A Flash of Green

Flash-fiction piece

Just before the sun disappears below the water’s horizon, you can sometimes see a green flash.  I’m not sure if I should regard this like the childish notion of finding a genie in a bottle.  A sunset can’t grant wishes, but I’d like to believe that something so mystical and rare rewards the few that are gifted to gaze upon it.  Despite how often I watch the ocean at sunset, my wish is never granted.

            The sun starts to set and the beach crowd diminishes.  A family remains, grilling dinner over a bonfire.  The smoke’s heavy scent draws me closer, feeling the flame’s warmth on my face.  The family ignores my presence, the siblings keeping them busy.  The little girl smacks her older brother’s arm as he reaches for her soda.  He drops the soda as they giggle and fall to the grass, locked in a wrestling match.

            “Chelsea!  Samuel!” the father snaps.  Samuel encourages Chelsea to playfully stick out her tongue in response.  I snicker at this.  In my own brother’s eyes, I’m just like Chelsea.  Always a child.

           

It was dinnertime last month when I left.  The sun was setting over the lake.  I sat by the shore with my older brother, struggling to see the green light.

            “I saw it!” he poked me in the ribs.  “Did you see it?”

            “Of course not,” I slugged his shoulder.  “It wasn’t there.”

             “It’s okay, Jess, if you’re a loser,” he said, tauntingly.

“And you’re an idiot,” I scoffed, brushing back a strand of blonde hair, cheaply dyed black.  The roots were showing after just a month.  “One day I’ll see it for real instead of pretending, unlike you.”

            “Brandon,” my mother said as we walked indoors.  “To bed.”

We exchanged nervous glances.  He stood frozen at the foot of the steps and frowned. “It’s seven o’clock.”

“To bed,” she repeated.  He darted up the steps without another word.  No one argued with my mother.

“Jessica, in here,” she commanded.  I hesitantly entered dining room and sat underneath her and my father’s interrogating eyes.  My journal rested, open, on the table.  I gasped and lunged for it, taking it in my arms.

            “You read it!” I exclaimed.  “I can’t believe you actually read it!”

            “You gave us no choice,” she replied brutally.  “Your secretive behavior.  Lying about where you’re going.  You said all the kids behave like that.  I wanted to believe you.”

            “They do!” I cried out, feeling tears swelling in my eyes.

            “Normal sixteen-year-old girls don’t talk about hurting themselves,” she said flatly as I cradled the journal in my arms.  “And they don’t say they wish they were never born.”

            “Maybe if they didn’t have parents like you—” I began, stopping myself too late.

            “Tomorrow,” she said.  “We’re going to see Dr. Parker.”

            “No!” I protested.  “She doesn’t want me going out alone, and I know she wants to put me in—”

            “She knows what’s best for you,” she said coolly.  “Now eat your dinner.”

            “No,” I spat.

            “Go to bed hungry then.”

My father never spoke.  I wonder if he had a backbone.  That night, I packed my bags and left for the busiest place I could think of, where I could get lost in the crowds and my mother and Dr. Parker could never find me—Los Angeles.  It was a day’s bus ride from Utah.  For all the smarts my mother bragged about, she never thought of a better hiding place than her dresser for a wad of hundred dollar bills.

           

The consistent crackle of flames has lulled me into a daze.  I’m startled awake by the family packing up their supplies.  Chelsea collapses against Samuel.  He gently picks her up and carries her alongside their parents toward the car.  They left a hotdog bun on the grass, which I snatch up and gobble down in a frenzy.  I never wanted to share a family dinner with anyone.  That’s okay because they didn’t want to share it with me either.  Right now, my brother and my parents will only be sitting down for burgers, or ribs, or some other popular summer dinner, talking about the sports teams I hate and the job that my brother’s supposed get to but never will.  I’m not missing a thing.

            The sun has already set.  I missed it, as always.  I close my eyes and relax upon the hillside.  As the stars appear over the darkening sky, I wonder if they even see me.

Reviews

[Jim Walters]

Crystal your story takes me back to the Sixties in Portland. The whole town was full of run-a-ways. ..I'm hoping it was just a story you wrote and not a fact..........cause little good comes to a young lady living in the streets.

Anyway to your story...overall it's a good and easy read.......the message is loud and clear and the emotion can be felt........grammar wise I saw no obvious errors.........so IMO you get an A :-)