Page 231 of Everything Under the Sun

I swallowed nervously. Of course, I didn’t think she was a fortune teller, either, but that didn’t stop me from worrying about whatever she had to say regarding Thais’ future.

Edith took my hand, squeezed it firmly, and then patted the top with the other; her skin felt warm against mine. “She’s gonna live a long life,” she said, nodding as though sure of herself. “She’s gonna die an old lady. But before that’ll happen, she’s gonna grow, and she’s gonna be like water, carving a path through the toughest rock.” She patted my hand once more, smiled so lines deepened around her mouth, and then she faced forward just as Thais was taking center-stage in front of the dwindling bonfire.

I looked down at my hand where Edith’s had been, feeling the warmth left from it slowly fading away; Edith’s surprising words doing the opposite: they bloomed like wildflowers touched by sunlight, and made me feel weak in the chest with equal parts love and fear about the woman’s prediction.

A hush fell over the camp. The fire behind Thais had dwindled to a calm, dancing flame no higher than her knees. The people watched Thais with fascination and patience, and when she stepped onto the flat surface of a tree stump so she could be better seen and heard by everyone, their eyes followed without waver.

“I was asked to tell you all another story tonight,” she said aloud, “but I’m afraid I…well, the one I told you last night, it was only fiction. The poetry I recited wasn’t even mine; it was my sister’s, Sosie Fenwick, who died not long ago. The songs I sing, I sing from the heart, but like the stories that are not real and the poetry that is not mine, the songs I did not write, either, therefore I’m only a voice carrying on a message that belonged to someone else.”

A light flurry of whispers passed around the crowd, but everyone remained still and patient and eager.

I straightened my back, and propped my wrists atop my knees; anxiously I listened, with a little fear in my heart, though I wasn’t sure why.

“So, tonight,” Thais continued, “I would like to tell you all a true story, one that is as tragic as any poetry I’ve ever read, and as soul-healing as any music I’ve ever heard.” She looked right at me then, and my pulse quickened.

Thais paused thoughtfully, winding her fingers together down in front of her. I could tell she was nervous.

And then she began:

“I know the world is a dark place, but it was dark long before The Sickness, before many even knew what the world was really like beyond their computers and their morning coffee and their yearly sporting events and their privilege. I was only eleven-years-old when The Sickness hit, and I wasn’t supposed to be old enough to understand much outside of a typical eleven-year-old girl’s life, to grasp how dark the world before its Awakening. But I did understand it. Because my father wanted me to. And because I chose to pay attention. I understood it every morning when my parents watched the news. I understood it when I learned that a girl at school killed herself because she’d been bullied every day by other girls who thought they were prettier than her. I understood it when I heard a neighbor beating his dog every night, and when I watched, with my father, live coverage of peaceful protestors being run down by cars driven by domestic terrorists. And I understood it when, at ten, I had to choose between getting beat up by my so-called friends, or turn a blind eye to something I knew was wrong and cruel and evil and that I knew I would regret for the rest of my life. I went home that day with a few scratches, two new puppies, and two less friends.” She smiled and the crowd laughed and cheered lightly.

I knew something was happening—I’d known it all along—but only now was I beginning to realize what it was. Only now was I beginning to see…and it scared the hell out of me.

“But then the world ended,” she said, “and the darkness that had been there all along bubbled up to the surface, and it overflowed, and now it’s everywhere, like it has always been, only now everybody sees it. Everybody feels it. Everybody faces it every day of their lives because they have no choice; they no longer have their morning coffee and their computers and their sporting events and their privilege to blot it all out.” She glanced at me again. And again, my pulse quickened. “I thought I was being punished for everything I’d ever done wrong when my home was attacked by people he knew.” She pointed at me, and I froze. “I thought I was being punished when my father was killed, and my sister and me were taken away from everything, to a place where men intended to molest and rape us, to force us to bear their children—all people that he knew. People who believed that the color of their skin made them superior; people who believed that they had every right to condemn, judge, and execute those whose sexual nature differed from theirs. People he knew, and worked for and with.”

Every pair of eyes were on me, bearing down on me with question and accusation and hurt and anger.

What is she doing?

I couldn’t move, not even my eyes to look at those looking at me. It didn’t matter I had chosen another path—I would always feel shame and regret for spending even a minute with the people I was nothing like.

“But I wasn’t being punished,” Thais said, the tone of her words shifting to something more appreciative, and then all eyes shifted back to her. “Everything that had happened, led me to that city because that man”—she pointed again—“was meant to save me, to take me away from all the darkness, to lead me on a path into the Light, to open my eyes to a purpose. He could’ve died trying to help me, but he didn’t care. He was one man against hundreds, yet he risked his life, he risked everything, to do what he knew was right. He had everything to lose—a safe home, an abundance of food, hot baths and a comfortable place to sleep every night—but he left it all behind to help me be free. He took me away from that place and has protected me every moment of every day since then.”

Hands patted my shoulders and my back. But I couldn’t look up to acknowledge her praise; I tangled my fingers, dangled my hands between my legs, and I looked at the ground to avoid giving away the guilt that plagued my face.

“Because of him,” Thais went on, “I am more than that frightened girl I used to be, who thought she was going to live a short, cruel life, and inevitably die a violent death.”

I could feel Thais looking right at me, knew that she was speaking directly to me now.

I looked up slowly.

“I am alive because of him. I am someone because of him. I am loved because of him. And I am free because of him.”

Cheers. Praises. Shouts and more pats on the back—I felt my face redden; I looked only at Thais, loved only Thais, acknowledged only Thais. And my eyes smiled back at her.

Then Thais looked out at the crowd again. She clasped her fingers together against her pelvis. She wasn’t nervous anymore.

“Freedom,” she said, raising her chin. “It is what we all want. What we all need. What each and every one of us are entitled to. And no one should ever be able to take it away from us. Goodness. It is what we are all made of. What each of us are bound and obligated, as human beings, to spread to the rest of the world, no matter how greatly outnumbered by evil we are; no matter what darkness stands in our way, threatens us, kills us and our sons and daughters and mothers and fathers”—she raised a fist into the air—“It is our duty to be the Light and fight for the Light; it is our duty to sacrifice ourselves for Goodness, for if we do not, if we sit back and watch and do nothing, then we are destined to lose everything that is precious to us! And we will not let this Darkness extinguish our Light!”

The crowd erupted into cheer and whistle and applause; people rose to their feet, pumped their fists skyward; some kissed their hands and blew them at Thais, others used the moment to praise Jesus instead.

I stood shell-shocked; my skin tingled all over my pain-filled muscles; the blood drained from my face. I felt awed and proud and motivated by her words, just as everyone else. But unlike everyone else, I also felt confusion and loss. Thais wasn’t only mine anymore…

“Because voices that do not speak out, cannot be heard! And hands that do not fight, cannot win wars! And Light that does not shine, cannot penetrate Darkness!”

Shouts. Rejoicing. Hands raised to the night sky.

A moment longer, and the cheering died down, giving Thais the floor once more.

---