As the Sun Set SidewaysA Story by O.V. HudsonWhen one travels in a circle the world becomes warped. Sharp edges bend, moments repeat and one is left to wonder if there is an end or just a continuation.As the Sun
Set Sideways
The remaining light of a long day hung low across the ground. The air was warm and reassuring. We strolled around the fence with a sense of leisure but did not set foot inside. We could have though. The gate had four openings, one on each side of the dilapidated square although square may be a generous term. Really if viewed from directly above it would be hard to correctly guess the shape at all. The park started to curl at the edges shortly after its 5th birthday. The foundation, one that was not properly inspected before construction began, would deflate and bubble depending on the time of year leaving balloons and indents throughout the property. As the summer heat ripened the ground would relax, stretch at the seams, and pull apart a link of chain here or divide a patch of grass there. This process would only become more pronounced as the summer started to limp away and by late August the park seemed to stretch itself across the entire valley, bumping up against the incline, seemingly ready to ascend if given the chance. It never had the opportunity though. The leaves would begin jumping off trees and winter would come along soon after, settling itself comfortably at the bottom of the valley. This occurrence caused the park much trouble. The ground would shiver, the fence would freeze and just as quickly as the earth had roamed in every direction it would then retract to conserve heat. The fence would never realign perfectly, the grass could not hide the brown scars that had formed under the weight of summer, and the entire park fell into a spell of depression that made it collapse in on itself. Locals saw all this activity as normal.“Everyone changes with the seasons.” They would say, “I don’t look like I did last summer ago either.” So on that night
I walked with her in a circle around that once square park and one of us was
happy. I remember
feeling tired. This was at the end of summer so one lap around was much longer
than it would be at any other point of the year. Briefly I would turn towards
her as she took in our surroundings. Each noise would call for her attention
and she would comply with a sharp whip of the head followed by an elongated
stare. This would last until she grew bored or heard another disturbance that
pined for her attention. I watched her and lost interest at the same time so my
eyes reverted back to my feet. I still watch them race from time to time. On that day my
right foot was eager while my left lagged behind. Each would grab hold of the
lead briefly as I walked and then concede first place to the opposite foot only
to quickly change its mind and jump back out in front. The right always seemed
to jump faster and hold the lead longer and I didn’t know why, I simply enjoyed
the back and forth. The only downside to this race was that it would never end.
There was no start and no finish. Each foot simply raced against the other oblivious
to purpose. In all fairness I guess it is hard to reach the end of a circle. “I wish the
weather wasn’t ending.” Her statement
had broken my concentration on the race. “I’m sure there
will be more weather tomorrow.” “Oh come on you
know what I mean. The end of summer is always the saddest part of year. At
least in the middle of winter everyone becomes numb to the weather. It can only
be cold so many days in a row before it stops being considered cold right? At
some point its just normal. In the fall though the weather changes daily. Every
time I go outside now I’ll be reminded that the warmth is over, that the sun is
gone. I’ll have to put on layers of clothes and psyche myself up just to leave
the house. It’s like nature doesn’t enjoy my company anymore.” She looked at me as I said nothing then she turned towards the sound of a child’s brief shout. She continued to watch as the mother comforted the toddler and after losing interest she just turned straight ahead as if our conversation never happened. I had no real interest in rehashing the topic. Her conversations always seemed to go in a loop. There was never any beginning to them it was simply one thought after another, void of purpose, ultimately reaching the same idea that began the talk. I remember thinking how tiresome this became over time and how from that moment I would always try to speak with purpose, entertaining only ideas with substance and dwelling on them until a conclusion was reached. I wanted a beginning and definitive end to what I was saying. That just seemed right. “You know the
summer isn’t ending?” She looked at me
as though my words brought her back to some distant memory, something buried
under layers of new ideas and just forgotten about. “What’s that?” “How you were
just talking about the end of summer?” “Oh yes that’s
right! It sure seems like it’s ending.” “It will be back
though. It just goes away for a while and then comes back.” “I guess. How
long until you think the pumpkins will be ready to carve?” “I’m not sure.” We both paused
as the conversation took a breath. “It sure feels
like an end though.” She began again, “The
weather does a good job convincing me that it’s over for good this time. The
cold seems to kill the sunlight and the warmth rather than just replace it. It
happens so slowly. You can’t point to any day of the year and say this is when
summer ends, it just gradually surrenders to fall.” I looked at her
as she began to think about her own statement, seemingly saddened by the truth
that it carried. She then began collecting all the images around us again,
trying to store them for winter. I think she needed proof to get her through
the cold, something she could point to and say, “This proves that the weather
won’t last forever. The warmth is just going away, not ending. It never really
ends.” I looked at her
as she looked around and my thoughts grew cloudy and began collapsing into one
long, unending string of thoughts and as we walked neither of us were really
happy. “Do you think
the sun is ever going to end?” I said with a childish grin. “I mean if the
weather can convince you that the warmth is gone forever does the darkness ever
convince you that the sun is gone forever?” She seemed to take my question as a challenge.
Her steps grew considerably in importance. She began to carry about her a
presence of complexity, which contrasted her earlier aura of simplicity. Some
time passed and my feet continued to race so I chimed in, “I was just
trying to be cute.” I doubt those
words ever reached her ears because she spoke shortly after without
acknowledging my previous statement. “Have you ever
been up when the worlds asleep? Sometimes it feels like the end. The darkness
masks everything. I know the sun will come back out and people will walk around
the next day but if you sit up at the peak of night, and you’re quite, maybe
hold your breath for a couple seconds and just sit there, it kind of feels like
the end.” She quit the
thought quickly after she spoke. The world exhaled around us. I felt an urge to
speak. “It all seems to
go in a circle. You can never really tell what’s right side up or upside down,
there just seems to be spots along the loop that stand out and then fade away but
it all does so seamlessly. No start, no real finish.” She looked at me
the same way she looked at the world around us, taking in the image, keeping it
for proof. We didn’t speak
anymore after that. I remember we just kept walking around. I looked up at the
sun late in the evening, as it was just about to fall behind the horizon. I
stared at it and thought it seemed a little off center, as though someone had
turned it slightly to the side. I didn’t mention this to her though, we just kept
walking. I think both of us may have been happy.
© 2016 O.V. HudsonAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on November 11, 2016 Last Updated on November 11, 2016 Tags: Short Story, Love, Confusion, Repetition, Death AuthorO.V. HudsonTamaqua, PAAboutI hope my writing will serve as a bridge between myself and people I will never meet. We may be able to learn something from each while avoiding that awkward tradition of exchanging pleasantries. .. more..Writing
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