took out my phone and retweeted things at random. Out the window the sun went down and I was glad to lose it’s reflection on my screen. 

Pieces of my dream began falling away. The back of my neck was wet. I pushed my blanket off and flicked my hair to one side, hoping to slip back into sleep. Too late. My cement eyelids cracked open enough to see: 5:51AM. An hour and a half before the alarm. What. The. Fuck. My eyes adjusted to the screen. On Instagram, a DM from a photographer I had recently unfollowed:

Literally looking at the sun coming up right now from the WEST?!

Was she that desperate to regain followers? A request from a different account popped up. I ignored it and a second later, a third one appeared. I accepted. It was a picture of the sunset over the L.A. skyline. The colors were off, though, making it look like sunrise instead. People shouldn’t use photoshop if they don't know how. About to scroll on, the message below the picture caught my eye. 

THE SUN IS RISING OVER LA MOTHERFUCKERS!!

Was this some new meme? I checked other posts. More of the same. I turned the phone off; what the hell was wrong with people? Dad had already left for work by the time I showered and came down to the kitchen. He’d left the blinds closed. 

I opened them and squinted as brilliant sunlight stung my eyes. The sun, of course, was nowhere in sight; the kitchen window faced west. Even at dusk we couldn’t see the sunset from here, with glittering high rises between us and the coast. But now neon beams shone around their edges, exactly as if the sun were rising behind them. 

It took me I don’t know how long to realize I had stopped breathing. My fingers combed through my hair as if on autopilot. My mind was a roulette wheel, with one thought in particular trying to drop into the slot: grab...the bus schedule...why was that important? 

I looked it up. When I spotted “Torrance” on the list, I finally caught up with myself--Grandpa’s house. It made sense. If anyone could clarify reality from whatever the hell was happening now, it was him. A retired naval captain, he was the only person I had never seen panic. 

Panic. A memory crowded in: Dad slumped against the bathroom wall. He hadn’t closed the door all the way. He was struggling to inhale, gasping. Panicking. I was about to rush in when I saw his face, wet with tears. Startled and a bit ashamed that I had seen, I padded back to my room. It took me an hour to catch up: Mom was gone and wasn’t coming back.     

I pushed the memory out, grabbed my bag and headed to the bus. 

Out on the street, thousands of people were charging west. Cars jammed the streets. A chorus of honking and shouting pursued me. Someone was screaming. A few were sprinting. Others seemed to sleep-walk. I stuck close to the walls as I struggled toward the bus stop. 

When the bus finally arrived, I grabbed a seat and texted my dad. 

Going to grandpa’s

Almost instantly: Was just about to call. Please be safe. Stay at grandpa’s once you get there. I’m sorry this is happening. PLEASE call if you need to talk, OK? I love you. 

I sent a quick reply then texted Alessandro, 

Going to my grandpa’s house. Idk what’s even real. You going to school?

I stared at my screen for three whole minutes. He must still be asleep. I was glad if he could grab another moment of peace. I added: 

Call me when you see this. Stay safe. 

People on the bus were behaving normally, most of them on their phones. I leaned my head against the window and told myself things were probably going to be OK. 

At my stop, my phone buzzed. I had it out in a second. Rather than Alessandro, the screen read: Carrie. I let it buzz two more times. If it had been any other day I would have ignored it. How long had it been since she’d called? I pressed the green button. 

“Jenée, can you hear me?” 

My mom’s voice was higher than I remembered it, maybe just the stress of the situation. I thinned mine to a monotone: 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you at your dad’s?”

“Yeah.”

“I would stay home today if I were you.”

“OK.”

“Are you...doing OK?”

“Yeah.”

An arc of silence stretched between us. My heart beat a bit faster as I let myself feel her discomfort. This was something like satisfaction.

“Be safe,” she muttered.

I let her hang a few seconds longer, then ended the call. 

Pleased to find my anger didn’t linger, I returned to the calming snippets of memories featuring Alessandro. 

Grandpa’s doorbell lit up under my finger. I rang twice. No answer. Around the back, the fence was too high to see over. I called, 

“Grandpa?”

“Jenée? Come to the front!” 

He opened the front door as I reached it. 

“You should have called.”

“Sorry.” 

“Come look.” 

He was holding his silver Brunton compass. I noticed his face was paler than usual and his hair tousled. Strange. In fifteen years, I had never seen him without his stiff, pomade-slicked hairdo. 

Stranger still, the living room curtains were flung open. As a kid, Grandpa scolded me whenever I tried to open them, adamant that the sun would damage his antique Persian rugs. Thankfully, the backyard looked as usual: a well-mowed green square with two lawn chairs to one side. From here the sun was visible, but I avoided looking at it. 

“Here, look.” 

Grandpa laid his compass next to a second one on the grass. I crouched beside him. 

“See? North.” He pointed to the needle. For emphasis, he stretched his whole arm out due north, a third compass needle. I read his analog wristwatch, which he always kept accurate to the millisecond. 7:46AM and the sun was rising left of his arm. 

“I don’t know what’s causing it,” he said, so quietly I could hardly hear.   

“Does this mean the earth is rotating the opposite way now?”, I asked, unable to conceal  the panic in my voice. “Wouldn’t we be dead?” 

“I don’t know. But guessing won’t help.” His voice was suddenly harsh. 

“I need to call Alessandro,” I said. “He doesn’t know about all this yet.” 

“Who’s that?”

“My boyfriend.” I tapped the call icon next to Alessandro’s name. 

“He’s Italian, isn’t he?” 

I was relieved to hear Alessandro’s voice before the second ring. 

“Hey. Are you OK?” He asked.

“Yeah, are you?”

“I’m good. Just really confused. Where are you?”

“At my Grandpa’s.” 

“I’m at my house. My mom and dad went to work already. You want to meet up?” He said.

“I think that’ll help me a lot.” I glanced at Grandpa, who was now sitting on the couch, rubbing his temples. Dread crept in as I realized he was murmuring to himself. 

“You sure you don’t feel more comfortable staying inside?” Alessandro asked. 

“Positive.” 

“OK. I can be at the pier in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll meet you there.” I agreed. 

“See you soon.”

“Alessandro--”

“Yeah?” 

Unsure where the words came from, confident they were true, I ventured,

“I’m so--relieved that you don’t expect me to have answers about what I think or how I feel.” I paused, feeling as if I’d been holding a fifty-pound weight off the ground for nearly a year and had finally let go. “I’ll see you soon.” I hung up and discovered I was grinning. 

Grandpa had gone back outside. I joined him and said,

“I’m going to meet Alessandro at the beach.” 

“Your boyfriend? I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He released his words in increments, making me hang on till the end of each one. It was how he sounded when he’d made up his mind. Despite the firmness in his voice, I realized he was speaking out of fear. I studied his face, trying to identify the source of the tension in his lips, eyebrows, neck. 

“You can glare at me all you want, but I’ve made my decision.” 

There it was: the only thing in the world that he was in control of right now was me. He’d decided I would stay, not for my safety, but just because he could. Swallowing my contempt, I reciprocated,

“I need to be in a place where I feel comfortable right now.”

Anger flashed across his face but he didn’t yell.

“What’s wrong with here?” It wasn’t a question.

“Fine. I’ll stay.” 

“That wasn’t your decision anyway, young lady.” Down his long nose, Grandpa gave me a hard stare. Sometimes, I pitied him. 

I took a seat on the couch in the living room as Grandpa collected his compasses and climbed the stairs to his office. I waited till the wood had stopped creaking to tear a corner off a newspaper from the coffee table. Grandpa wouldn’t notice a text. I wrote a quick note, stuck it to the handrail, and sprang out the door. 

In the cool air outside, I could already taste the salt. Picturing Alessandro’s silhouette against the ocean, I started west at a run. 

He hadn’t arrived by the time I got there. It was 8:08. Throngs of people surrounded me. Almost all were staring into the sky, most looking worried rather than panicked. I turned my back to the sun and scanned the entrance of the pier. 

“Hey!” A familiar, bright voice called from behind. 

Alessandro waved from a dozen yards away. His shadow stretched in front of him and in the east-shining morning light I took in the smile on his face. My approach became a jog. It was seconds before his arms wrapped around me. Too warm for the summer, his brown overcoat was unbuttoned--open to me. The fabric shielded me from both sides as I pressed my cheek against his t-shirt. His chest was warm, his heartbeat inviting. Alessandro whispered to me, 

“You smell amazing.” 

I took his chin with one hand and rubbed my fingers through his patchy stubble. 

“Still growing it out, huh?”

“Yep.”

I brought his mouth down to mine. For a minute, I didn’t care about the scratchiness. I even forgot the sun had risen behind us today. 

“I know you don’t like being asked,” he interrupted, “but this is way too much to process, so...what are your thoughts about all this?”

I led him away from the pier and the people. Though I felt the same, I found myself reassuring him,

“No matter what people are reporting or speculating about, it isn’t news that most of the things in the universe are out of our control.” Though I didn’t know why, I wondered what my mom was doing just then. I couldn’t quite picture her, since I didn’t know what her new home in Denver looked like. 

“What do you mean?” Alessandro asked. Wrinkles had formed his forehead. My compulsion to make them go away took me by surprise. 

“We’ve never been able to control what happens in space,” I elaborated. “Humans have never controlled what the sun does. There are some things we can control, though. I’m glad you’re here with me right now.” 

He stopped and kissed my forehead. I was about to rub it away; for some reason it always made me restless when he left my skin wet. He hadn’t forgotten and dried my forehead with his thumb. I compromised between speaking and a smile,

“What I think is…” I stopped myself, but realized there was no reason to, “I don’t need an apology from my mom. I don’t want one.”

“You mean you shouldn’t have to ask for one?”

“I mean it wouldn’t do anything for me. Why would I even ask her, you know?”

“She left you and genuinely isn’t sorry about it.” 

“I don’t care anymore why she left. And I’d only ask her to apologize if I thought it would make me feel better. But she doesn’t control how I feel. I do.”

“Hm. I’d like to think I have a hand in that too.” He smiled. I could see he understood what I meant, but I facepalmed him anyway. He removed my hand. Held on to it. We migrated closer to the waves, fixating on the sun’s reflection on the wet sand. 

“If you don’t want an apology, what do you want?”

“I just want to feel peaceful.” 

He slipped his fingers between mine. I guided him to the water till our feet were submerged. The sun soaked into my skin. I smiled to think how, on any other weekday, I’d already be under the fluorescents in Ms. Imhoff’s class. 

In our soaking clothes we passed the shallow breakers together. Alessandro started shivering when the water reached his neck. 

“We’ll get out in a few,” I said. “I just want to float for a bit.” 

I wandered deeper till only my toes touched the sand, then lifted them to the surface. Cold water drenched the back of my head. The current rocked me gently, wiping all thoughts out of my mind, except one: I knew that when I got out of the water, this new sunrise would warm me better than my mother’s hands ever did.