We were up early that day anyway because there was this bridge that only opened for boats to pass through until 6:30 am, and then again after 8:30. If we didn’t make it there by 6:30, we would have to wait two hours to cross. Of course we could have just waited until 8:30 – taken a leisurely morning, moved slowly, savored our coffees a little bit more – but you have to understand, we had already lost three days moored off the AYB waiting for an integral replacement piece for the electrical system to arrive via UPS, so naturally we were antsy. We were hoping to get as far as we possibly could. Added to that was the fact that the waterways were so narrow, and at times, dangerously shallow, that we couldn’t sail at night, so every mile made during the daytime counted if we were going to make it to Florida in any kind of timely manner.
So like I said, we were up early that day anyway. Even still, it took awhile to notice. I must have been the first to see it because everyone else was either highly focused on steering the catamaran, or else, as was the case with Lana, still in bed. Only I was both up and idle.
The first disconcerting sign was that the stars were still out by the time we reached the bridge. It was just a little before 6:30, the last opening, and as yet, the stars remained as prominent as they had been the night before when I went off to bed. I scanned the horizon in all directions and nowhere was there to be seen any indication of the first lights of dawn. Of course it was late in the year – nearly November – so I just passed it off as a late blooming morning. That’s how the axis of the world works, is it not?
Time passed. Nothing changed. Paul, the captain, stayed focused on the waters ahead, gunning the boat so as to reach the next bridge, five nautical miles down, which would only open on the half hour: 7 or 7:30 were the possible target times. Linda, Paul’s wife and second mate, was bouncing around the bow, making the adjustments that Paul demanded of her and was too focused on tasks to notice the change (or lack thereof). But I sat sleepily sipping my coffee, watching the sky, waiting for the first rays of the sun to light up the forests and riverways of the South.
We reached the second bridge after 7 and had to float in place until 7:30. Paul got paranoid that nobody was manning the station and went on the radio, calling out to the authorities to confirm the bridge would open on time. When they finally, with cold southern condescention in their voices, responded to the affirmative, he sat back contented. I, meanwhile, was starting to get nervous. Didn’t anyone else wonder where the sun was?
It was 7:30. We passed through the second bridge. All around us, yachts and motorboats lined up with little lights atop their highest points, faintly illuminating their presence amidst an otherwise moonless dark. Bobbing up and down. The stars sat steadfast above.
I could feel a panic rising in my throat like seasickness. I started to feel nauseous. Something wasn’t right. I wanted to cry out to Paul and Linda about the sun, but I couldn’t find the words. I checked my cell phone, hoping maybe the sun had texted me to say it would be late, but nothing. Nothing.
***
I later found out that there were others like me: in different places all up and down the east coast: early risers, exercisers, working men, commuters, monks and meditatives. All up and down the coast, it slowly dawned on the people that dawn was late.
The early risers, one and all started anxiously checking their cell phones for missed texts. A few of the less secure ones sent frantic texts to the sun, while the more secure – equally nervous but not wanting to put on a desperate face – held back, still pacing around, fingering and fondling their phones; sweating to receive some sort of indication that the sun hadn’t forgotten them, hadn’t found someone better, stronger, more successful, more attractive.
As the minutes and hours ticked by, thoughts turned to concern as to whether or not the sun was Ok. Had it just gotten held up in traffic, or – God willing – had there had been some kind of accident? Maybe so! But maybe it was totally just fine, only just delayed by all the bureaucratic form-filling that accompanies that kind of thing, which can be extremely time-consuming but when all is said and done is an important thing to do when, you know, you’re trying to file the report with your insurance. Maybe the sun was actually fine, not in the hospital, just finishing up some signatures on a form and would be catching up in like nearly no time at all...
Nothing.
It gave no word. All across America, the day passed: from 8 to 9, and then 10, 11. Just before noon, the President went live on air to declare a state of emergency, claiming if the sun wasn’t rising on America today, then it must have been the work of terrorists. He took time to renew pledges that the War on Terror must be won for God had blessed America. We would get to the bottom of this. Scapegoats would be found. Heads would roll, in the name of the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, on whose name rests all blessings.
***
Meanwhile, on the boat, we passed cheerlessly from Virginia into North Carolina. It was a state I had never seen, the state my father was born in, and a place I had always longed to go. Now I was finally within the state’s territories and yet all I felt was a thankless kind of dread. Without the sun, what was the point of going to North Carolina? In the larger scheme of things, without the sun, what was the point of going to Florida? Florida is the Sunshine State. Without the sun, what does it remain? The State? That had a cold and ominous ring to it. I shuddered to think.
All day and all night, which were now very hard to differentiate, the people of America moped around their homes or apartments, staring at their cell phones, looking through their pictures on Facebook or Tumblr: pictures of them smiling with the sun, just over their shoulders, smiling too. They realized in those dark and dreadful moments just how much the sun had really lit up their lives. They realized that it’s true: you don’t really appreciate those you love until they’re gone.
A few emotionally wrecked people caved and started sending text after text to the sun with phrases like ‘where r u?!!’, ‘r u ok?!!’, ‘wut did i do?’ and ‘cant we talk about this?!!’ A few others tried calling, hoping that the line would be busy, a sure sign that the sun was just wrapped up in other things and would be getting back to them momentarily, but the line just kept ringing and ringing. A few particularly sad individuals hoped the ringing on the other line would cut suddenly to voicemail mid-chime, suggesting that the sun had pressed Decline when it saw the call. Painful as that kind of rejection would be, at least it would act a sort of confirmation proving that the sun was alright and in full faculty, somewhere, only predisposed.
As the days without the sun turned into weeks, the government frequently made statements such as, “In times of crisis such as this we have found ourselves in, it is the duty of every American to put on a bold, courageous face, step out of his home and go shopping! Otherwise, the terrorists win.”
And the Americans did as they were told. What else could they do? They mostly bought junk food and alcohol, which they sat around their homes consuming between tears and irrepressible bouts of rage and self-loathing. In these drunken stupors they tended to call the sun hurtful names, names that could never be taken back, and blame it for all their problems. How much better off would they be if they had never met the sun in the first place. Yes, it had truly ruined everything for them. Things were so much better in the days before the sun. Most people spend their time on the couch listening to sad old pop songs over and over. Some songs, such as ‘Here Comes the Sun’ by the Beatles, never seemed sad before, but now were downright heart-wrenching.
***
Eventually, we made it to Florida. We didn’t want to sail at night, but as there was no other option - the least of which being staying in one place - we just pushed onward.
When we reached the Keys, Lana and I deboarded the catamaran and soon enough, found crew positions on a different boat that was continuing south to Mexico.
When we reached the eastern shore of the Yucatan, I stepped into the damp chill of the sand. All around, the lavish resorts were completely abandoned. The streets, for the most part, were empty too except for an occasional shivering figure wrapped in thick layers of woven materials. A church bell rang and Lana and I walked over. Inside was a huddling mass of fervently praying human beings, repeating over and over the single word, “Dios.”
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