Midnight Shine

Midnight Shine

If only I were normal, then maybe I could appreciate the appeal of living in the Caribbean as most people on the island do.

I’d be calmed by the cool breeze and comforted by the warm tropical sun.

I’d probably be fixated on the clear blue ocean, the warm sand crunching beneath my feet, or even the tropical scents arising from the jerk pits as family and friends gather in celebration alongside the bewitching beaches.

If everything were different, maybe I’d even be lucky enough to dance freely to the beats of my country, body swaying in pride and freedom, completely oblivious to anyone’s differences, too busy being entirely lost in paradise.

But I’m not that fortunate; I can’t focus on the cuisine, the music, or the culture; I can only focus on one thing: masking my glow.

It’s happened to me for as long as I can remember, since I was a child: the illumination.

When things felt too heavy, when I got too excited, or just whenever the emotions became too much; I emanated a glow, causing disruption, marking me as different, causing me to feel alone.

If everything were perfect, maybe people would try to understand it, or maybe make me feel less like a spectacle and an actual part of their world.

Instead, they mocked, they jeered, they laughed, making me feel emptier and creating an inner desire to diminish my shine.

I spent years trying to hide it until I found a sense of control, becoming numb and robotic just to function in society unnoticed; less afraid.

I try not to feel anything too deeply, or again, here comes the glow, then the crowd, then the pain.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to find someone, anyone who could help, and that’s when I found her, Dr. Michaels, my therapist, who, of course, never had a patient who had the same inner light.

Although this is only our second meeting, this time feels different. I try to remain calm as I settle into my sofa, log into the online therapy portal, and wait for her to sign in.

Her face brings life to the waiting room screen, followed by the warm tone of her voice as our session begins.

“Hello, Spencer, how are you doing today?” she asks softly.

“I’m okay,” I reply dryly, only to satiate her opening question.

I notice her eyes surveying the screen deeply. I assume she’s looking through previous notes. I wait patiently for her to continue the conversation.

“So, Spencer, last time we talked, you mentioned that you haven’t been that social, due to the glow. I recommended you reach out to at least one person and strike up a conversation. Were you able to do that?”

“Yes,” I lie, keeping my response short and simple, again hoping to just answer her question with a viable response.

“Great, tell me about it,” she replies enthusiastically, and I feel my heart drop.

I try searching my brain for a response, but I feel it erupting from within me; I can’t control it; it starts as a slight shimmer, and I start to grow warm, the heat rises, and I become iridescent — I start to glow.

Her eyes grow wide. I’ve only told her about my condition. I’m usually in control, but I’ve been so overwhelmed with emotions lately that it escaped. I focus and dim it back down, slowly, and I feel the coolness replacing the heat, stabilizing my affliction, giving me back control.

“I—I’m sorry, I—can’t control it sometimes it just...”

She interrupts.

“Don’t be sorry, Spencer. I honestly have never seen anything like it, but I will break the rules a bit here and tell you one thing: it’s beautiful. Now, gauging by your response, I’m assuming you haven’t attempted to contact a friend as recommended. Are you at least still writing? I know you said that helped.”

Writing.

It’s all I have to stop the glow to keep it under control.

I push away my thoughts and muster up a response.

“Yes, I write a lot.”

“And you said it helps you control the glow, right?” she asks.

“Yes, it’s the only thing that works when it’s too overwhelming.”

“Okay, so how about this? Why not try going out, but bring a journal or notebook with you, just in case you feel like you need to maintain composure? You can do this. Think of it as a safety net, before you know it, you might not even need it anymore, or better yet, maybe it’ll help you embrace your glow instead of hiding it,” she states, sweetly, but still in a matter-of-fact kind of way.

“Okay,” I respond in my now signature dry tone.

“Alright, Spencer, is there anything else you want to go over this session before we wrap things up?”

“No, that’s it.” I blurt out.

“Okay, see you next month?”

“See ya,” I respond and close out the therapy session.

My thoughts are racing as I get ready for bed. She insists on my being social, but to me, that’s a nightmare. I can’t help but think of every possible thing that might go wrong, every situation that might cause me to glow.

As I settle into my bed, my final thoughts help me decide. I can’t run forever; I will always have my light.

Maybe she’s right...

I could try. If I panic, I can always leave...

There is that beach party tomorrow night, and the area’s pretty open...

I should be okay there…

---

The next day went by quickly; all I could think about was the party and how I was going to do this, how I had to face my fear.

I picked out a simple outfit: a navy polo and black cargo pants so I could blend comfortably into the night.

I combed my messy black fade and slapped down gel to achieve a clean and sleek look, the kind that won’t draw attention and can allow a person to easily sneak away unnoticed.

Once casually content with my look, I grabbed my journal and pen as Dr. Michaels suggested, and as I clutched them in my hand, I instantly felt a bit more at ease.

The cab ride was quiet, and as I exited the car and approached the beach, I felt a sense of panic begin to bubble within the depths of my stomach.

The laughter, the running people, I don’t belong, I’m not like them. They don’t know what it feels like to be this afraid; they don’t know what it feels like to glow.

It sneaks its way in, the warmth before the shimmer, and I quickly open my notebook and write two simple words: Not today. I slam it shut with authority; I can do this.

I have to try

I promised Dr. Michaels.

Making my way onto the beach, I notice a small wooden picnic table, lonely and abandoned. I choose to sit there; it looks like we could both use a friend.

I open my notebook and begin to write:

On a beach, he took a chance

Where the moon wasn’t afraid to glow

He looked to the sky for guidance

Heart filled with envy

Due to the moon’s courage

To glitter...

“Hi!” an unfamiliar voice interrupts my writing, sending a shock of panic through my soul.

“U-h, uh hi,” I respond, still focused on the unfinished page, voice shaky, afraid to shimmer.

“What are you writing?” the voice asks, tone deep and soothing. I look up from the page and see a guy like me, simply dressed, poised, and soft-spoken.

“Just scribbling,” I respond, getting lost in the gloss of his eyes, which seem pure and innocent, full of life and full of love.

“May I?” he asks, taking a seat next to me, his hand out-held.

I silently nod and hand him my journal, being vulnerable for the first time in a long time, sharing a piece of my world with a stranger.

It’s impossible not to watch as his face responds to my writing. I stare, intrigued for moments, until he finally breaks the silence.

“There are more of us, you know,” he states while flipping pages.

“Huh?” I ask genuinely curious.

“Your writing is beautiful. Follow me,” he offers, closing my journal and handing it back to me.

“Uh, okay,” I respond. I’m not sure why, but I feel compelled to follow him, as if the universe has orchestrated this moment, as if I couldn’t deny my curiosity even if I wanted to.

The walk is short and quiet, but the farther we go on the beach, the darker it becomes, and that’s when I notice it: a large light in the distance, an iridescence sitting before a small fire. As we walk closer, it dims, and another one next to it starts to glow.

I can’t tell if I’m going crazy, maybe it’s just the flames from the firepit in the wind, maybe a strange reflection.

Either way, I’m here.

Be calm. Don’t shimmer.

“Welcome, I’m Dustin. By the way, I know it’s a lot to take in, but grab a seat,” he offers warmly.

I take a seat next to him, and a girl with jet-black hair, who introduces herself to me as Emily.

“Introduce yourself,” Emily says enthusiastically, gesturing to the fire, causing my eyes to wander to several members of the group.

Did I imagine it?

I thought I saw...

He said there were others…

The panic starts, the warmth rushes in; I clamp down on my journal, but I can’t control it.

I shut my eyes tightly, not wanting to embarrass myself by letting my inner light shine.

No, I can’t let them see it.

I absolutely cannot glow!

All I can hear is laughter. I feel like I’m shrinking. I feel so small.

A hand touches my shoulder, and a newly familiar voice enters my head, “Open your eyes, Spencer.” The voice chuckles out.

My blood is boiling; I know I must be absolutely chrome.

Brushing his hand off my shoulder, I take a deep breath and open my eyes. I’m ready to destroy him for bringing me here to be the butt of their joke, but what I see stops me instantly.

Their chuckles are accompanied by astonishing lights, some flickering, some steady, with no rhyme or rhythm, but they all, including Dustin, glow.

“So, you were saying?” Emily chuckles out.

I can’t help but join in on their laughter.

“Hi, my name is Spencer, and I glow.”

-

Your glow isn’t a flare for the world to mock;

it’s a beacon for your tribe to find you.

Stop dimming for those who prefer the dark.