Where were you August 21st, 2017?
It was a Monday, does that help?
Okay, while you think I’ll give you a hint: I was on the lawn of Festus Elementary School (home of the tigers) 3 miles from the Mississippi River. At 1:08 pm, the sun and moon embraced. Our fireball, giver of all life shrunk into a twinkling star. We monitored its contraction and expansion through goofy cardboard glasses. Everyone on the lawn was silent.
I really made an effort to experience those two minutes of darkness. Los Angeles was only getting a partial eclipse and that didn’t feel like enough. I wanted a plunge into nothingness. Maybe I could have found the same psychedelic experience through a drug, but I was hoping for transformative magic. I needed a shifttt.
A few months prior, on my 24th birthday, my dad underwent surgery for an advanced form of skin cancer. This sickness was a total surprise, he kept the obvious tumors under wraps (literally) for 2 years. The malignant cells multiplied under the skin’s surface, while his wounds developed a life threatening infection. The surgery was unsuccessful—we had to seek treatment elsewhere. We don’t have local family that could lend a hand and my parents never had a community who could extend steady support. I quit my office job and went back to the hostess stand so I could work nights and take my dad to doctors during the day. My dad was one of the only steady aspects in my life and we were always very close. His sudden plunge into helplessness shattered my compass—I’d been feeling around in the dark ever since.
A month after that plot twist, another turn: my boyfriend, let’s call him Steven, could no longer hide his desire to be single. The timing was of course, terrible, so he offered to “be there for me” despite the fact that we were no longer “together”. I knew this was nonsensical, but I allowed it because I needed all the support I could get. We embarked on a very messy break up process, with daily bouts of crying in the car. I went through a lot of mascara, touching up my face so I could hide the split from my parents.
After a few bleak months, I heard about this eclipse situation. The first full eclipse to grace North America in 40 years, and there wouldn’t be another one till 2024 (an impossible length of time to consider). It felt mystical, although I couldn’t articulate why. I couldn’t fathom going out of town and leaving my dad—even if it was just a couple days—until I found out my ex was planning a trip to Oregon.
Yeah I have a friend who invited me to see it in a hot air balloon. She booked one and we’re gonna ride it right when the eclipse happens.
We were lying in Steven’s bed, half asleep. It had been a good night, very normal feeling. We made dinner and I was almost able to pretend that we were back together. Now this…? White noise jealousy filled my brain and I shuddered wide awake. All I could hear was SHE RIDE HOT ECLIPSE.
You’re going to see the eclipse?
Yeah
Without me?
What?
I can’t believe you would go…to..Oregon! It’s just like, what??
Oh..I’m…sorry? He looked scared.
No it’s fine just. It’s special..it won’t happen for another 7 years and I would want to see it with you.
In the moment I was deeply concerned with the eclipse spectacle, but fundamentally I was envious of Steven's mobility. We just “broke up” but he already had some girl in Oregon with the coolest possible eclipse viewing experience?
He traveled often for leisure activities, going to a music festival in Barcelona, or a music festival in Iceland or a film festival in Italy. He would return home and I would have very little to offer in my personal update department. I hated my office job, I was only creative in spurts and starts, and now I was dealing with this weird family crisis. And Steven was going to greet the eclipse from the sky?
To Steven’s credit, he agreed to see the eclipse with me. Plane tickets to anywhere on the west coast were quite expensive, so we booked two tickets to Saint Louis and made plans to stay with Steven’s family friend. I told everyone I was going to see the eclipse. The entire restaurant staff, front and back of house knew that I was going to Saint Louis. Last night I got dinner with a friend who I met around that time and she recalled me explaining my elaborate eclipse plans. I made it my whole personality.
When we got to the house in Saint Louis, we were greeted by a silver fox and flamingos on the front lawn. He was recently divorced and happy to have company to fill the extra bedrooms. After the silver fox went to sleep, I cried. There was so much space in this town, so much sky, so much green. Steven sat on the edge of the bed, befuddled. I felt so compressed, this placid demonstration of breathing room brought me to tears. Unable to articulate these feelings, I apologized and changed into my pajamas.
The kind divorcee went to work in the morning and left us his extra car, a BMW with a full tank of gas. As Steven and I sped down the I-55 South, I wondered if this mystical adventure might align our fates. We drove 44 miles, entering the path of total annihilation, stopping at a roadside tent for cardboard glasses. It was 90 something degrees, humidity crept into the gaps between my eyelashes. After a bit of aimless driving, we saw a bunch of cars slowing down, figures filling an open patch of grass. It was the front lawn of Festus Elementary. I was glaringly aware this was not a spectacle on the level of a hot air balloon, but the surrealism was still hitting.
After making a big deal about wanting to experience the eclipse with Steven, I realized the actual eclipse viewing is very private. The thick tint glasses blocks out everything but the sun’s blaring light. I was locked in with the sun and moon, taking voyeuristic pleasure in their rare embrace. We removed our glasses for those few minutes of peak eclipse. For that small window of time, I saw the bizarro world in full effect, expanding past the edges of my mind. I felt a little gasp of peace to see everything suspended in darkness just like me. Then the moon shifted and the sun light leaked through, upping the world’s exposure.
The dawn came quickly, pulling the daylight balance back to its rightful place.
Steven and I mirrored the sun and moon, only we took a little longer to disengage. The messy trajectories of people cannot be predicted like a celestial orbit. When we finally drifted apart, our planets had no parallel paths. If anything, our journey to the eclipse was our final hurrah, expediting our decline with my heavy projections of meaning.
Seven years later, LA receives another partial eclipse. I have the option to travel to see the full shebang with family in Ohio. There’s a part of me that wants to go out there, to the wide open spaces and immerse in the darkness. But I couldn’t commit to making the eclipse my whole personality. It’s seven years later: I am no longer living in waves of a fight and flight. I am deeply grateful for the supportive love that surrounds me. For my father and his perseverance. For everything I want to write getting me out of bed in the morning. I know how it feels to live steeped in darkness and I am grateful to have met the depths and hold the infinite arm of light.
Today I woke up, walked my pup to the neighborhood library where they were handing out those familiar cardboard glasses.
For a moment I considered camping out at a coffee shop for a communal experience. But my feet led me home and I listened. There’s an energy today that’s undeniable, rumbling at several frequencies all at once. I can’t translate it into words just yet, but give me another seven years and I’ll try to explain it.
The last line of this made me very misty-eyed 🩵
I was standing on a city median strip with coworkers on Connecticut Ave in DC. It had this Smithsonian exhibit feel to it all.