Eyes Down
by Oscar Park
The smell of the asphalt, the glint of teeth smiling, yips and shrieks and hollers and cheers; Julien felt it all as his classmates played. The group of third graders gleefully tried to get the large, orange ball in the hoop, but their short, stubby arms made it near-impossible. As the kids double-dribbled their way across the court, they took turns inventing new styles of shooting (including the dart, the lasso, and the bowling ball). They didn’t need to score a hundred points like the professionals, they were just happy to feel like big kids as they stumbled from one end of the school’s court to the other. When little George finally got the ball in the net, more out of luck than the development of any skill, the whole class jumped and cheered in ecstasy. Everyone, except Julien.
He was on the other side of the court, sitting back on the pole of the other net, only vaguely aware his classmates were hugging each other and screaming with joy, as though they had won the Super Bowl.
Julien was too busy lost in his own head, staring at the clouds in the sky, to notice the goings on at the other end of the court. The sky was cloudy, but not that dreary solid grey kind of cloudy. It was a lighter, more hopeful hue.
Julien noticed this fondly while his classmates started chanting George’s name.
The sun was bright behind the light-grey tufts, and bits of blue managed to poke out from behind foggy curtains.
A couple kids (lead by Preston) had begun to envy all of George’s new-found attention, and thus tried to convince the class that their little baller had cheated his way to the spotlight.
The light breeze pushed the clouds lazily away from the sun, as George pushed Preston to the tarmac ground.
The sun showed its face from behind the clouds.
Julien squinted up at its beautiful burning orange, not unlike the basketball that just bounced off George’s face (courtesy of Preston). Julien smiled contentedly, as he gazed at the sun. Warm light fell upon his freckled cheeks as warm blood fell from George’s nose onto Preston’s face. The two had begun brawling with vigour in that distinct, inexperienced style of third graders.
Just as the class collectively joined in on the fight, more to be included in the action than out of any desire for vengeance, Ms. Graham finally looked up from her crossword.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?!” She got up and stomped towards the brawling tots, her high heels click-clacking upon the pavement, her face as red as her clacking shoes. “Never in all my years,” she muttered angrily, as the brawling, nose-bloodied third graders froze. “Mr. Davis! Get up this instant!”, she said standing over Julien at the far end of the court. “We do not stare up at the sun in this class. You will burn your eyes out.”
She grabbed Julien by the ear and yanked him to his feet. She then addressed the rest of the class, still bloody from their fight, but completely still, absorbed in the trouble their classmate had gotten himself into.
“Class! I am so sorry to have to interrupt your game, but Mr. Davis over here has made it quite clear that we do not deserve the privilege of going outside for gym. Back to the classroom. Now. We have a math lesson to finish.”
And with that, Ms. Graham led her class inside. The grade threes, all covered in dirt, scratches and the blood of their peers, shook their heads in condescending disapproval of Julien and all the trouble he had caused.
***
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Davis. Please take a seat.”
She did as she was told, sitting down across from the teacher.
“I’ve invited you here today to discuss Julien, as I am sure you are aware.”
“Yes, of course. Is he doing all right? How are his grades?”
Ms. Graham pulled out a beige folder with the boy's name written on it in the teacher’s prim cursive. “His grades are fine. We are here today to discuss a different matter.”
She retrieved a piece of paper from the folder and handed it to Mrs. Davis. It was a waxy, crayon drawing of a yellow circle with a big smile. The background was a messy, solid blue affair.
“When I asked your son what this was a drawing of, do you know what he told me?”
“I can’t say that I do.”
“The sun.”
Mrs. Davis' went quiet. She starred at Ms. Graham. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“I wish I could say it was. Your boy has been caught three times this month staring up at it. I have told him repeatedly how inappropriate this kind of behaviour is, yet he refuses to listen to me.”
“No…”
“Furthermore, yesterday, I asked the class if there was any topic they would like me to teach them about. Anything that made them curious. I thought it could be a fun, little treat. Do you know what your son asked me to teach him about?”
The young mother stared at Ms. Graham.
“He asked me to teach him about the sun, Mrs. Davis.”
Her eyes were wet. She looked as pale as a ghost.
“Please impress upon your son that…
Her puffy eyes did not waver from Ms. Graham as she finished the sentence,
“...this is his final warning.”
***
Mrs. Davis’ eyes had been bloodshot and puffy ever since the interview, almost a week ago. Today was no different. Her smooth skin and full eyelashes had always lead people to comment that she looked too young to be a parent, but it seemed that, of late, worry had loosened the skin upon her face, and creased the corners of her eyes. Her troubled gaze fell upon Julien through her rear-view mirror, sitting in the backseat.
He had his backpack on his lap as he stared at her, contrasting his mother’s sorrow with a stoic gaze.
Oh how she wished Mr. Davis was there beside her, now, but she also knew why he couldn’t be. He didn’t want to fall apart in front of his son. She was the rock.
She slowly put her foot on the brakes, though half of her hated that she did so. The 2013 Toyota Corolla stopped moving, and so too, it seemed, did time. The silence was palpable.
Mrs. Davis was quiet, trying to figure out how in the world a mother says goodbye to her son.
“Bye, Mom. I love you.” Julien hugged his mother from behind her seat.
She sobbed.
“It’s going to be alright, okay?” His voice carried the high-pitched tone of youth, but his words were not that of a third grader.
Mrs. Davis struggled to breathe, gasping for air. Heavy, salty tears fell from her eyes. Then, suddenly, she spun around and buried her son in her arms. “I will always love you!”
“Goodbye, Mom. Take care of Dad.”
***
Julien sat alone on the couch, across from his parents, who hadn’t spoken a word to him since his mother came home from her meeting with Ms. Graham, a couple of hours prior. It was late evening, and he had already finished dinner, but it wasn’t quite dark yet outside.
Julien looked a small, slightly pudgy creature, as he sat on that couch. He still carried a bit of baby fat. These traits made many assume he was younger than his age. However, if you gave him more than just a glance, you would quickly realise how poor a descriptor young was for the boy.
It was his face, Mrs. Davis thought. He had quizzical, upturned eyebrows, a thoughtful frown and deep, melancholic, grey eyes. He had the gaze of someone trying to understand you better than you did yourself. All that, combined with his quiet nature and propensity to gaze into the distance, lost in thought, gave those who knew him the unique sense that there was an old man trapped inside that boy’s body. His grandma would brag to anyone who would listen (usually more than once) that he had the soul of a poet.
Across from Julien sat his two parents, both in armchairs. They looked lost as they stared at him. The grey strands that had only just started visiting their hair had never been more pronounced. Mrs. Davis’ eyes were puffy, Mr. Davis looked scared. Those two pairs of eyes had been sending each other lengthy unspoken messages ever since the former got home. The house had been eerily silent since.
Now Julien sat alone on the couch watching his parents.
“So… Julien…,” his father tried.
Silence.
“What your father means to say is that we’re a little… confused…,” his mother chimed in.
Silence.
A floorboard creaked.
The distraught couple was evidently out of words.
Julien looked from his mother to his father. He realised he’d have to start their conversation. “So, I guess you heard about me and the sun.”
“Why, Julien?” his mother whispered, looking right into the boy’s grey eyes.
“It’s not a choice.”
Fury flashed across Mr. Davis’ face, but Mrs. Davis squeezed his hand firmly in warning. His mother spoke, instead.
“You do know where they’ll take you if you’re caught again, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
“Have you ever seen the sun set, Mom?”
“Julien!” His father was appalled. “You’re here. Your mother’s here! Our jobs and our friends and our lives are here. On the ground!” Mr. Davis took a deep breath, but oxygen only fuels a fire. “Why would your mother, why would you, why would ANYBODY risk all that to look at some ball in the sky?!”
Julien did not feed into Mr. Davis’ anger. “What colour is the sun when it sets, Father?”
Mr. Davis spluttered, but then regained his composure. “What kind of question is that?! It’s yellow.”
“No, it’s not. It’s red, and it's orange and it's pink.”
His dad laughed. “The sun is yellow, Julien. That is a fact.”
“When I asked Ms. Graham, she said the same thing as you, but have you ever actually checked for yourself?”
“Julien, that is idiotic!”
“Dear!”
“Sorry, Robin, but it is!”
“Okay Dad. Look outside, right now. If the sun is yellow, I will never look up, again.”
It was getting dark, rapidly, but there was still a bit of light lingering outside.
Mr. Davis scoffed. “I’m not going to look at the sun, Julien!”
“Then I will, Dad.”
The man spluttered. “I never! Julien, You are being an idiot!” Mr. Davis was yelling.
“Jack, do what he says! You’ll see that the sun is yellow, and he’ll stop! We have to!”
“Robin, I’m not going to look at the sun!”
“Play his game, Jack!” Mrs. Davis pleaded, “Please!” She was sobbing.
“Fine! I’ll do it!” His voice was still booming. He directed his gaze back at Julien. “But do you swear to me, man to man,” Mr. Davis’ finger was right in Julien’s stoic face, and his eyes were wet with emotion, “that once I look at that sun, and see that it’s yellow, and it will be, that you will never look at it again?!”
“Yes, Dad. I swear.”
Mr. Davis left the room, stomping loudly. Mrs. Davis and Julien heard the back door slam closed behind him. Then it was silent.
It stayed silent.
Everything was still. Neither boy nor mother moved.
“Robin. There’s something you need to see.”
***
To the all Members of Internal Affairs, Office of Intelligence,
Security Clearance Level: 5 [Maximum Security]
The Solar Act, 1953
ABSTRACT:
Due to recent events in the Capital, it has become clear to officials that further efforts need to be made to reduce internal acts of terror within our nation. As per results of an unpublished study led by Govern-ment Head of Psychology, Dr. Malcolm Hughes,Ph.D.,*common traits are exhibited in citizens involved in terrorism, as early as childhood, the most noticeable of these traits being the direct disobedience of figures of authority, especially when there is no overt incentive to do so.
Dr. Hughes believes that if children possessing such a trait can be monitored, or [if the situation demands] removed from general society, rates of future terrorism will be substantially decreased*.
PROPOSAL:
The Government proposes a major addition to the Federal Judicial System. Mainly, the criminalisation of direct eye contact with the sun.
Decoy research, explaining the direct link between solar eye contact and ocular lymphoma will be released to the public describing the necessity of this mandate. The risk will appear too great to reasonably disobey.
Children found to disobey this law will be monitored and discouraged from such behaviour, and, if behaviour does not desist, they will be removed from the general public, for study, until psychologists can determine that such divergent traits have been diminished.
***
A 2013 Toyota Corolla drives down a dirt road, on its way back from work. Inside, the uniformly grey hair of Mr. Davis, as curly and unruly as it was when he was young, shakes slightly from the uneven ground underneath his car. He looks forward, and his vision does not waver. His eyes are sad, but they gave up on crying long ago. He focuses on the road, until he notices the time of day. Dusk. He admires the trees alongside the road, slightly hued the way they are, only for a brief moment, at this time of evening.
His sad eyes scan the road, to make sure no one is watching. Once he is sure he is alone with his thoughts, he looks up. The colour of the sun is a deep mix of almost every shade and hue. Except yellow.
He looks at the empty back seat through his rearview mirror.
“Thank you, Julien.”