Hello,
beautiful person reading this post!
Do you know what today is?
Yes, yes, it is New Year’s Day. I knew
that.
(I didn’t know that.)
But guess what else today is!
Today is January 1st, which
means my book, my baby, will be out there in exactly 28 days!
Shit. Like, shit.
When I started writing
what is now known as SUNSHINE, I never ever had the intention of ever sharing
it with anyone. I was bored and lonely, so I made up this world and these
people.
And 28 days from now, people will be able
to read it. People who have never read it before.
And it’s scary and exciting and mind blowing. Sometimes I’m sitting there, and I’m like, “What? Am I really doing
this? Is this real life?”
Yes. It is January 1st, and it
is indeed, real life.
And a lot of you may have just heard of
SUNSHINE recently, or maybe you’ve been nagging me to read it since I started, but as a reward for you guys, I have two surprises!
One: A part of Chapter One
Two: THE COVER.
So here we go, yo. Happy New Year, and
I’ll see you January 28th!
Here is the cover:
Just take a minute. I'll wait.
Jesus Christ on a cracker, if you guys
could have seen me when I got this in an email. Fuck. I couldn’t stop thinking
about it for days. It is so absolutely my book. And it’s gorgeous. And it’s
mine. And it’s happening.
Show the designer some love here
And now, the exerpt:
Chapter
1
Solar…huh?
“I wear my sunglasses at
night.”-Corey Hart
There
are only a few precious days of summer left and I have to spend one of them
like this: waking up at the crack of dawn, getting into the car, and driving an
hour out of the way to go to the doctor. No, I’m not sick. At least, I don’t
think of myself as sick.
“Ready to
go, Sophie?” Jade, my brother asks, flipping his multi-colored mane out of his
face.
“Not
really.”
The
only reason I agreed to go to this stupid doctor was to keep my mom happy in
her own little perfect-pretend-world-where-everything-must-be-perfect,
including abnormal me.
The reason
why I am up so early?
Solar
Urticaria. Reason numero uno why I am not a normal human being. I was diagnosed
with it when I was a little kid. Well, kind of. They don’t really know what the
hell is wrong with me. Nice, right? Whatever. In simplest terms, I’m allergic
to the sun or sun-like light. If I’m out in sunlight for more than a few hours,
I get these red itchy spots on me.
Then they
turn into these sun poisoning-type-spots.
Then I get
super sick and it’s not so nice.
So just stay
out of the sun. No big deal, right? When you live in a place like Bumblefuck,
South Jersey, where it rains pretty regularly anyway and even when it doesn’t,
there isn‘t too much to do outside, it seems easy enough.
But when it
happens to be sunny, I can’t leave my house without slathering SPF 120 all
over. Then there are the industrial shades that cover half of my face, and a
trench coat that sweeps the ground when I walk. I look like a walking Looney
bin in eighty degree weather. My light blue Oldsmobile—passed down from who
knows which relative—has black tinted windows, so driving is always fun.
Especially when you get pulled over and have to explain that, Yes, Mr.
Officer, I know they’re illegal, but here’s the thing…
Living in a
small town is also never good when you have something wrong with you.
On the grey
scale, my skin registers at about corpse white. This little characteristic
fuels most of the kids at school. It’s great to see that calling people names
will just never go out of style. That whole sticks and stones saying has no
meaning to the people at Lucky High. They have tons of nicknames for me:
Casper, Elvira, and of course the various vampire comments are never in short
supply.
But hey,
Casper is cute, Elvira has an amazing body, and vampire? C’mon, like it took
you all night to think of that one. Plus, I highly doubt that any of the three
could pull off dark magenta hair and tattoos as I have.
And I can
guarantee none of them look as good in combat boots.
There are
worse things than being made fun of. Like having people feel sorry for you.
I’ve over heard people in school talking about me. How it must Like, totally
like, suck not being able to go tanning or like, go to the beach, or like, do
anything outside. But in all honesty, I don’t really think about it. You
can’t miss what you never really remember having, I guess.
My only
memory of being out in the sun is so fuzzy I can barely make it out
anymore.
Pieces of it
come to me in my sleep sometimes. Flashes here and there. I was about five or
six. Mom had taken my little sister Laura and I to the park. I remember
screaming, burning, crying. I remember what the sun looked like, shining so
bright off of the metal surface of the slide I was standing on top of. Then
someone carrying me away, shielding me from the sun, but it wasn’t my mother. I
know it wasn’t. It was definitely a guy. Later, Mom would tell me that of
course it was her, and who else would it be? I think it could have been my
father. Some guy I barely have one memory of. A memory without a face.
Anyway, I’ve
never had a problem with being different. You’d think singing and playing piano
for the best band ever and having more than a few body modifications would be
enough to tell me apart from the next person, which is fine with me. The whole
sun issue is just one more thing that makes me different. Different is fine.
However, my mother
has always had a problem with different.
The sun allergy
issue has always been the worst thing to happen in her perfect little life. She
has the rich husband, the clone daughter, the cute little girl, the loveable
but—gasp—gay son, and then me. She used to hate Jade the most, but since he
moved in with his boyfriend, Stevie, she really doesn’t pay him much attention
anymore.
What a
blessing that must be sometimes.
We had been
through countless doctors before I was even old enough to ride a bike. All of
them said the same thing. That it was an allergy. That my body sees something
in sunlight as “invasive” and that the “skin reactions” are just its way of
protecting itself from “unwanted toxins.” I found this comforting in a way. My
body knowing how to protect itself.
“So how do
we get rid of it?” was the only question Mom ever asked.
And there
would always be the same answer. There was no way to “cure” it. There were only
ways of “eliminating accidents” and “preventing” my skin from getting burned.
It was highly likely that I would grow out of it, and all I had to do was be
careful until then. This was fine with me. I wasn’t dying. I wasn’t deformed.
Nothing uncontrollably horrible was happening; it would eventually go
away and my mom would love me the way she did before soon enough.
But that
never happened.
I’m
eighteen, about to start my senior year of high school. I have yet to go to the
beach with friends or slip on a bikini to go tanning.
A few years
passed and it seemed like Mom had given up on fixing me, but I was wrong.
Someone told her about this doctor at the hospital that was into experimental
treatments. My mother called him, asked if he could fix me, and he said, “he’d
be delighted to try,”…I wish I was making that up.
Doctor
Helmet entered our lives three months ago.
“C’mon. The sooner
we do this, the sooner we’ll be done,” Jade says to me.
We’re
sitting in my car, staring up at the menacing hospital building ahead of us. He
tosses his floppy, fading rainbow mohawk out of his eyes again. I shove my
sunglasses on and wrap my coat around me, inching out of the car and into the
sweltering heat.
“Why don’t
we just tell Mom we went and see a movie instead?” I ask as we enter the nice,
air-conditioned lobby.
Jade
encloses an arm around me, pushing me toward the elevator because my feet will
just not move. “Why don’t we just go and if he wants to do anything to you that
you don’t want him to, say no. You’re not a lab rat, Sunshine.”
I groan as
we get into the elevator next to some nurses dressed in pink scrubs with
cartoon characters on them. They look nice, but the smell is making me sick.
Why does the
stupid doctor have to be in a hospital? No matter where you are or who
you are standing next to, it smells like latex gloves and stale coffee.
We get to
our floor and start to get closer to the office. My feet feel like they’re in
Jell-o. “Seriously. We can forget we were even here,” I say to Jade.
“If you’re good, I
promise I’ll ask the nurse for a lollipop and a sticker for you.” He smiles.
“You know, if we
weren’t in a hospital, I would soooooo try to kill you.”
The yellow
office greets us with its framed paintings of artists I’ve never heard of and
its diplomas hung above brown chairs. I sign in on the clipboard the
receptionist hands me, then I sit down next to Jade. The receptionist pops her
gum.
Jade places
his hand on my knee. “I don’t think we’ll have to wait that long. It looks like
we’re the only people here.”
“Awesome.”
For the most
part, I don’t mind doctors. They’re usually pretty cool in my book. If I’m
sick, I go to one, they make me better, and that’s really neat. There’s just
something about Doctor Helmet that I don’t like. Maybe it’s the way he talks to
me, or doesn’t look me directly in the eye.
Maybe he’s
just hoping he can fix me so he can be a well known, rich doctor with
like, five books describing how he helped this poor girl that was deathly
allergic to the sun.
Whatever it
is, I don’t like him touching me. Some doctors avoid touching you when they
examine you. Not Doctor H. He always to makes a point to have his rough hands
come in contact with my skin as much as he can. I can’t describe how much I
hate that.
I hate it
when people touch me.
Soon the
receptionist tells us that we can go inside and a nurse leads us to a room with
a table covered in waxed paper. The only good thing about Doctor
Helmet’s place is that unlike other doctors, they don’t make you wear those
itchy paper gown things. And I wouldn’t be caught dead here if someone wasn’t
allowed to sit in the room with me.
After the
nurse leaves, Doctor Helmet comes in. He’s not too old, maybe forty-five. He
has a pink dress shirt on under his white coat, and he’s wearing a red tie and
grey pants. I always think he looks too tan.
Like a worn
out leather bag.
He doesn’t
say hi. Doesn’t look at us. He stares at my chart.
“So how have
you been?” he says. I know he doesn’t mean “how is your life?” like most people
do when they ask that question. He means “how is your illness?”
“Okay.
Nothing major has happened or anything,” I answer.
He looks at
my chart some more.
“It says
here that your eyes are sensitive to the sunlight as well,” he says.
“Mmhmm.” He
already knows this. I told him the first time we met. I don’t know what he
wants me to say here.
“Does the
sun still bother your eyes?” he asks like I’m acting dumb on purpose.
I
shift on the wax paper covered table under me. “Yeah,” I answer a little less
than nicely.
He
nods like he’s happy about something then finally glances at me. “We’re going
to try some eye drops today. We just got them and they are supposed to help
with sensitivity to light.”
He
waits. It’s my turn to talk.
Jade looks
at me to make sure that I want to do this.
“Okay,” I
answer.
He pats me
on the head like a dog. “I’ll go get a nurse,” he says.
Doctor H
leaves Jade and I alone in the yellow examination room for what seems like an
hour. Jade gets so bored that he starts going through all of the drawers
and pocketing things like tongue depressors and cotton balls. “You know, you
don’t have to try those drops,” he tells me.
“I know, but
I want to. I mean, if they work, I won’t have to wear my big black glasses
anymore.”
How
awesome would that be? To walk outside and not worry about going blind if it
happens to be sunny and I forget my sunglasses. Sure, I would still need the
coat, but hey, no more shades.
“Okay. Just
as long as you want to do it for you. Not to make him or Mom happy.” Jade
studies some cottony looking stuff he’s ripped out of a wrapper.
“Of course
not.”
Jade hurries
to shut all of the drawers and cabinets when we hear the doorknob turn.
One of the
nicer nurses walks in with what I can only assume are the drops in a white
plastic bottle. “Hi there, Sophie.”
She’s young,
probably about twenty-five. Her blond hair is a quality I usually hate in a
person, but I let it slide. She tells me to lie back so she can get to
work. I have no problem with being comfortable around her. If Doctor Helmet
hadn’t been able to find a nurse, he’d be dripping the chemicals into my eyes
and probably touching me way too much.
So I do as
she says and open my eyes real wide. One, two drops in the left eye. One, two
drops in the right. Then she tells me to sit up.
“How do they
feel?” she asks.
“I don’t
know. Kind of tingly,” is all I can say to describe it. It sort of feels like
when you have a cold and you use that vapo-rub stuff and your eyes water a
little bit because of the way it smells.
A few
milliseconds pass by and my eyes kind of feel dry, so I do what any normal
person would do: I blink.
My eyes are
on fire. Not only that, but under and around them, even my cheekbones burn.
“What’s wrong?”
Jade asks immediately.
“It burns. Damn,
it really burns,” I blurt out.
Then it
feels like I have no control over what my body does. My arms start flailing, my
legs start kicking in every direction, and I can’t stop screaming.
It takes
about four nurses, Jade, and Doctor H to hold me down long enough for them to
put some other type of drop in my eyes that makes the burning stop.
“Open your
eyes,” Helmet says, sounding slightly annoyed that I interrupted his morning
coffee or something.
As soon as I
do, I can’t see anything but a blur and my eyes start burning again so I shut
them. I swear I can hear him sigh in frustration.
“What the
hell was that?” Jade asks.
The nurse
hands me a cold, wet paper towel that I press under my bottom lids. That helps
a lot. Especially the her being nice part.
“An allergic
reaction,” Doctor H shoots back like Jade has something wrong with him.
Of course it
was an allergic reaction. Everything they’ve ever tried has resulted in an
allergic reaction. Why do I always seem to forget that when they have something
new for me to try?
The
experimental sun lotion gave me hives.
The
experimental pills made me hallucinate little purple kitty cats everywhere.
Then throw
up.
So why would
I not think that the experimental eye drops wouldn’t blind me?
“Just wear
your sunglasses around any type of light until the redness goes away,” Doctor H
says like he’s telling me to eat my vegetables.
“Why can’t I
see anything?” I ask.
“Because you
had an allergic reaction. You’ll be able to see normally within a few hours.”
All I want
to do is get out of here. I think Jade is thinking the same thing because he
asks, “Are we done here?”
I’m guessing
Helmet nods because Jade grabs my hand and starts pulling me out of the room. A
nurse stops us and gives me a pill that will help with the pain. I really don’t
like taking pills. There’s something about how one tiny thing can alter the way
you act that makes me uncomfortable, but in this case, I would have taken horse
tranquilizers if they had any. I gulp it down dry and leave with my brother.
We’re in the
elevator when I try to open my eyes again. The light doesn’t seem to bother
them now that I have my sunglasses on, but I still can’t see anything except
blurry outlines of people.
“Are you
okay?” Jade finally asks. He knows I hate this question.
“Yeah. I
have to pee.”
The elevator
reaches the bottom floor and we get out. The pain killers seem to be working
already because the fuzzy outlines start shifting and moving and changing color
a little bit.
“I’ll take
you to the bathroom,” Jade offers, but I’ve already pulled my arm free from
his.
“I can find
it by myself,” I assure him, “I’ve been here so many times that I can find it
with my eyes closed.” And I may have to.
“Okay.” I
can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn’t want to let me go on my own.
“I’m fine.
Sit down in the cafeteria and I’ll come and get you when I’m done.” I turn away
and start walking.
All I
have to do is make a left, then there are two more left turns, cross the
hallway once and I’ll be there. Easy.
I’m
about halfway through the second left turn when I feel like the ground is made
out of some kind of slippery substance made especially for me to crack my face
on, but everyone else has no problem walking on it. I hug the wall the rest of
the way there. All I have left to do is cross the hallway. It should only take
me about three big steps.
One: Doing
good.
Two: Almost
slip on something, but I’m still good.
Th— Damn it.
Someone
slams into me, sending my bag and me flying, causing my tailbone to come in
hard contact with linoleum. I decide the best thing to do in this situation is
try to find my junk and get to the bathroom before I throw up, seeing as the
unexpected landing has made my stomach angry at me.
“Are you
okay?” I hear a concerned male voice say from above me. I’m guessing it’s the
person who bumped into me.
I ignore
him.
“Hey,” he
says.
I feel
something cold touch my shoulder. As soon as I realize that it’s a hand, I
shove it away. That makes my head pound and my stomach gets worse. I see the
wobbly outline of him kneeling down next to me, gathering my stuff into a pile
near me. The swaying, blurry person only makes me dizzier than I was before.
“You could
have hit your head. Do you want me to get a doctor?” he asks.
I try not to
smile at the irony of this, and shake my head no. My sunglasses slip down a
tiny bit. The guy gasps. I guess my eyes are all red and puffy. Pushing them
back into place, I grab my pile of miscellaneous purse contents from him and
throw them back into my bag.
The same
cold hand touches my shoulder, I’m guessing to help me up, but I pull away
before he can. I stand all by myself. “Maybe you should see a doctor,” he says
again.
“No,” I
finally answer.
Then we’re
silent as I smooth out my jacket and adjust my bag.
“I’m really
sorry,” and he sounds like he is.
Now I feel
bad. He didn’t mean to knock me over. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. Anyone else
would be grateful that they were being helped.
But I’m not
anyone else.
“Do you want
me to help you get somewhere?” he offers.
I don’t want
to go anywhere but to the bathroom then home to sleep until the sun just
completely burns out. “I’m fine,” I say, trying to keep my breakfast down. But
he’s trying to be nice and everything. I can’t just leave to vom without saying
anything to him. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“No
problem.”
Now
there’s no time for talking.
Sometimes, your body has
complete control over your mind, over what you do. Sometimes, you just have
to do what it says because it will do it anyway. Right now my body is saying, Either
you go to the bathroom to throw up, or you throw up all over this complete
stranger.
So I casually
feel behind me for the bathroom door, open it, chunk, and black out.
