Page 21 of Last Light

“Sing it again.”

I’m surprised by his blunt words, and my eyes fly over to his face again.

His expression is unreadable, but he’s meeting my gaze now.

“Sing it again,” he says, his tone gentling to almost a plea.

So I do. I sing the song again as I lie staring up at the darkness above me.

There’s a strange eeriness to the sound of my voice in the open air. A poignancy to the old, familiar words. My voice breaks a few times on the last lines.

Heart of my own heart, whate’er befall.

Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

Neither of us speaks after I finish, so my voice lingers in the air, mingling with the other sounds of the night.

I think about how I used to feel when I sang the song as a kid. Sometimes I’d sense a presence inside me rising, lifting, straining, as if my soul were reaching up toward heaven.

I no longer believe in the words. I no longer trust in a God who takes care of us. I can’t imagine anyone does.

My grandma’s favorite song might still be beautiful, but it has no meaning anymore. Not after everything that’s happened.

Or maybe...

Maybe now it means even more.

A hymn of faith at the end of the world.

I fall asleep to the soft chorus of insects I thought were gone for good.

Three

IDON’T WAKE UP UNTILI feel someone shaking me gently by the shoulder.

“Is it my turn?” I mumble, knowing immediately where I am and what’s happening.

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