Sunshiner

The eight hour drive was completely silent. We took turns driving, and while she was the one behind the steering wheel, I wasted time by staring out the window. For the first time since I was a little kid, I looked, really looked, at the world. I watched as an eagle flew beside our car for a few yards, and then, after uttering a sky-splitting scream, it flapped its wings and soared off in another direction. I watched as a mouse scuttled across the road with a bit of food in its mouth. I watched as the clouds shifted their shapes as they zoomed by, ignoring the land below. I don't think clouds pay too much attention to the earth; they only care about the stars.

We stopped for a little bit because Candace had to go to the bathroom. I remained sitting in the car. Neither of us had spoken to one another yet, and I wasn't sure if it was an awkward silence or if this was just the way it was supposed to be. Either way, I was too tired and indifferent to attempt to change it. I wasn't going to attempt to start a conversation any time soon.

While I was waiting for her to finish, I sat back in my seat and watched the oak trees bristle their leaves above me. A few of those helicopter seed things twisted downwards and I suddenly found it fascinating how plants could design themselves to be aerodynamic. I wished that I could design myself like that, to shift my shape like the clouds and turn myself into something that would be able to soar up and away. I wondered why I had never noticed things as simple as these helicopter seeds; they were so basic and yet so beautiful. Maybe I never paid attention to them because I thought that there were so many more important things in my life, like homework and girls and money. Or maybe I never noticed these plants because I had never taken the time to appreciate it. Or maybe I had never been this bored in my entire life. That was probably the reason. Helicopter seeds must have seemed like a cool thing to think about because I didn't want to be thinking about anything else right now.

As I was looking up I saw a thin string of silk shining in the blazing white sunlight. It glimmered for only an instant and then it was gone. I waited for it to catch the sunlight again so I could see it, and when it finally did, I followed the shining thread to its end, where a little caterpillar was hanging from it. It was making a journey from the highest branch of the oak tree to the grassy earth below. It had no control over anything and all it could do was sway in the gentle summer breeze and slowly, slowly make its way down. It could only pray that the wind didn't snap its thread and that it didn't land in a bad spot and that a bird didn't swoop down to eat it.

But despite these perilous dangers, the journey right now must have been absolutely beautiful. It was just hanging out in the air, clinging on to life literally by a thread, in the middle of its birth place and its destination. The wind was the only thing that was affecting it right now – it was simple and wonderful. There were no small towns to run away from and no girls to worry about and no tears to cry.

My attention was averted from the caterpillar as Candace walked out of the bathroom and headed towards the car. She looked perfectly fine, just as healthy as ever, and I wouldn't have believed that she was sick if she hadn't told me herself. I suddenly sat up straight in my seat and realized that maybe I should pay more attention to real life instead of silly little bugs. I clambered out of the car.

"I'll drive," I said after she gave me a brief look of confusion, and then after I got into the driver's side she climbed into the passenger seat. I started the car and then we were on our way again.



Eventually, the black strip of highway began to gain familiar decorations. We passed the old motel we had stayed in the night before. We passed a rock that looked like a face, which I definitely remembered seeing when we had been driving in the opposite direction. Then we passed a sign that read, DAYTON, 11 MILES. And then I knew that we were getting close to home.

I wasn't sure if I was happy or scared or nervous to finally be returning. What would people say when they saw Candace and I pull up in the same car? How much trouble would I get in? And then I realized that I just didn't care.

Gravel crunched under the Mustang's tires as I pulled into my driveway. I realized that my eyes had been aching for the sight of my house and my body yearned for the comforts of my bed. I didn't get out of the car and rush inside, though. Neither did Candace, whose house was right across the street. It was evident that we both wanted to go home and yet we really didn't want to at all. So we just sat there in the same nerve-eating silence that had been devouring us for the past eight hours.

"That adventure..." I began, remembering the words she had told me a few days ago: Let's disappear together. "...that didn't go as well as we had planned."

"Yes it did," she countered in a light voice. I couldn't tell if she was trying her best to suppress any tears or if she was really that indifferent. "We learned more about each other than we ever knew. We went to new places and got lost. I'd say that's good, don't you think?" She turned to me and made eye contact, and although she wasn't smiling, the twinkle in her eyes let me know how she felt. Her mood was the complete opposite of mine.

"No," I said and turned away from her. "I wish I never knew."



I stepped inside my house, which was at first unnaturally quiet. I suspected that my mom wasn't home, which was odd because she usually didn't do anything with her life, but then I heard familiar footsteps race down the stairs. When she saw me standing in the doorway, an expression of joy and relief passed over her features and tears glistened in a pair of sea-green eyes that looked remarkably like mine.

This joy, however, was not felt in the slap that she gave me across my cheek. "How dare you do that to me, Kasey!" she yelled, even though not even a second later she had pulled me into a tight embrace. Although she was a tiny woman she was strong as hell. She was scary, too, which was why I found it wise not to say anything. I had a tendency to say stupid things and I didn't want to get hit again.

"Where did you go? Who did you take with you? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me?" She asked so many questions in the span of only one breath and I had no chance to answer them. Her last question, however, seemed to be the most momentous. I had broken the number one rule: I had run off without telling her. I knew how fragile she was and I had completely ignored it.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I mumbled and stared at the floor. I knew that when I looked sad, I looked a lot more like my father than I usually did, and I didn't want her to see my face and feel more pain than she already did. She didn't need any more reminders of the past.

"Do you know how worried I was?" she asked and I could hear the fury in her voice. "I didn't know if you had died or if you had been kidnapped or if you had just left me, just like he did."

I didn't say anything to that, only another mumbled "sorry." I stood there quietly and let her hug me again until I couldn't even breathe. I knew I had done a terrible thing to her. She probably lived her worst experience all over again in the course of the past few days. She had been abandoned again, except this time she truly was completely alone and she hadn't had her son to comfort her. I wondered what it was like, to be left behind like that. Then I began to think about Candace and how she was leaving me.

"I'm going to go to my room," I said, breaking free of her grip and then trudging up the stairs. I threw my bag on the floor, not bothering to unpack it, and then collapsed onto the bed. Sleep was merciful and came quickly, easing my mind into a perfect world where girls didn't make you fall in love with them and then tell you that she was dying.