Sunrise
They had driven all night long. A boring drive, punctuated by the intermittent headlights of passing cars. The sound of the moving vans engine, at first a loud roar that sounded like an old dog disturbed from a deep slumber had gradually become background noise the longer they drove. But finally, they made it to the place they would now be calling home. Clemson, Maryland. A harbor town, with a mix of farms on land and docks along the coast of the upper Chesapeake Bay. A place with stately condos and humble houses - or so his mom said as they packed up their belongings and loaded them into the moving van.
Even though it was still quite dark out in the pre-dawn of the morning Scott was sure that the "stately condos and humble houses" schtick that his mom was telling him was complete bull. Scott rolled the window down and took in the air as they slowly drove through town. It stunk. Not the smell of cow manure that he was familiar with, but it was a faint smell of...dead fish? Water? If this was the smell of a coastal town and was caused by the water...he had no real desire to ever want to go near it. If this is what the town smelled like, he couldn't (or rather, didn't) want to know what the town looked like.
The last several months Scott had drug his feet over all of this moving business. He was going to be a senior in high school this year and was something he was looking forward to having gone through. He was finally going to ask Janelle out to the senior prom; he was going to graduate with his friends and then go to college on a soccer scholarship - in Pennsylvania. Maryland appealed to him about as much as stepping in a cow pie appeals to most people. He complained for a month about the move until one of his friends pointed out how no amount of complaining has had the slightest impact on what was happening. That had finally made Scott realize that this move was going to happen and nothing would change. After this realization Scott resigned himself to suffering in silence and instead sought closure before time ran out for good.
They finally parked; driving up the last bit of twisting driveway into the parking area. Scott got out of the moving van and looked at the faint outline of the house in front of him. He was tired and eager to go inside and find a soft spot on the floor to crash on for a couple hours before beginning the long process of unpacking everything. He yawned and in shifting his view a little he could see the lime green start of the sunrise over the horizon along the outside of the outline of the house. He finished yawning and slowly and carefully walked around the edge of the house to get a better view of the sky. Squinting slightly from the now white light lifting the lime color off of the line of the horizon, he began to see the surrounding scenery shrug off the blanket of darkness it had wrapped itself in for its nights rest.
He looked behind him to catch one last glimpse of the night sky before that receded but he couldn't because the house blocked his view. He turned around and saw the sun begin to rise.
Ironic, he thought. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Fireside Poets, Rachel Hartley, eat your hearts out. This is way to cliche` for me.
And he was right, it was cliche and he had no control over it. Though, in a way, he was glad that it was indeed a sunrise.
His loved sunsets. The way the sun allows itself one last fanfare before setting behind the western horizon, the opportunity for reflection on the days events and the preparation of more dubious exploits in the shroud of darkness. With sunsets the book closes, the chapter ends...whatever literary cliche` you want to use, he was sure that it would be applicable to this situation. But watching the sunrise, though, he was sure that this was an equally benefiting experience.
See, before, the sunset allowed him to be a different person of sorts. The darkness is much better secret keeper than the daylight. The day heralds in a calvalcade of rumors and spinsters - watching over your back, whispering to each other and then scurrying off to spread their interpretation of your actions to others just as keen to hear the interpreted truth and not the real truth.
The night is infinite. It hides the most evil of events so neatly that when the day comes back, no trace of any event that transpired in the darkness is left. Just merely the memory of the event which leaves those involved to question whether some event actually happened. Scott had found himself and his friends using that as an excuse many times...it happened at night and no trace of it remained, so it never happened to begin with. The memories are merely a figment of our imagination.
But Scott had grown weary of the sunsets. They had become bittersweet moments to him, times when he struggled with himself to decide if he should stay the person he was during the day, or to become the person he truly was during the night. He wished to combine the two persons, but had no idea how to do that. The percieved duality of his existence had become problematic. Especially in terms of trying to ask Janelle out to the prom.
The sun was over the horizon now and had gone from a deep red to its white-yellow. The new sunlight glistened on the tips of waves on the water. Out in the channel he could see the white triangle of a sailboat, full of wind and tipping slightly back and forth as if it were a giant, white-winged bird flying slowly over the water. It occurred to him how often he neglected to watch a sunrise. How often he took it for granted. He had always waited for the sun to set, waiting to see if it would actually happen; but always took for granted that the sun would rise again.
He heard his mom call him from the driveway. With a small, slight sigh, he turned and trudged back to the moving van to help unload.
Even though it was still quite dark out in the pre-dawn of the morning Scott was sure that the "stately condos and humble houses" schtick that his mom was telling him was complete bull. Scott rolled the window down and took in the air as they slowly drove through town. It stunk. Not the smell of cow manure that he was familiar with, but it was a faint smell of...dead fish? Water? If this was the smell of a coastal town and was caused by the water...he had no real desire to ever want to go near it. If this is what the town smelled like, he couldn't (or rather, didn't) want to know what the town looked like.
The last several months Scott had drug his feet over all of this moving business. He was going to be a senior in high school this year and was something he was looking forward to having gone through. He was finally going to ask Janelle out to the senior prom; he was going to graduate with his friends and then go to college on a soccer scholarship - in Pennsylvania. Maryland appealed to him about as much as stepping in a cow pie appeals to most people. He complained for a month about the move until one of his friends pointed out how no amount of complaining has had the slightest impact on what was happening. That had finally made Scott realize that this move was going to happen and nothing would change. After this realization Scott resigned himself to suffering in silence and instead sought closure before time ran out for good.
They finally parked; driving up the last bit of twisting driveway into the parking area. Scott got out of the moving van and looked at the faint outline of the house in front of him. He was tired and eager to go inside and find a soft spot on the floor to crash on for a couple hours before beginning the long process of unpacking everything. He yawned and in shifting his view a little he could see the lime green start of the sunrise over the horizon along the outside of the outline of the house. He finished yawning and slowly and carefully walked around the edge of the house to get a better view of the sky. Squinting slightly from the now white light lifting the lime color off of the line of the horizon, he began to see the surrounding scenery shrug off the blanket of darkness it had wrapped itself in for its nights rest.
He looked behind him to catch one last glimpse of the night sky before that receded but he couldn't because the house blocked his view. He turned around and saw the sun begin to rise.
Ironic, he thought. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Fireside Poets, Rachel Hartley, eat your hearts out. This is way to cliche` for me.
And he was right, it was cliche and he had no control over it. Though, in a way, he was glad that it was indeed a sunrise.
His loved sunsets. The way the sun allows itself one last fanfare before setting behind the western horizon, the opportunity for reflection on the days events and the preparation of more dubious exploits in the shroud of darkness. With sunsets the book closes, the chapter ends...whatever literary cliche` you want to use, he was sure that it would be applicable to this situation. But watching the sunrise, though, he was sure that this was an equally benefiting experience.
See, before, the sunset allowed him to be a different person of sorts. The darkness is much better secret keeper than the daylight. The day heralds in a calvalcade of rumors and spinsters - watching over your back, whispering to each other and then scurrying off to spread their interpretation of your actions to others just as keen to hear the interpreted truth and not the real truth.
The night is infinite. It hides the most evil of events so neatly that when the day comes back, no trace of any event that transpired in the darkness is left. Just merely the memory of the event which leaves those involved to question whether some event actually happened. Scott had found himself and his friends using that as an excuse many times...it happened at night and no trace of it remained, so it never happened to begin with. The memories are merely a figment of our imagination.
But Scott had grown weary of the sunsets. They had become bittersweet moments to him, times when he struggled with himself to decide if he should stay the person he was during the day, or to become the person he truly was during the night. He wished to combine the two persons, but had no idea how to do that. The percieved duality of his existence had become problematic. Especially in terms of trying to ask Janelle out to the prom.
The sun was over the horizon now and had gone from a deep red to its white-yellow. The new sunlight glistened on the tips of waves on the water. Out in the channel he could see the white triangle of a sailboat, full of wind and tipping slightly back and forth as if it were a giant, white-winged bird flying slowly over the water. It occurred to him how often he neglected to watch a sunrise. How often he took it for granted. He had always waited for the sun to set, waiting to see if it would actually happen; but always took for granted that the sun would rise again.
He heard his mom call him from the driveway. With a small, slight sigh, he turned and trudged back to the moving van to help unload.
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