I called myself Sunny, all along, from the start. My sister, pinching my arm told me to be quiet and don’t be silly and pushed me down. I don’t care what she says, they can’t hear my thoughts, I’m pretty sure, because if they could I would have already been done for. I call myself Sunny and don’t let anyone know anymore. Sunny, I say, what say you that we head over to clover hill and dig up some roots, there’s bound to be green. There never is. The young people gave up, or their parents did, or their parents-parents -parents. But I won’t give up. My mom slipped once and told me I was born with yellow eyes, so I take that as a sign. Today is May 1st, and having secret stories, at least in my head. I wake up and put a star on my calendar using a charcoal pencil, almost gone, but not quite. I don’t have to tell them what the star is for, I know.
I look out of every window today. The trees cry to me, oh, Sunny, our coats our lovely coats and the cycles from green to brown and then they hum, key of B flat, but I don’t get scared. I know them too well. The one closest to the porch window is bending forward, crippled and crispy, snapping off. She tells me she came from the first orchard apple tree. She said, Sunny, you wouldn’t have believed it! I held the fruit until so heavy, it would drop—but this was after the warming up months…I know about those months only from Me-maw’s dairy. Me-maw was old and could remember the warming up months. The diary, now gone, removed by the Senior Staff, its words obliterated. Sunny, I say, Sunny, you hold on to what you saw and don’t forget.
I am not telling my sister or momma or the Andersons or Mrs. Franklin who share our flat but I am planning my own ceremony for the warming up months since it is May 1st, but I have to be careful. Sunny, I say, Sunny, be careful. Turning towards the basement door, I start by collecting what won’t be missed—first inside, because it is safer and I don’t cough so much. Sunny! A basket –grab that…yes, and add that coal shovel, tin can, rope. Oh, how I wished there was ribbon. Me-maw said it was silky and white and girls wore it so very pretty. I take three almond shells, a bit of Momma’s lye soap, the smallest candle end so I don’t get into trouble, and a plastic wall jack, left over from when Momma was a girl. Now, head outside. Sunny! Don’t forget your mouth screen! I smile. I smile because I know we didn’t used to have to wear them. I know this.
Cover hill is a mile away. The day is mesh grey, sky heavy. The smell is as always- thick, intense. I have my basket, I walk fast. Sunny, I say, Sunny you just remember what Me-maw said about Clover Hill…don’t you forget it and, of course, I am saying this inside my head so the Jet-riders don’t come by. They do scare me and momma tells me to look down, no eye-contact, no smile, walk faster, be invisible. Me-maw wrote that Clover Hill in the warming up months went from blue-grey to a brown, then the snow, white back then and would start to melt and something called green sprouts would come up from the earth along with a flower (shhh, Sunny, I say, don’t think it, just in case) and the sky, not dirt-grey, would be blue with clouds and the green and the dirt and the flower and the earth would go from cold to warmer and Me-maw wrote that the people would come outside and have something called picnics and they would be happy and dance around poles and drink sparkling things. That’s what Me-maw wrote.
Before Senior Staff took her journal I asked momma if it would ever be like that again, the warming up months. Momma smacked me. “Don’t talk like that, girl. They’ll get those colors and that warm and make you pay for it.”
A circle, almonds and candle, can, other supplies, all set up behind the fallen tree. Sky as dark as it would always be, I say, hey Sunny, let’s sing out loud. Aren’t you tired of hiding, Sunny? It’s okay. I have made a circle in the dirt with a stick. I have the wall jack and soap—north, south, east, west. I am looking around, paused. The naked trees start hissing—yes, yes, yes, don’t let them forget. Sing, Sunny, Sing!
“Green, Grass, Warm, Ghosts,
Hail the birds! Hail the crocus!
We deliver this creation in
Air and Light and Hope.
Year- by Year, We will not forget
Secret Truth! Before the Dark!
It wasn’t us; It wasn’t us.
