Just Another Day

Just Another Day

In many ways, the day was a day much like any other that summer. It was August, and days were growing noticeably shorter, a sure sign that school would be starting again soon. But for the moment, I relished the freedom.

It had been a good summer: swimming in the lake almost every day, hiking and exploring in the woods with friends, and generally leading a life free of many cares. I had earned some money by digging up worms and selling them to the bait shop. Even after paying for all the candy I had bought, I still had some coins left over. It had been a fun day. Now the sun was going down and it was time to go home.

As I approached the house, I heard yelling inside. My mother and stepfather were at it again. Bob often started drinking before noon, and by evening he would be a different person. Tonight, the yelling seemed more hostile than usual.

I hesitated, then decided there was no point in going inside. Nobody would be preparing supper, and nobody would want to deal with me under the circumstances. I might not be safe.

I turned to watch the sunset. The air was rich with pine smell, warm and calm. Small waves lapped at the shore in a liquid, almost hypnotic cadence. Outside, all was right with the world. Inside, there was only fear and anger.

The sun was touching the horizon at the far end of the lake. It was funny, I thought, how red, orange, pink and yellow clouds cluster around a setting sun, even when the rest of the sky is mostly clear. The sun itself had turned red—dim enough to look straight at it. One could see it for what it was: a ball of fire.

Some days, when my stepfather was not so drunk, we would all come out on the boathouse to watch the sunset. Once the sun touches the horizon, one can actually see the earth move. Sometimes Bob and I took bets on how long it would be before the last sliver of sun vanished beneath the horizon. He usually knew right down to the second. The sun was flattening now.

Glass crashing inside the house interrupted my meditation. Bob’s voice was loud and angry. My mother’s voice was shrill, a scream. Both were yelling at the same time, so I could not make out any words. It didn’t matter. Their arguments never made any sense.

Even though I could not understand the words, her voice sounded like a question, like “Why are you doing this?” It also sounded angry, but more than anything, it sounded . . . scared.

Voices got even louder, then more glass broke, and something sounded like a plate being smashed. Mother shrieked. A moment later I heard her footsteps on the wooden floor as she clip-clopped to the front door. She ran onto the sun porch, slammed the door behind her, and flung open the screen door.

I thought she was going to run down the hill to the lake. But then, her frantic gaze saw me standing there, watching her. Her face was wet with tears. Her lips trembled, and her eyes looked panicked. I thought of the look I had seen on a small rabbit just seconds before it was attacked by a neighbor’s dog.

She stopped on the top step, looking momentarily confused, her breathing quick and shallow, wringing her hands. She attempted to regain her composure, pretending everything was normal. “Oh, hi sweetheart,” she said. But everything was not normal. Her voice was wracked with sobs. She looked so hysterical, it only made her look that much more pathetic. Apparently, she realized her shame, because she gave it up, sat on a step, and just sobbed.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this, Baby,” she said.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve seen it before.”

Part of me really felt sorry for her. But another part - a small, selfish part - felt annoyed. Now the anger and fear of the world inside was intruding on my perfect world outside, and I didn’t know how to do anything about it.

She started to get her sobbing under control, but now she had to deal with blubbery, wet sniffles, and she had no handkerchief. I sensed that she needed a hug but, bit I was eleven years old, too big for that sort of thing. “Let’s go out on the boathouse,” I said

She did as I had asked, almost as though she was relieved to have somebody make a decision for her, however small.

“Look how pretty the sunset is,” I said. She looked out over the lake to where the sun had sunk half-way into the horizon.

“Oh, it is,” she said as she wiped away the last of her tears. She took a few steps toward the railing and then stopped. Had it just dawned on her that she was outside? “It’s nicer out here,” her voice whispered. I wondered if she was speaking to me or to herself.

“I just don’t know,” she said aloud. “I just don’t know what to do.”

A knot of anxiety tightened my stomach. It was an uncomfortable feeling. First, that she seemed to be confiding something with me, as though I were an adult. Second, maybe, because I really had no idea what she was talking about. I hadn’t asked her what to do. But something in me, even at eleven years old, sensed the significance of that simple statement. She really did not know what to do. Her life was not in control. Her lips were trembling. I worried she was going to start crying again.

“Smile,” I blurted out. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know where that came from, but suddenly it was out there, and it was too late to take it back.

She looked at me like she was trying to see me through a fog. I felt ridiculous, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “Sure,” I said, “that’s what I do.” Some old summer camp song lyrics came to my mind. Almost as though I was listening to somebody else speak, I heard my own voice saying “Smile, and the world smiles with you; cry, and you cry alone.”

I couldn’t believe that I had actually said that. I wanted to take the words back even before they left my lips. They sounded so stupid, so corny, I wanted to run away in embarrassment. But to my astonishment, she acted like she was really mulling over what I had said.

If that was not bad enough, in the next minute I did the craziest thing I had ever done. I began to sing that corny old campfire song.

Smile, and world smiles with you,

Sing a song.

Don’t’ be weary,

Just be cheery,

All day long

No matter your troubles,

Your trials and your cares,

Seem to be more

Than you can really bear,

Just smile

And the world smiles with you.

Sing a song.

When the song was over, we stood there for a minute, looking at each other. I was embarrassed. I wanted to crawl into a hole.

But then she laughed. A strange laugh, kind of half-laugh and half-sob, but it was a laugh. Her face was still tear-streaked, and her lips still trembled, but she was laughing. And I laughed too. But suddenly, I wanted to cry. I could not quite understand what was happening.

She took my hand, and we looked where the sun had sunk almost completely below the horizon – just a brilliant, red, blotchy line above the far end of the lake. We watched it together, silently, as it seemed to accelerate and then disappear from view. The next time we would see it would be a new day.

We did not say much for several minutes. We shared no mushy-gushy stuff like they show in movies. But in that solitude, we both understood that something had changed, that after this day our lives would never be quite the same. Without quite understanding how, I knew that I had somehow changed. A new day was coming. She had changed too, or at least she was changing, making decisions that would change our lives forever. Five weeks later, she filed for divorce.

So, it wasn’t really just another day after all.