STORIES: A Seasonal Life, Part VI

I think it’s done–at least to an ending point before going back to revision. Any and all comments welcome and requested.

I’m suddenly awakened by the slamming of a door; although I’m sure she pulled it carefully and quietly closed. Sarah! I’d forgotten, and with a quick glance at the clock, I see it is close to midnight and she’s just now getting home. I slide out from underneath the covers, and check to see that William hasn’t stirred. I put on my robe and head downstairs to face her, meanwhile angry at myself for losing focus that perhaps more than one member of my family may have needed me tonight. I find her in the kitchen, where she is incongruously preparing herself some milk and a plate of cookies. She straightens her back with a rod of determination, sets her shoulders with rebellion, and turns to face me when she’s ready, firmly rooted somewhere between her sixth and sixteenth year.
“Sarah, it’s midnight,” I say, as if she didn’t know.
“We didn’t realize the time,” she replies, adding, “sorry,” when she sees this doesn’t fly.
“Where did you go?”
“Just to the mall, like I said, and then Darrin and I went to get something to eat.”
I choose to overlook the fact that most likely there were no other friends involved, because I know it’s clear she hadn’t actually lied when she went out. I used the same carefully phrased answers with my mother. I recall now what my mother would have said to me but disregard it, as I did back then as well. I’m frightened now for Sarah, and what could happen. The image in my mind begins with her and Darrin. But in flashes it is William and I in his ice cream white Camero, and I can feel the heat that youth feels they must let out before exploding. And then they do.
And suddenly I am the one again exploding, but love comes out this time as fear and anger. Sarah slowly crumples up before me. Her eyes are wide and crying, her body slumps with the loss of her sixteen-year old bravado. “We didn’t do anything…” she tries to interrupt me, a timid, frightened voice against a storm.
“You’ll ruin your life…”
“We only talked…”
“You can’t control…”
“We wouldn’t do…”
“You should know better…”
“She does.” For William has come down and is between us. His hand is on my shoulder but the strength comes from his eyes. Perhaps I never had the courage to look into them before, but now I see things there I’d never dared to hope to find. His silent understanding swiftly calms me, and our daughter senses a change that restores her world to even better order. The thunderstorm that built up slowly now has passed and the air is clean and fresh with this new knowledge.
He is telling Sarah that her mother’s right, and that she must observe the curfew and use common sense. “You are in control of your time, as well as the situation,” he is saying; in that quiet gentle voice that forces close attention and leaves no room for escalating anger in return. I’m all the more aware of the weight lifted from my shoulder as he takes his hand from it to walk over to enfold Sarah in his arms. For but a moment they are locked in time, but as he kisses the top of her head and releases her, I see a glow from her that tells me she is comforted not just for this, but through all the years down to her soul.
“Thanks, Dad,” she smiles and turns away and to me, “Thanks, I’m sorry, Mom.” Her smile is only the slightest bit less bright. I open my arms and she walks into them as if to assure herself that I have also learned the knowledge and contentment she now feels.
We watch her leave the kitchen and hear her bedroom door close before William and I look back to each other. It is different and I feel it though he isn’t aware of a transition because for William, it was always there and he thought I knew. He puts one arm around me as the other reaches out to flick the light switch and we walk in semi-darkness back to our bedroom up the stairs. I hear a whisper of “I love you,” close to my ear before I hear his slow breathing and I know he is asleep.
I think of what has happened—just a normal family happening, yet it has revealed us to each other in new ways. I think back to this morning and the sense of isolation and use William’s own words to Sarah as a guide for our tomorrows. “You are in control of your time as well as your situation,” he had said. And this last thought goes though my mind, for it has changed as well–
I rise as the sun, but I am not. In this life I am the moon, and like it, will not completely fade away but return to light the darkness of the night.