Page 2 of Sunset Catchers

Because this, I understood. But mostly, this I needed.

In a life where you knew to expect bad days almost always, it felt life-changing to be handed such a simple beacon of hope. And so after ten years on this earth, my life took a turn. Sure, my eulogy would still read, “Winnie knew from a young age that she would face hardships,” but it would also read, “Winnie loved when the sky turned pink.”

This moment would become its own little square in my life patchwork. My brain rearranged itself around this information; a pink sunset seen in the sky now bared the meaning that tomorrow would be okay. Hoping for good felt too much of a big leap, like trying to jump rope with my right foot only.

I still needed to keep both feet on the ground.

Wishing for alright was feasible.

I plucked the meaning out of the universe and tucked it into my training bra for safe keeping. Its importance in my life grew at the same rate as my boob size; prematurely and embarrassingly quickly.

I thought a lot about sharing it with my mother, to point to the pink sky and tell her that it was going to be fine. Even at a young age, I suspected that she probably also needed something to lift her wilted spirit.

But in the end, I never did.

All my mother ever saw was red anyway.

I went on with my life, and my existence was still considered a hindrance, but now pink sunsets existed and they meant something.

So when my mom had been particularly horrible with her words and I’d taken refuge in my bedroom, only to discover pink streaks in the sky at sunset hour, my juvenile heart soothed itself. Then, my teenage heart did the same, over and over again.

When I slipped into adulthood, clumsily and with all the grace of someone trying to regain their footing over a patch of black ice, the sighting of pink skies was still my saving grace when I didn’t believe that tomorrow could come bearing anything good. These pink sunsets were my anchor in an existence that felt as if I’d been thrown into a choppy, restless sea.

They calmed the waters.

They gave me hope, and they made me look forward when the present was dreary. They tinted my life in shades of pink when all I saw was grey. They made me optimistic in a life of carefully constructed realistic prospects.

Not quite a dreamer, but a believer none the less.

So now, on the eve of pursing one of those prospects, stomach filled with nerves and mind addled with pessimistic thoughts, I take a deep breath and look up to the changing sky. And right there, a single streak of pink amid the lilac horizon.

Then, I know.

Then, I trust and I hope.

I believe.

I’ll be okay.

1

Sure, going to therapy has its merits—I mean,

probably, I wouldn’t know for sure. I’ve never been—but have you ever tried just getting into your car and putting on your favorite song? Playing air drums on your steering wheel with the reusable straws you keep on hand in your glove compartment, but never actually use, while music blasts from your speakers?

Such a rush! It scratches just the right spot in my brain.

Once I’m done doing just that, I silence my music and push my sunglasses on top of my head and begin my search for the—ah, there he is!

The attendant.

Who’s already looking at me. And maybe he’s in a band, and I’ve insulted him greatly with my poor technique of air drums because he’s kind of staring at me in a mean way.

He starts walking further into the parking lot, seeming aggravated.

The sound of my electric window rolling down compels a peek over his shoulder. I wave at him, which comes out awkwardly and hesitant because I am awkward and hesitant. I have never called out to an attendant before. I do not know if there is a proper protocol. Or bro code? Dammit! I should’ve searched up gas station decorum before embarking on this spontaneous quest.

I’m usually not the unplanned kind of girl. If I’m going to a restaurant, I have to look up the menu a thousand times before and then pretend I’m reading it for the first time once I’m sitting at the table. And I usually pump my own gas. But when I saw the big With service sign high against the blue spring sky, I thought; while I’m in a more geographically challenged area, I might as well get the whole experience.