The Only Exception

Nowadays, it seems like all anyone is after is what is called "the American Dream". The main components of this dream are a spouse, children, a well-paying job, perhaps a pet, and a home to call their own. Despite the fact that many people are raised with a sense of entitlement that leads them to believe that they deserve a lifestyle such as this, not everyone actually accomplishes everything that makes up this 'perfect' lifestyle.

Nadia Garcia and Gregory Phillips weren't after the American Dream particularly, per se. Like two very lucky individuals, they just happened upon it. The two met in their freshman year of college while Nadia was majoring in real estate and Gregory was majoring in culinary arts. They dated throughout college and when the time came for them to graduate, they decided to split up so that they could go their separate ways.

Fate brought Nadia and Gregory both to Huntington Beach. There was a real estate firm that agreed to take Nadia on in the area, so she bought a little apartment in the pleasant town. Gregory was working at his uncle's restaurant, a modest establishment that allowed Gregory to test out new recipes and food combinations. The two ran into each other one day in a book store, and not a week after that, they decided to continue their relationship.

They were married a year later and bought a handsome house in Huntington Beach. Due to her connections in the real estate field, Nadia secured them a brilliant structure with a spacious back porch, incredibly impressive rooms, and a private area of the beach closed off to anyone that was not a guest of the Phillipses.

Soon, Greg Phillips had saved up enough money to open up his own restaurant. An interior decorator helped him turn it into a swanky and modern eatery with a bar area and an almost club-like atmosphere. It's location was also one of the things that made his business so successful. Nadia had procured the most favorable piece of real estate that she had been able to find for Greg. She wasn't doing bad for herself either, and often, she would sell houses on the beach that easily reached one million dollars.

Almost on accident, Nadia and Gregory Phillips were very close to accomplishing the American Dream. They married almost right out of college, bought an attractive house in California, and soon, were expecting their first child.

It made sense, as following marriage in most planned scenarios, the next adventure in life is often children. In the nine months that follow the initial diagnosis, many arrangements are made, such as baby showers, conversions of spare rooms into nurseries, and much child-proofing goes on in the house. But amidst all of this happiness and anxiety, there's a common worry in every parent's mind: Please, please let my baby be healthy.

Henry Phillips was indeed perfect in the eyes of his parents. He was born exactly on schedule and was of both a normal height and weight. He had brilliant blue eyes that did not dim at all as he grew older and had inherited a mix of the Latin heritage on his mother's side and the extremely Caucasian side of his father. He liked being around new people and never shied from playing with children his age, older, or younger. Everyone that came into contact with Henry said that he was a charming child.

The Phillipses were content with life at that point. They had their careers, their son, and their darling home. But just when they thought things couldn't get any better, there came more happy news: the couple was expecting another child. This one was to be a girl, and despite all of the thinking and baby name books that the parents-to-be went through, they couldn't find a name that seemed fitting. However, when Mr. Phillips brought his son in to see his new sister for the first time, four year old Henry promptly announced, "She looks like a Sunday."

Laughing, Henry's parents had demanded to know what a Sunday looked like. "If Sunday were a person," Henry solemnly declared, "it would look exactly like my little sister. Can we call her Sunday?"

Despite the fact that it was a very unusual name, both Mr. and Mrs. Phillips thought that it was a name that fit their little daughter almost perfectly. For some reason, she just seemed to radiate an almost sunshine like brilliance mixed with the calm, peacefulness that Sundays were traditionally reserved for. So Sunday it was.

Sunday was born on a Wednesday. It was a strange occurrence that she was born on Wednesday, April 16th because she was supposed to have been born on Sunday, April 20th. Her birthday was not the only strange thing about Sunday. She frequently slept very little, but never cried to wake up her parents in the night. She would not play with things that little girls' loved, unless they were stuffed animals or reminiscent of the sea or nature in any way. And Sunday didn't speak a single word until she was three years old.

This last oddity was the one that truly worried Sunday's parents because it conflicted with the hope of having a healthy child. They took her to many doctors, all of which just said, "She'll speak when she wants to." And it was true. When she finally did open her mouth, it was obvious that all along Sunday had possessed the ability because she spoke quite eloquently: "Can we go to the water today?" In celebration of Sunday's first sentence, the other three Phillipses quickly agreed and they spent the day on the private area of beach behind their house, building sand structures and playing in the water.

Other than her lack of speech, Sunday was nearly a normal child. When she started school, she did not make many friends, but Mrs. Phillips did not worry because Sunday had found a best friend in a little girl named Amber. The two girls were inseparable, and if Sunday was not playing with Amber, she was playing with her older brother, whom she absolutely adored.

One of the three major problems that they encountered with Sunday was her unwillingness to do anything for herself. It wasn't that she was being rebellious; Sunday simply couldn't remember to take care of herself. She constantly forgot to make herself food. If Mr. or Mrs. Phillips didn't sit with her until she fell asleep, Sunday would even stay awake all night. She had to be reminded to brush her hair, to change her socks, to do almost everything.

The second problem, a little more troubling than the first as it was easy to remind Sunday to do things, was that Sunday seemed to have an intense fear of meeting people. She would become quiet as soon as her parents announced they were going out somewhere, and she would remain so for however long their outing was. When she met new people, the awkwardness in the air was practically tangible, and soon, Sunday was a sweating, lip chewing mess that would revert to a topic that was very dear to her heart: stars. People easily lost interest in Sunday and moved on to conversing with her outgoing brother, who felt it was his duty to divert the attention from his younger sister.

And finally, Sunday seemed to be content with functioning on four hours of sleep each night. She fought with her parents when they announced that it was time for bed, which was the only time that she even came close to disobeying them. She would lie in bed staring at the ceiling until she heard her brother and parents' doors shut; then, she would get out of bed and turn the light on so that she could draw or watch television. She hated sleeping. As soon as she closed her eyes, she was assaulted by the most frightening nightmares.

The doctors that Mrs. Philips took Sunday to blamed her newfound oddities on either an overactive imagination, childish forgetfulness or just general shyness, sometimes a combination of the three. So the Phillips tried their best to make Sunday concentrate on the things that needed to be done, to force her to socialize, and to convince her the nightmares weren't real.

For quite a long while, the Phillipses were completely oblivious to the fact that Sunday had Asperger's Syndrome. When the idea was finally put forth by one of the doctors that Mrs. Phillips had consulted and later confirmed by tests, Sunday's parents weren't sure whether they should be relieved or not. They knew what was wrong with Sunday, and it wasn't life threatening. But at the same time, putting a name to the monster made it seem more real.

The doctors tried their best to be helpful. They gave Mrs. Phillips pills to make Sunday sleep. They suggested that Mrs. Phillips balance Sunday's meals so that she maintained at least 110 pounds. The idea of therapy was suggested, but Nadia Phillips was much too proud to consult a shrink; she was convinced that if anyone could fix Sunday, she and her husband could. So the doctors then told her the most she could do was try to keep her daughter happy. And yes, Mrs. Phillips, Sunday would most likely always depend on someone else to take care of her.

Sunday's parents dutifully took turns taking care of their daughter. While Mrs. Phillips worked during the day, Mr. Phillips would stay home with Sunday. At four o'clock, their shifts would switch, and Mr. Phillips would get some sleep before going in to his restaurant at seven o'clock.

And who was the most kind, understanding person in all of this? Henry, Sunday's older brother. They were as close as siblings could be, and Sunday worshipped the ground that Henry walked on. Likewise, Henry understood that Sunday was different than other people and that she required extra attention. If he was jealous, he never let on.

But the night that Henry graduated from high school, something unthinkable happened: he was killed in a car accident. A drunk driver had run a red light and smashed right into the driver side of Henry's car as the boy had driven home from a friend's party. Gregory and Nadia were devastated, and the only thing that kept them going through that difficult time was the fact that Sunday needed them.

For Sunday, the experience was something more than devastating. She didn't understand why Henry wouldn't come home, no matter how many times she pleaded with her parents to make him come back. She didn't understand why they were burying him in the ground. She didn't understand why she was so alone. The only conclusion that she could come to was that it was her fault, because she had forgotten to tell Henry. She hadn't told him, so he had gone to the party, and was killed. And it was all her fault.

Following the accident, Sunday became more introverted than ever. She spent more time on the beach, sometimes with her faithful friend Amber, but mostly alone with her sketchbook. She liked to draw. She drew happy things, nice things, things that didn't make people sad. And sometimes, when she was good, her parents would buy her a large cloth-like piece of paper to paint on.

Sunday was happy, as happy as she could be for someone all circumstances considered. Her parents kept her healthy and content, and if Henry couldn't be there, Amber was all of the companionship that she needed. There was one thing that constantly nagged at the back of Mr. and Mrs. Phillips' minds though: What happened when they died? Sunday was too young to be shipped off to some facility, yet she was too unstable, for lack of a better word, to live on her own.

Sunday knew not of their worries though. It seemed like Sunday refused to look at the problems in the world, that all she wanted was to swim in the ocean and paint and draw.

But what would happen if someone wanted Sunday to let them in, and she obliged? The Phililpses weren't sure, as a situation like that had never arose. Sunday hadn't made a new friend since Amber. However, the consequences of another person walking into Sunday's life were going to be extreme. And finally, as Sunday neared her twenty-first birthday, the events were finally about to unfold and wreck the precarious world concocted by Sunday's parents.