Sunsets
It’s nice to be home, I’d suppose. It really has been much
too long, especially for someone who never truly planned to stay away, and
never really has. Two months have passed since I boarded the plane. Maybe
longer. I can’t quite say. Time seems irrelevant by now. I know I left in the
spring and returned just as Portland begrudgingly accepted another state of
weather besides rain. Summer’s here but I don’t feel particularly bright, nor
should I really.
I decide to take the light rail home from the airport. I
can’t bear to think of driving or taking a taxi, in all honesty. I can’t get
the image out of my head, a burning SUV fallen off the beaten path, two bodies
tangled amid the ruins. One of the bodies belonged to my older sister Lauren,
the other her best friend. Somehow I know it’s all by chance of freak
accidents, but I can’t convince myself to take the risk.
The first stretch has me as anxious as the whole trip has
made me, with looming paranoia beating around the corners of my mind. It’s
incredibly silly, but I suppose I can’t be blamed if I feared the plane from
Indianapolis could crash at any moment, or if the taxi to the plane would be
sidelined by a semi. Even now, I worry that an electric current from the wires
sustaining the train will find its way to my seat and turn me into a charred
corpse, and I admit shamelessly that I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to see
another burn victim without collapsing into hysterics.
I’ve noticed that after someone dies, your opinion of them
increases, and the same can be said for me. All the petty fights we’ve had, the
miles of distance between us, the required phone calls all seem to disappear
into the memories of us on our grandparents’ farm in Northern Idaho, of chasing
goats, gathering eggs and throwing stones into the murky Clearwater River.
Memories that are so sweet still have the pain of fire in my
mind, and so I drown them out with a stream of sounds from my Mp3 player, not
caring exactly what I hear as long as it doesn’t play up on my emotions. With a
smirk, I decide the best place to find emotionless music is on mainstream
radio, and so it’s there I go, hoping I can dodge the latest attempt from Adele
to play on my heartstrings.
Portland may not shine the brightest or smile the widest,
but I find it to be a beautiful rose of a city, and I could never think of
living anywhere else. Moving here and creating work in photography was a
drastic change from a secure life on the farm, but one I’ll never regret. By
the time the train crosses the bridge into downtown Portland, I find myself
successfully numbed to the effects of the tragic visit to my sister’s side of
the family. I convince myself that it really is good to be back, because it is.
I love it here, and that will never change.
So deep into my thoughts I am that I don’t notice an entire
classroom full of grade schoolers in the train until they’ve eagerly filled the
entire car. Surprised, I remove an earphone, taking in a moment’s worth of
excited chatter about the last day of school and getting to the zoo. I chuckle
quietly before putting my earphone back in, examining the kid’s antics with
amused interest. That’s when my eye catches a very unusual sight, especially
for this time of year.
A small young woman with long neon red hair has taken a seat
in the far corner of the train just before the operator’s cab, easily avoiding
the children that have taken ownership of the center of the car. Indeed, she
was quite the sight. Most notably, she was the only one on this fine summer day
(a rare commodity in Portland) to be clothed in both a scarf, covering her neck
and the right side of her mouth, and a thick snow jacket, which she seemed to
be shrinking into as if she was feeling a startling chill. I’ve seen a few tourists
every now and again arriving on sunny days prepared for famed Portland
downpours, but from what I can tell, she is utilizing her coat to the best of
its abilities.
Despite this, however, she seems to be content and
comfortable. I can see even from here that what is shown of her thinned lips
seems to be turned into a serene smile, which turns into a brief laugh when she
finally realizes that I’ve been gawking at her from at least the Pioneer Square
station three minutes back. Embarrassed, I turn away and try and focus on my
music. I can still see from the corner of my eye the woman staring at me
intently, and then the sight of her hand beckoning me over. Still flustered, I
wait until we get to the King’s Hill station so I can move towards her under the
guise of granting my seat to a young mother and her graciously quiet baby
before parting the sea of children on my way to this very unusual red-haired
woman.
“You seem very interested in something,” she states, her
voice as smooth as a pebble in a river. I can see her smiling as she stares out
the window. Nonchalantly pointing to a poster on the roof of the train, she
asks “Am I to assume that you find one of these insipid poems near me
intriguing, or am I the one capturing your interest?”
With a short chuckle, I reply weakly “I kind of like those
poems.”
“Art is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.” With that,
she turns toward me, regarding me with a kind smile. “Miriam. Honored to share
your presence.”
“Jonathan Fitzgerald,” I introduce myself in kind, holding a
hand out for a handshake. She just regards my hand with a short, puzzled look
before reclaiming eye contact with me. I myself am puzzled at her reaction but
I don’t address the subject. Instead, I try a different topic. “Where are you
heading?”
“Mm, nowhere in particular, to be honest. I’m simply
exploring the city for whatever it’s worth.”
A tourist. Turns out I had her pegged. “Well, I hope you
find some enjoyment here. I think Portland is quite a nice place, for what it
is.”
“Agreed,” Miriam confirms, before inquiring “Another
visitor?” with a fleeting glance at my plain red suitcase.
“Oh?” I find myself off kilter as the red suitcase brings
back the faintest memory of my horrible experience in Indiana. “Oh, no. Just
got back from a visit, actually.”
To my relief, she doesn’t address my journey. “Well, that’s
good to hear. I’m glad that people who live in this town enjoy it so much. I
enjoy people who enjoy their homeland.”
Her vocabulary impresses me, and I find the desire to listen
to her speak more. “Well, thank you,” I reply in kind. The train screeches to a
halt at a stoplight, reminding me of the fact that the ‘light’ in light rail
certainly doesn’t account for light speed. Trying to continue the conversation,
I ask “Well, where are you visiting from?” I observe her appearance again, with
the winter jacket and the gloves and the pale skin. I’m thinking Russia, but
she doesn’t seem to have an audible Russian accent. Maybe Canada or Alaska
would be a better guess.
I would be incredibly wrong, as it turns out. “I’m from the
sun,” she tells me.
“Huh?” As any average person would be, I’m surprised by her
confession. Hardly a confession; playing her words back in my head I notice the
evident conviction in her voice, as honest as one could be stating a simple
fact.
Miriam gives a short laugh, clearly amused by my slack-jaw
and puzzled eyes. “I take it I haven’t convinced you.”
Honestly, not really. This is Portland after all, a city
that brags about its unusual citizens. If someone were to claim a solar
nativity, they’d probably get enthusiastic thumbs up and possibly a ‘right on,
sister!’ from a green haired guitar player who simply loves all the crazy
little devils around this city. But I doubt anyone actually believes it. Some
level of logic has to win at the end of the day.
Even if I haven’t said anything out loud, Miriam sighs,
stating again “No, it looks like you will not be swayed so easily.”
“Honestly, you’re not the first person to make crazy claims
around here,” I inform her, not knowing the weight of my words. At the word
crazy, her smile turns into an offended frown, as if she’s wondering how I
could possibly find such a simple fact so crazy. Quietly, she retaliates with
“So narrow minded.”
“More like logical.” The train finally pulls into the next
station, Goose Hollow, as I taste the bitter air between us with a grimace.
“Logical?” Miriam scoffs. “I highly doubt logic is of much
use if what you think is logical and what I think is logical are by two completely
laws of logic. Has that ever occurred to you? I should hope so; you seem like a
very smart man.”
“Oh?” My indignation starts to boil over as I get more and
more frustrated by this stranger (if it’s even her that I’m projecting my
negative emotion towards). “I thought I was narrow minded.”
“The smartest people often are,” as she claims this I
realize that she has grabbed my hand, squeezing my palm slightly within the
grip of her fingers. I’m not sure what her intentions are, but I sit there
silently until the train closes its doors and she lets me go. “Relax,” she
orders me. Surprised, I try, letting my muscles lax within the seat. She seems
satisfied enough and begins to face out the window, observant and eager.
“The tunnel’s the best part,” I find myself saying. “More
than 700 feet below ground level and more than three miles long. Deepest tunnel
in the world, as it turns out.”
“Intriguing,” she replies, although she doesn’t sound the
part. Eventually, she sits forward in her seat once more, facing the cab of the
train. Uncomfortably, I observe her as she drums her fingers listlessly on her
leg before she finally snaps “I’d like you to tell me what is so illogical
about my being from the sun.”
I’m blindsided by her command and the hint of anger in the
voice that commands it. Feeling egged on, I immediately go through all the
reasons that it should make no sense. “It’s astronomically hot there,” I
declare. “Anyone who tried to live there would be set ablaze.”
“Unless the people who lived there can adapt to the heat,”
she counters. I notice her again with
her winter jacket and chilled skin, realizing that she made a valid case if one
could possibly be found. Miriam seems completely out of her element and
frightfully cold, as if unadjusted to our temperatures.
“The sun is millions of miles away,” I try next, feeling my
argument shake just a bit on the foundations. “There’d be no way you could get
here.”
“No, there’d be no way for you to get here, as you have not
mastered a form of transportation to safely make it to the sun,” she sighs.
“Just because it’s the case for one side doesn’t make it so for both.”
I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “You don’t seem
like you’d be from the sun.”
She laughs as we finally make it into the tunnel. “Let me
ask you this. Exactly what do you know about the people who live on the sun,
other than the fact that they supposedly do not exist? I’ll tell you,” she
interjects before I can respond. “Absolutely nothing. And it’s for a very
simple reason; you do not wish to learn. You simply want to be right.”
I have no logical response to formulate as I see the scenery
outside the windows change into pitch darkness occasionally broken by
fluorescent lights. As it turns out, she has a solid case.
She softens her metallic gaze on me and offers a smile. “I’d
be much warmer of a conversant if you were to stop denying my very existence.”
I can’t help but laugh. I’m still not convinced but I decide
to roll with it. I try and find a way to change the conversation but the next
question that pops up in my head is out my mouth before I know it.
“Why Earth?” I ask her. “Why would you decide to go here?” I
raise my voice to make up for screeching of the train and add “I mean, it
hardly seems that impressive to me. Charming at best.”
She shakes her head. “Honestly, I think that you’re
undermining your planet. I’ll admit that you humans have done somewhat of a
number on it, but as it stands, it’s in pretty decent shape. The cities are
illustrious and the nature is consuming.”
“You like it here?”
“Quite. Earth is an interesting place, with interesting
people. It’s quite different from the sun, admittedly, but that is where the
adventure comes in.”
“Different? In what way?”
“The way people think that everything else is different from
them. They think that because they’re five feet tall walking things that own
this planet that on any other form of life they must be giant robed green
monsters with stretchy heads or some other sort.” At the end of her statement,
she is grinning ear to ear. It illuminates her face clearly; perhaps that’s
just the lights speeding by in the tunnel.
“I’ll admit this, Miriam. Sci-fi is perhaps the weirdest
thing on Earth.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
She’s still grinning when silence dominates the air again.
The train pulls in to stop at the Zoo station, more than five hundred feet
below the destination. Miriam observes the children outside her window as they
eagerly pour out the doors like air out of a deflating balloon. Their excited
cheers echo through the cavern as they run towards the elevators faster than
the teachers can catch up with them. Soon enough everyone is out and the train
is oddly quiet.
As the artificial voice of the train declares that the doors
are closing, Miriam sighs “What it would be like to be a youth again. A simpler
time that we can never get back, I suppose. I’d never be able to live in a
world again where politics and discrimination were unheard of, where things
were as simple as they should be, when there were so many things I did not know
but did not care to learn, and where death just meant someone was going to
visit the gods.”
I feel a sorrowful lump roll around in my gut as I reminisce
my own simpler days along the Clearwater river, where my sister and I would
play together and I’d never have to fathom that I’d watch her die a charred
corpse along the interstate. I nearly bite holes through my lower lip trying
not to cry but find the strength to nod.
“Life is weird,” she mumbles. I find it odd that the solar
being would find anything weird, but at the same time it’s oddly comforting.
“There are just so many things that don’t make sense no matter where you live.”
I find that, again, she’s right. “Agreed.”
She looks behind her to see an older couple sitting together
below the steps, staring out the same side of the train as Miriam and I. I
notice that they’re both male and yet it’s a legitimate romance; something
confirmed as they exchange a brief kiss. They seem content and relaxed,
carefree even. I realize subconsciously
that in most parts of our world such a kiss is thought to be an illegal or
disgusting action.
I guess life really doesn’t make much sense.
I turn to Miriam, who has turned back towards the cab, her
illuminating grin lighting up a blush along her cheeks. “America, the so-called
land of independence. And yet, you’ll rarely ever see someone sitting alone and
smiling about it. You certainly weren’t.”
“You’re right about a lot of things,” I say stupidly.
She giggles. “I try.”
I can’t help but think that every time silence takes place
between us it’s because Miriam is figuring out the right thing to say. I wait
patiently, drumming my fingers and taking the occasional glance at my travel
companion. Eventually, she blurts out “I just don’t get how someone could kill
another person for being different from him and love another person because
she’s different from all the other girls.”
Her statement is jagged and confused, maybe even haunted.
“Pardon?” I ask.
She clears her throat, acting as if she said the wrong
thing. “What I mean is that I don’t get why everything has to be different. We’re
not that different. You and I, we’re not that different.” Her voice is
uncertain but her eyes observe me closely. But I’m not sure what to say.
She fills the empty space with her words again. “Just… humor
me, Jonathan. What harm would it do for you to believe that maybe I am what I
say I am? You may never see me again, and I can assure you that our solar
rulers have no plan to zoom in on flying dinnerware and invade your planet.
Personally, I’d find it to be interesting to have someone with such a different
perspective, but... I just don’t get how this can’t be as simple as it sounds.”
I look into the tree-bark brown hue in her eyes. They remind
me of my own. They remind me of Lauren’s. Especially of Lauren’s. It sends a
chill up my spine to finally realize how similar their eyes are.
I decide I can at least humor her. Her lips are turned
downwards, anxious, reluctant to say more. If she won’t, then I will.
“What’s life like on the sun?”
She contemplates her answer as the train wails through the
tunnel, the screeching sounds of the metal on metal echoing through the
chambers. “The same, yet different.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that we’re certainly not twenty feet green people
with an endless amount of tentacles,” she informs me with a crooked grin. “In
fact, we’re a lot like you humans, only adapted to the heat of the sun.” She
shivers, pulling her jacket even closer to her. “Not as much to temperatures
like this.”
“That makes sense,” I admit. “So you’re humans, just like
Earthlings?”
She laughs at that one, her frame shaking within the coat.
“And here I was thinking that Earthling was a slang term we used on the sun. I
was worried about dropping that one around you because you’d be offended.”
I shrug with a smile. “No, no. You’re fine.”
She sighs, relaxing again. “Good to hear. But to answer your
question, we’re not exactly like Earth natives, or,” she snickers slightly,
almost embarrassed to use the term, “Earthlings. Whichever you prefer. We have
our own advantages, I suppose.”
“Oh really? Such as?”
“Well, aside from resistant to extreme heat, we have
heightened perception skills, especially when it comes to reading emotions. If
I wanted to, I could look into even the blankest of stares you have to offer
and determine how you’re truly feeling.”
The idea makes me shudder, and again reminds me of Lauren
and how she’s dead. I don’t want to let on, though, so I avert the attention
from myself. “So, I’d imagine that it’d make for an honest environment where
you come from?”
She snorts. “Hardly. We’ve just become better liars.”
I notice her eyes have closed and that the light that she
seems to radiate has dulled. Before I can coax her into conversation, she
continues on her own. “Unfortunately, I’ve found that we can still get away
with hiding how we feel from our own kind if we’re careful enough. It’s much
too easy to put on a convincing smile and say ‘I’m fine,’ and push our own troubles
out of our mind until the next time we’re bitterly reminded of them.”
Her eyes haven’t moved open a smidge and by now she’s
wearing a deep frown. “Are you okay?” I ask by instinct.
She cracks a small grin. “Just fine, Jonathan.”
I frown, knowing that I shouldn’t be convinced. I fumble
around for her hand, and when I grab it I realize that her skin is as cold as
she claims to be. It helps my own body cool down and fight the sweltering heat,
or at least what I would define to be sweltering. She opens her eyes and brings
herself to sit up straight, gently leaning her head against my shoulder. “Good,
Jonathan. You’re catching on.”
“Experience,” I mumble.
That’s how we sit through the rest of the tunnel. My brain
is burning with sorrow which eats a hole inside my stomach. Tears threaten to
brim over but I’m able to fight them with some strength. I look over at my
traveling companion, whose eyes are wide open but nearly without expression,
searching and haunted. Her entire lower lip is under the pressure of her teeth,
and I feel her grip tighten on my hand. When we break out of the tunnel, we’re
greeted by powerful rays of sunlight, uninhibited by clouds or mist as they
beam down on the train, soaking through the windows.
Another question crosses my mind. “Miriam, what do you think
of when you see the sun from here?”
Her voice finally cracks. “I… I think that I’m not too far
away from home.”
The honesty in her voice is enough to convince me of
everything she said. Perhaps it’s just my grief, perhaps it’s hers, perhaps
it’s the fact that our two grieving souls have found each other for just a
moment and we’re willing to believe and feel anything that will make us feel
better. Right now, though, I realize that whether she’s from the sun or from
the Pearl District or even escaped from a psych ward, she’s not that different
from me at all. I understand what she means now, why it wouldn’t mean much to
believe where she’s from. It doesn’t make her as different from me as I’d have
thought.
I realize that we’re still on the train when the artificial
female voice announces that we’re approaching Sunset Transit Center. I hear
Miriam laugh at the coincidence as she pulls herself up and off of my shoulder.
“This… is my stop, actually,” she tells me.
“Mine too.” It’s a lie, but I find that I don’t want to
leave her company just yet. She shakes her head, smiling. “I wonder if I’ll see
you again.”
“That’d be nice,” I add honestly, a bit dazed by the
magnitude of this fifteen minute train ride. Somehow, I have a feeling that it
won’t happen. There’s little explanation to that feeling but it seems to be an
unavoidable truth.
Miriam seems to agree, but she doesn’t let go of my hand as
we get ready to leave the train. As the doors open, we stand in the station,
reluctant to move, reluctant to depart. I look her in the eyes that are just
like my dead sister’s, feeling the chill move through my body again. Finally,
she speaks.
“I think this will pass,” she tells me, reassuring me,
reassuring herself. Before I can ask her to elaborate, she continues. “Grief,
death, tragedy. It’s hard, for both of us, to lose a sister... but… I think
we’ll survive. Somehow.”
I’m astonished that Miriam knew, but as I realize that she
claimed (and probably did) have the ability to read my expression, my resolve
breaks and I gently embrace her. She doesn’t hesitate to return, holding onto
my chest tightly as if she fears the consequences of letting go as much as I
do. At that moment, she is incredibly real, every last detail in her haunting
dark brown eyes and every last beautifully spoken word of her story.
I don’t feel the tears sting my eyes anymore, nor do I feel
any across my shirt, but I’ve never felt this broken. It’s as if I’ve finally
recognized that everything that happened to me, to Lauren, is true, and that
something like it happened to Miriam too. I don’t know how either of us are
going to let go, but we’re going to have to eventually. It’d be nice to be safe
where we are, safe from sorrow and anxiety and nervousness and confusion, but
we can’t block it out forever.
For now, though, we have our moment in the sun.
