Over the Horizon

Over the Horizon 1462 Words

The first thing they noticed was the sun.

It wasn’t the normal yellowish-orange color. It was a deep red hanging low over the subdivision like something was on fire behind the trees.

“Well look at that,” Tina’s husband said from the kitchen window.

She glanced up from the coffee she was pouring.

For a moment, the silence consumed the room.

The sky had been strange for upwards of two days now. It was so foggy. It looked almost iridescent outside, like when there is an eclipse. The haze was making the houses across the street look slightly further away than they really were.

Smoke from the Canadian wildfires had traveled south and settled over their Michigan suburb. The local news had been talking about it all week.

Tina opened the back door to let Hank, their dog out. Hank stopped at the entryway.

“Come on boy,” she said.

He looked outside, then back at her, “Aw, buddy…”

“Even Hank is spooked.” Tina remarked.  

She heard the faint ping of an incoming message on her phone. Walking over, she saw: WEATHER SYSTEMS NOTIFICATION - AIR QUALITY ALERT

Tina tapped on the notification…

…Air quality may be unhealthy. Residents are advised to limit prolonged outdoor activity. Sensitive individuals, including children, older adults, and people with respiratory conditions, should remain indoors when possible.

She read through it twice and winced knowing this would affect her son because he had asthma.  

Walking towards the stairs, Tina called out to Weston “Hey - did you see the air quality alert?”

“Yeah, but it’s no biggie” His voice boomed down the stairs. 

“You should probably stay inside today.” Tina said. 

She waited for Weston to acknowledge her comment, then spoke again.

“Well are you going to?”

“Mom, c’mon.” It was the tone he used when he thought she was being dramatic.  

She grinned, but replied, “I’m serious Wes.”  

“Mom, we live in Michigan - weather here does all kinds of weird shit.”

He came downstairs wearing his lacrosse shorts and jersey, stick tucked beneath one arm.

She stared at him. “There’s no way that you have a game today…”

“...the air quality is terrible.”

“It’s a little smoky. What’s the difference between this and when people burn crap in their yards and we have to smell it?”  

Weston walked over to the window and looked outside. The blood-red sun glowed above the trees.

“It looks cool.”

Tina shook her head.

“Your lungs don't think it looks cool.”

“Ma! I'll be fine.”

Her husband walked into the kitchen, already dressed for work.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Mom thinks I shouldn’t play.”

Charles glanced outside, then back at his son and wife.  

“I mean he's been looking forward to this game for weeks.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“It’s only one game.”

She looked down at the notification still scrolling on her phone. “Air quality may be unhealthy.” She hated that phrase. What did it even mean? It sounded vague enough to ignore. It didn’t appear immediately dangerous. It wasn’t saying, “stay inside, or else.” It was merely a suggestion. Life didn’t stop for a little smoke, or rain, or snow, or even a tornado. Not in Michigan.  

Yes, her son had asthma, but it was controlled. He had played lacrosse for years. He carried his inhaler. He knew his limits. Pretty soon he’d be in college and would be in charge of making his own life decisions and she wouldn’t have any say in what he was doing. Demanding that he not play in this game when all of his teammates were counting on him and the coaches of both teams were not canceling, seemed a little extreme.  

“Fine,” Tina said.

Her son grinned.

“Yessss! Love you mom!”

“Don't make me regret it.”

“I won't, I promise. I’m going to kick some ass today!”

Weston kissed her cheek and headed for the door. He yelled “bye” to his dad who was straightening his tie in the bathroom.  

She watched him go. She was so proud of him. Her phone buzzed again. This time it was an email from work. Tina sighed. There was a meeting that was " mandatory.” She dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink and went upstairs to get dressed.  

Outside, the neighborhood moved through the smoke as if nothing unusual were happening. The same cars backed out of their driveways to go to work or take their kids to school or daycare. People were out walking their dogs with reflective vests on. A woman pushed a double stroller down the sidewalk and stopped to give her kids a quick snack before continuing on. Lawn mowers could be heard in the distance. For all practical purposes, life continued as normal.  

By afternoon, the sky was a layer thicker. At the lacrosse field, the air smelled like a campfire. Someone joked about forgetting to bring the s’mores. The players started to warm up. No one wanted to mention that they were getting winded faster than normal. They wanted to look tough.  

The coaches joked about the smoke.

“Free altitude training boys!,” one of them said.

The boys laughed. Weston laughed too. When he did, he noticed a slight wheeze, but adjusted his helmet and took the field for the first quarter. They were up four to one. Halfway through the second quarter, Weston started coughing. He used his inhaler quickly and kept going. Then he broke into a coughing fit that made him bend forward, and he put his hands on his knees.  

At first, nobody worried. He'd been running. Hard. A little coughing was normal. Sometimes players even puked during the middle of the game.  

One of his teammates slapped him on the shoulder. “You got this?”

Weston nodded. He tried to straighten but his chest wouldn’t allow it. He reached for his inhaler again. The medicine did nothing for his lungs that were constricting even tighter. The wheeze that came from his throat was small. Then another. He started to panic and grabbed his throat, falling to the ground.  

His coach ran toward him. The game stopped. Players made a circle around him.  

“Someone call 911!”  

The ambulance lights could be seen arriving through the white smog as they got closer and closer to the field.  

Tina was in yet another meeting when she got the call. The coach was talking so fast on the other end of the phone that she didn’t understand the words at first.  

“Your son had an asthma attack. He couldn’t breathe. The ambulance took him to Mercy hospital...”  

Tina was in the car before the coach could explain the rest of the details. Although the hospital was local, it was an endless drive.  

The sky was still blood red. Flashes from the alert from that morning kept circling in her mind.   

Limit prolonged outdoor activity.

Sensitive individuals.

Remain indoors when possible.

She wished she could go back.  

At the hospital, the automatic doors opened before Tina reached them.

Someone took her back to a small room and asked her questions. They wanted to know about Weston’s medications, his allergies, his medical history. And most importantly, about his asthma - when it started, how it was controlled and if it had flared recently other than today.

She answered everything the best she could while trying to hold it together. Then all she could do was wait.  

Her husband arrived about forty minutes later. They held onto each other, but neither of them knew what to say. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor came through the door.

Tina knew before he said anything. Everything around her became distant and far away, like she was in a tunnel. The doctor was talking, but his voice was muffled and her vision narrowed and blurred. She felt herself passing out. Charles’s hand caught her head as it went to hit the ground.  

When Tina came to, she was in a wheelchair and Charles was taking her to the car. Weston was not with them.  

Two days later, the smoke lifted and the sky cleared. The sun returned to its ordinary yellowish-orange color.  

The neighborhood functioned exactly as it had a couple days before. Cars backed out of driveways, people were out walking their dogs, moms had children out in their strollers. Lawn mowers could be heard in the distance.  

Tina stood in the backyard and looked toward the horizon. It was perfectly blue.  

She thought back to the air quality alert from just forty-eight hours ago. The warning hadn’t been invisible. They certainly weren’t the only ones that didn’t adhere to the guidelines. In fact, she didn’t know of anyone that actually took precautions.  

Still, the warning had been in plain sight.

Now they would pay a lifetime for ignoring it.