Here Comes the Sun

SOME PEOPLE SAY THAT YOU can’t always trust the people close to you; perhaps they were right. Whether they are a friend, a lover, or just a random kind stranger that you met one night. You keep your friends and your enemies closer, something that I should’ve done, and then maybe I— maybe things would’ve ended up differently.

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a warm yellow glow and nearly brightening up the sky. As if a string was holding it up. In the moonlight, the trees swayed back and forth in the breeze, creating shadows that danced across my bedroom floor. I wrap myself up in my blanket when the cool air from the air vent on the ceiling turns on but with only my legs sticking out.

But I don’t mind the cold though.

Staring up at the moon now, I used to believe in the Man on the Moon story. Correction: I still believe in it … just sometimes. I wonder if he ever gets homesick or lonely up there in space. You and me both, is what I’d say to him. I guess he’s not alone if there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of twinkling stars, sitting right next to him and brightening up the deep voids of space. Sometimes I even wonder how he ended up there in the first place. The only thought that came to mind was that he was a rocket man who was stranded on the moon by his crew after he completed a mission and he just accepted his fate.

I can’t remember the last time that was stargazing; maybe when I was around ten years old but the memory feels so far away. However, I vaguely remember those hot summer nights, my parents and I at the city park, lying down on our old beat-up red picnic blanket and looking up at the stars. My dad was a self-proclaimed astrophile and loved astronomy in the same way that I did when I was small. I used to think that if I brought a star down to earth and kept it in a jar on my nightstand, it’d be like having an electricity-free nightlight.

But here I am at twenty-two doing the same thing. And there are nights like this whether I want to sit on the couch, eat a cup of Ben and Jerry’s, and watch the latest episode of Bob Ross doing another painting. I know it sounds boring but to me, it was the perfect remedy for depression.

Bea, my four-year-old Siberian cat, lays across my lap, her warmth radiating from her furry body. I move my hand from the top of her head to her back. A loud purr erupts from her and one side of her ear twitches when my finger grazes up against it. She doesn’t move a lot but it’s enough for her to be extra comfortable. Because of what happened in my incident, my parents and the therapist only thought that it was right for me to have an emotional support animal to help with any sort of panic attack; not that they have been bothering me for a while like it did in December and January.

It’s like having a baby, except she was adopted, rescued from the animal shelter, and she’s a cat. But I wouldn’t change a thing about her. At least, she’s one of the few things in my life helping me bring back the peace.

How long have I been awake? The glowing green numbers on my digital alarm clock read, 2:55. Just before I went straight to bed, my parents and I sort of got into a full-blown argument about taking legal action. The last thing I need is for things to get worse than they already are. The police are already involved — though, I highly doubt they’ll do anything except sleep on the case.

These nightmares keep coming, not as bad as the last one but God, do I hate them. I lean against the cold glass window and wait to drift off to sleep.

And maybe the sunrise will be the first thing I see.

I was graced by the kiss of the morning sun rising from the horizon — the lovely sound of birds chirping and hopping from one branch to another. Thankfully, there’s not a single cloud in the sky. I rub my eyes as a yawn tumbles from my mouth and blink repeatedly until my vision is clear. With every twist and turn, I can hear my bones crack and I stretch my arms up above me.

And I enjoy the scenery in front of me until Bea comes into view, slowly licking my face. “Ugh, Bea!” I almost laughed as I picked her up and put her on the ground. She begins to bow down, stretching out her front legs and bearing her claws. Her luscious black tail stands upward before curling sideways.

As I stand on my feet, I feel the softness of the carpet by wiggling my toes before I sleepily walk over to one of my bedside nightstands to turn off the alarm. I place a clean striped dark blue sweater and denim jeans near the edge of my bed and my light-blue Chucks at the foot. For as long as I can remember, they were my first pair as a gift for my acceptance into Acardia University. I used to endlessly beg my parents to buy them until their only response was “I’ll think about it” and I sort of gave up after that.

A few minutes later, I step under the sprinkling cold water. My back arches just as soon as one drop splashes against my skin. I’ve read somewhere that cold showers help boost your mood and decrease your anxiety. Knowing that I’ll have to see him on campus, I’m going to need a lot more strength and thanks to the nightmares, I needed this anyway.

After my shower, I quickly retreat to the warmth of my bedroom with only my bath towel wrapped around my petite body. Unfortunately for me, Bea is starting to gnaw at the ends of my shoelaces and I carefully take them away from her. I mean, they’re a bit scuffed up but I can’t afford to mess them up even more than they already are.

“Bea, cut that out!” I reprimand her, “I’m hungry too but that doesn’t mean that you get to chew on my shoes.”

Once I’m dressed, I smoothen out any wrinkles in my clothes, teasing my short red hair, and then grabbing my bookbag from the hook of my bed. I hurry down the stairs with Bea slowly trailing behind me. The sound of her footsteps is as soft as a careless whisper against the polished wooden floors.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, my dad is sitting on his lounge chair, his feet kicked up in the air watching the latest Cagney & Lacey episode. He’s a big fan of women cops. My mom, on the other hand, is sitting at the counter of the island, drinking her coffee and reading a Vogue magazine.

She looks up at me. “Oh, good morning, Immy.”

“Good morning,” I say back to her as I start putting dog food into Pearl’s bowl.

With how last night went down, I just hope that they moved on from the conversation. But knowing my mother, she’s like an elephant who never forgets and I guess it’s a mom thing. It’s actually kind of scary. She takes another drink from her mug, leaving a ring of pink lipstick on the rim while I grab a box of Eggos from the refrigerator. I take two waffles from the box and pop them into the toaster.

So far, everyone seems so distant; it’s a good thing but also bad. While I wait for the waffle to get toasted, I begin to pour myself a glass of orange juice, keeping my eyes glued to the glass. Between the talking on the TV and Bea going at it with the food, awkward tension lingers in the air. I go to the pantry to grab the bottle of syrup.

“Imogene,” my mom begins and I could’ve sworn that I felt my heart drop.

Damn it! I think as I freeze in action and bite my bottom lip. Whenever she says my name like that, what comes out of her mouth next is bound to sound serious. I don’t want to fight again this early in the morning. I grab the bottle of syrup and turn to my mom, smiling sheepishly and trying to keep it together.

“Yes,” I answer.

She stands up from the table and calmly walks my way. “Listen, after what happened last night, it was never my place to force you to do something such as press charges against him. You’re still healing and I’m glad that you’re getting the help you need to overcome the … thing that happened to you —”

“But?”

There always has to be a ‘but’ along with that sentence.

“But nothing. You’re an adult woman who can make her own choices and you know that your father and I will always back you up a hundred percent,” she says as she places a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to think that we’re harping on you about something so serious and I believe you deserve justice.”

Part of what my mother said is the truth. There’s no doubt about that. But what would be the point if it’s all for nothing and he just ends up walking free? It’s only a matter of time before graduation. My mom caresses my hands gently and suddenly the waffles in the toaster pop up in a matter of seconds before I can say anything.

“Thanks, Mom. I just … need some time to think,” I tell her.

The last thing that I need is to stress out about taking legal action and for this to be blown way out of proportion though I tend to follow through that promise of thinking about. I mean, should I?

She pursed her lips inward for a moment, seemingly to hold her tongue. The corners of her mouth begin to lift. “Alright, take all the time you need.”

“I will,” I tell and turn to go grab my waffles from the toaster.

“Just come home if you think that you’re feeling uneasy or another case of a panic attack,” she reminds me before planting a soft kiss on my forehead.

I chuckle. “If only but I have an appointment with the counselor after school so that should be enough.” I place the two waffles on a plate and then pour a small glass of orange juice.

“Whatever you say, dear.”