A Perfect Day
New Rock Creek, 1149 ADI
I stare drily across the table as my sister tilts her fork. Little globs of scrambled egg slide off of it and plop onto her plate.
“They’re too squishy,” she whines.
Mom sighs. “Abby, stop playing with your food. Your eggs will taste worse if you let them get cold.”
“But they’re gross. I hate them.” Abby’s commitment to this is inspiring.
Mom leans toward her and gestures toward Dad’s empty seat. “Do I have to tell your father?”
“… No.” Abby sticks out her lower lip and mashes the fork into her mushy adversary.
I scarf down my food as quietly as I can and keep a loose eye on the drama. I’m sure this is precisely the sort of problem Dad would love to solve today after he’s done in the fields. I have to help him this afternoon, so I need to get out of here as soon as possible if I want any time to be alone.
Mom turns to me. “Schoolwork this morning?” I freeze. I’ve done a little extra every day this week in preparation for today, and now I’m finished, just as I planned. This morning is mine. As subtly as I can, I plead with Mom with my eyes. If I tell you the truth, you’ll know I have free time. Please don’t make me watch her. Why can’t she stay with you? If Abby does anything else that gets on Mom’s nerves, I’ll be doomed.
I might as well have thought it into existence. Abby, immersed in her craft, places a sizable pile of egg firmly on her fork and rests it on her plate. She brings her fist down on the fork’s handle, which is conveniently sticking out from the table. This catapults the bits of egg sideways across the kitchen, and the fork flips a few times in the air before clanging to the floor.
Mom’s jaw drops. Abby’s face betrays a mixture of elation at the massive success of her experiment and rising terror as she sees Mom’s expression darken. I put my hand over my mouth and do my best to stifle a laugh, my need for solitude momentarily forgotten. I can’t even be mad. That was amazing. I think some egg might have made it to the kitchen sink.
“Abigail Bryson! You know better than that!” Mom pushes her chair away from the table, strides to Abby, and pulls her from her seat with seamless, practiced precision. I stay where I am, awkwardly observing as Mom walks a shell-shocked Abby down the hall to the other end of the house.
You idiot. What did you think was going to happen? I smile. Nice shot, though. Seizing the moment, I get up, stack all the plates and utensils, and pick up the wayward chunks of egg. I stop and listen to the commotion taking place across the house—then I step out the door. They’re going to have a lovely morning together, and I’m going to have a lovely morning by myself.
I welcome the crisp, sunny, morning air as I walk nowhere in particular. What do I want to do? Hang out in a tree? Play my guitar? Both? I have no idea, but I like my options. I wander to a particularly knobby tree and sit beneath its thick, leafy branches, then I allow my gaze to drift to the gentle, blue sky. A familiar voice rings out from my right, and I turn abruptly to find Mr. Jotham peeking around the tree at me. A slightly mischievous grin spreads across his face. What does he want?
“Why, Gideon, imagine finding you here, of all places.” I sense the joke in his words. He knew I’d be here, and he knows that I know that. My suspicion spikes. He’s definitely planning something.
“Hi,” I say, eyeing him carefully.
“Hello.”
“Do you need me for something?”
“Well, no,” he says. “However, there is a small favor you could do for me on this fine morning.”
Just as expected. “What kind of favor?”
“I happen to know someone who I think you should meet.”
“Me? Why on earth would they want to meet me?”
He shrugs. “You may be surprised. She is new here, and friendships have not been forthcoming. I’m sure you relate.”
I raise an eyebrow. “She?” This changes things.
“Yes, she. I would like for you to show her around New Rock Creek. Do whatever you think would be helpful for her. She is in desperate need of connection and empathy.”
I scramble to my feet. “Yeah, sure, uh, I can do that. Absolutely.”
“A friend, Gideon. She needs a friend.”
I nod hastily, trying to curb my blatant show of enthusiasm. “Right, yeah. I mean, what else would I even be doing…” My gaze jumps from the grass to the tree to my feet—anything that isn’t Mr. Jotham’s face. My cheeks flush and I’m sure that my face has turned bright pink. He waits silently. I clear my throat. Finally, I manage a glance in his direction. “Yes sir.”
“Good man,” he says. “Now, go beyond the clearing to the mid-homes. Follow the left-most row until you reach the third house from the end. There you will find her.” He throws me a gentle but pointed look. “I’m counting on you.”
I nod. He nods back, gives my shoulder a good-natured smack, and walks away.
I weave through the northern side of town, taking the back way past the market and through a few mostly familiar neighborhoods. I find myself half walking and half jogging. Once I make it to the clearing in front of the mid-homes, I stop, run my fingers through my hair, floof it a little, and roll up my sleeves. Mom always says that rolled-up sleeves look nice and make it look like I actually work. Insinuation aside, I wouldn’t normally care what my mother thinks about that sort of thing, but today is an exception. If Mr. Jotham thinks I should talk to a girl, I’m sure it’ll go well. There’s no way I’ll end up looking like an awkward fool.
I peer at each house as I walk down the left row. Most of them look a little more disheveled than I recall. They’re nice enough, but it’s impossible to resist the creeping twinge of guilt when I compare them to the house my family owns. I think of my current project to build another guitar like the one I got for my last birthday. If I could figure that out, I could start selling them. One day, if I’m a really good carpenter, I maybe could fix up some of these places, too. That’d be cool.
Last time I was here, I came with Mom. Abby was just a baby. I’m pretty sure that we brought food to a family, but I can’t quite remember. Maybe the houses always looked this way and I just didn’t notice. Regardless, I think it makes sense for people to have nicer homes while they transition away from Twilight. We want them to stay, right?
In the small yard in front of the third house from the end, a girl stands poised, watching me, squinting in the sunlight. I stop.
“Are you Gideon?” she asks.
“Yeah, that’s me, uh…” my voice trails off as I get a good look at her. She’s a good head shorter than me and clearly a little younger. Her frilly, purple dress puts most church outfits to shame, but it’s clearly too loose in most places. It looks like something Mom would make Abby wear to a wedding, if she wasn’t afraid she’d mess it up. The girl’s straight brown hair falls well below her shoulders. Dark circles lie heavy around her blue eyes, and they remind me instantly of Abby’s. Her thin, bony face is covered with freckles. What did she dress up for?
She notices me staring and looks down at herself. “Is there somethin’ wrong with it? It’s the nicest one they gave me.” She glances back up at me, worry carved into her face.
I snap to attention. “Oh! No, not at all. You look fine. I just didn’t think you’d, uh, wear that.”
Embarrassment darkens her features. Did I say something wrong? She shrinks back, covering the front of the dress with her arms. “I can find somethin’ else. You just wait here.” There’s an edge to her tone, like she might cry.
I blink. What? No. I didn’t say it looked bad. Why did she assume that? Does she see this as some sort of special occasion? That’s terrifying. I rush to correct myself. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it. Seriously. You don’t have to dress up for me or anything. Because, like, it’s just me. That’s all I meant.”
She takes all of that in and keeps watching my face. Her posture relaxes. “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything else. I think she’s waiting for me to do something.
I collect my thoughts, look at my shoes, at the sky, and back at her, stealing a quick glance at the ill-fitting torso of the dress. I don’t think she’s supposed to be that skinny. I guess we can start there. “You hungry,” I ask.
“A little.”
“Uh, perfect.” I try to put more cheer in my tone to drown out some of the awkwardness. “You wanna get out of here?” She surveys her surroundings and nods. “What’s your name, by the way,” I add.
“Crystal.”
“Alright, cool. Nice to meet you, Crystal. I’m Gideon, but I think you already knew that. Just—follow me, I guess.” I start walking back the way I came and motion for her to come with me.
We leave the mid-homes behind and I try to fill the silence. “So, Miss Marie makes some really good muffins, makes them every morning actually—gives them out for free if you ask nicely. You like muffins?”
She furrows her brow. “What’re muffins?”
Oh. Wasn’t expecting that.
I spend way too long coming up with a response. “Well, they’re like bread, but they’re shaped like short, squatty mushrooms. And you can put fruit and nuts and all sorts of stuff in them.”
“Could we do that?” Her eyes search mine. I hate how earnest she sounds. It’s like she’s waiting for me to say “no”—almost like she’s expecting it. For some reason, that makes me mad. When I watch her, part of me feels like there’s someone out there that I should find and punch really hard.
I lead her to Miss Marie’s house and knock soundly on the front door. The place is just short of a mansion, designed to support an ever blossoming extended family with its sprawling main floor and three stories. But unfortunately, that never happened. Apparently, her daughter left for Twilight before I was born. Mom wouldn’t tell me more than that. She said it was gossip. The door swings open, and Miss Marie peeks out, a smile flashing across her face when she sees me.
“Are there muffins this morning?” I cut to the chase.
She sighs. “And a good morning to you, too, Gideon.”
I realize my mistake. Why am I so stupid? “Sorry,” I mutter. “Good morning.”
She rolls her eyes at me with mock disdain. “Yes, there are, in fact, plenty of muffins. Do come in.”
I turn back to Crystal only to find her squatting down on the footpath, staring in awe at Miss Marie’s little front yard garden, one hand is in the dirt next to a tomato plant. Miss Marie steps past me and I feel a soft change in her demeanor.
“You must be Crystal. It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Marie.” She squats next to Crystal and observes the same plant.
“Nice to meet you, too. Mama’d like these. Would you mind savin’ some of the seeds so I can use ‘em?” Crystal gives Miss Marie the same doubtful, questioning look that she gave me a few minutes ago.
“Of course I don’t mind,” Miss Marie says, “but I can do better than that. How about I stop by your house this week and we start a new garden in your yard? I could show you the whole process.”
Crystal thinks for a moment. “I’d like that, thank you.”
Marie nods. “Me too. And, sweetie, after you come inside and have a muffin, how about you stay for a little bit and take a nap? I think you could use one.”
Crystal shakes her head aggressively. “No thank you.”
“Oh, if you’re not comfortable with that, I completely understand,” Miss Marie says.
“No, it ain’t that. I just don’t wanna sleep is all.” Crystal absentmindedly covers her left wrist with her hand as she speaks. Miss Marie glances at me questioningly, and I shrug. I don’t know any more than she does.
“Well, either way,” Miss Marie says as she stands up, “you’re still more than welcome to come inside and try a muffin if you’d like.”
Crystal’s eyes widen as she walks through the doorway. The morning sun hits the bright, reddish wood of the home perfectly, and I follow Crystal’s gaze to the grand piano in the corner of the living room. The soft aroma of fresh baking wafts through the air. Miss Marie moves toward the kitchen and calls back, “Crystal, sweetie, do you like nuts?”
Crystal looks at me, a request for guidance in her gaze. I mask my incredulity and whisper, “It’s your muffin. You get to pick. It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“Anything’s fine,” Crystal calls out. I step into the kitchen, anxious to claim my prize as soon as possible, leaving Crystal to her exploration of the living room. Two bites into my muffin, I hear a single note plink from the piano, followed by a hasty and sheepish apology from Crystal.
“She’s probably never seen one before,” I whisper. “Maybe doesn’t even know what it is.”
“Oh my. We’re going to fix that right now.” Miss Marie puts a muffin on a little plate and brings it to the living room. “Would you like me to show you how that works?" she says to Crystal. "It’s called a piano, and it’s a lovely instrument. I’d be more than happy to teach you how to play it.”
Crystal moves a couple of paces away from the keys. “This is for you,” Miss Marie says, handing her the plate. Then she sits at the piano bench and begins to play something soft and classical—the type of composition that only sounds good when it isn’t being played by a student. Crystal watches, mouth agape, muffin forgotten, and plate held limply in front of her. Miss Marie finishes the piece, and the moment passes. I’m sure that I glimpse a fleeting smile on Crystal’s face, and an idea strikes me.
As we walk away from Miss Marie’s house, I step in front of Crystal. “So, I thought of something you might like, and it’s okay if you don’t. It was just a thought, because I kind of have to go soon. But, before I show you, I wanted to ask—is there anything you want to do? Like, back when you were in Twilight, what was one thing you really wished you could do?” I take a deep breath, relieved that I managed to get all of that out.
She tilts her head, pondering—then I catch that same fleeting smile. “You know, when the clouds show up and it rains? We’d always get a little bit of it, but it was never very much. I always wanted to be rained on, like, really rained on, in one of those big storms with all the thunder. If I could just stand right in the middle of it all, I think… I think that’d be real nice. But…” Her face falls and she hesitates. “I bet that’s not somethin’ you can do.”
“Actually, it is. Let’s just find a good spot where we won’t get anyone else wet.” I lead her to a nearby meadow where there’s plenty of distance between us and the closest house or field. “Okay, now stand there and close your eyes,” I tell her. She obeys. “Now, I haven’t done this much, but I think it’ll work. Sorry ahead of time if it doesn’t.” Haven’t done this much? I grimace to myself as the lie leaves my lips. I haven’t done this at all. She nods, eyes still scrunched shut. I step back and close my eyes.
“Dear God, could you send rain, please? I’d really appreciate it.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I know you always send the rain when we need it for our crops and stuff, and this isn’t like that, but I think it should still count. I think this is pretty important, God.” I glance quickly in Crystal’s direction. “So I was wondering—would you please send rain, just for her? And add some thunder too. I think she needs it. I think she really needs it. Please?” I can’t come up with anything else to add. “In your name, amen.”
I peek up at the sky with one eye, and a strange, giddy feeling erupts from somewhere deep inside me as a little cloud forms right above us and steadily grows. Yes! Yes! I step back a few paces. I would prefer to not get wet, and this looks like it might be a big one. Gentle mist falls slowly from the cloud. “Okay, you can open your eyes now,” I say, my excitement rising in my chest. I decide to stay where I am. I want to see this.
Crystal holds her arms out as the droplets become more distinct and a small crack of thunder resonates above us. The puffy blue-gray storm clouds spread across our little section of sky, and, for a moment, we’re in our own little world. I see her smile—truly smile, for the first time. It turns to laughter, and her laughter becomes a dance. She twirls around and around like she doesn’t even remember that I’m here.
I say nothing, wiping water away from my face a few times as she continues. I wait patiently for the rain to die down, and as it does, the biggest, closest rainbow I’ve ever seen arcs just above the dissipating clouds as the sun peeks through. Crystal stares at it, awestruck, and we stand still.
She turns to me, breathless, her hair and dress dripping water on the grass. “You said you gotta go soon. What’d you wanna show me?”
The rain had washed that from my mind. “Oh, it’s just some more music. Probably not quite as cool as a piano or a thunderstorm, and I’m not very good at it, but I think you might like it.”
“I’d like that a lot.” Her voice sounds so sincere—something catches in my throat. People don’t usually choose to listen to me play my guitar. Of course, she may hate it. She has no idea what’s going on, but I’ll take that chance. “Thanks,” I manage to get out.
She follows me to our barn. I stack a few hay bales around potential hazardous landing spots, and I take her to the upper loft. After the incident last year, Abby swore vengeance upon all ladders, so I can keep the guitar safely away from her up here. I chuckle in spite of myself as an image of the egg-fork catapult reasserts itself in my mind. I’ll have to tell Crystal about that.
I gingerly open the guitar case and sit with my back against the barn wall, careful to keep much of the wooden instrument from touching my wet shirt. Crystal sits beside me, watching every movement. I pick a few hymns that I know relatively well and start to play. After the second hymn, Crystal hesitantly reaches one hand toward my shoulder.
“Uh huh?”
“Could I try?”
“Yeah, go for it.” I hand the instrument to her and show her the correct way to hold it. Then, I try to explain the frets and the strings. I can tell that I’m thoroughly confusing her, so I move on to chords. This seems to pique her interest much more effectively once I play a few. She gets E minor and G major consistently after a few tries, but most of the others seem to be hard on her fingers. As she plays, I notice a white mark that wraps around most of her left wrist. It looks like a scar—is that what she was covering earlier? Before I can catch myself, I blurt out, “How did that happen?” She stiffens and abruptly stops strumming.
“It’s from a chain,” she says quietly, staring straight ahead.
“Oh.” I think I may have said the wrong thing again.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head and offers the guitar back to me. “It’s okay.” She frowns. “This hurts my hands. I think I like the other one better—the piano. Everything was in the right order on that one.”
I take my instrument back and prepare to put it in its case, doing my best to fight my disappointment. I guess it wasn’t that cool after all.
“Oh… would it be okay if you kept playin’? It’s real pretty.”
I search her face, hoping to see truth. “Really? You liked it?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Huh. Wow. Um, thanks,” I say. I have no idea how to respond. A surge of confidence electrifies my fingers and I start to play again. I let the notes flow, mixing old melodies with new ones that enter my head for the first time. Crystal watches sleepily and dozes off multiple times.
The fourth time, she shakes herself awake violently. “If I start to look too sleepy, would you make me wake up a little?” She rubs her eyes. “Please?”
I stop playing. “Why? You clearly need to sleep.”
She shakes her head. “No. Every time I go to sleep, I see ‘em. Sometimes I’m tryin’ to run away and it’s real dark. Sometimes I’m all chained up and I can’t get out. It’s like I’m doin’ it all over again.”
I blink. Chained up? “Who? Who did you have to run away from?”
She leans wearily against the wall. “Daddy… Daddy and some of his friends. They all…” She clenches her jaw, trying to force her tears back—but she can't. She turns away so I can’t see her cry. Her voice chokes. “I thought it was gonna be perfect here, but I can’t get ‘em outta my head.” She coughs. “I’m just… so scared they’re gonna show up one day, and I just wanna sleep.” She sobs the last words.
White-hot anger rises in my chest. I’m just here, walking around, playing guitar, doing my schoolwork, living my stupid little life. I’m doing a bunch of nothing. I wish I could protect you. I wish I could fix it. God, it’s not fair. What am I supposed to do? I grit my teeth. I don’t know. What would Mr. Jotham do?
The thought calms me down, and I think I know. I strum a chord softly. “Um, Crystal, you be honest, okay? You can say whatever you want. But, do I scare you?”
She turns back to me and meets my eyes. “No… not one little bit.”
“Well then, I have an idea. How about I sit here, and I play my guitar, and you try to sleep. I’ll wake you up if I see anyone coming, and I’ll watch your face while you’re asleep. If it looks like you’re having a bad dream, I’ll wake you up the instant I see your face change—maybe before they get you in the dream. How does that sound?” She nods, tears streaming down her face. “Just let me do one thing,” I say. I climb down from the loft, nab my work jacket from a hook, and come back with it over my shoulder. I fold it into a vague pillow shape and place it beside her.
She lies down, resting her head on the jacket, and I start to play. I get through two verses of “Be Still My Soul,” and she’s smiling in her sleep.
The shadows change outside the window as the sun reaches its peak. It begins to sink, but I barely feel the time pass. Dad’s probably going to be upset, but that’s alright. I wouldn’t change a single thing about today.
Heb 13:16 "But do not forget to do good and to share, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased.”
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