The Sky Is Everywhere

by Jandy Nelson

For days and days, the rain beat its fists on the roof of our house— evidence of the terrible mistake God had made.

I listened for the tireless pounding, looked at the drear through the window and was relieved that at least the sun had the decency to stay the hell away from us.

I put on some of the indie-kill-yourself music I’ve been listening to lately,

The sun has burst into millions of pieces, which have landed all over Main Street. It’s a gorgeous day. Everything shines except my guilty heart.

I’ve forgotten quite how luminous he is, like another species of human that doesn’t have blood but light running through their veins.

The guy’s life-drunk, I think, makes Candide look like a sourpuss. Does he even know that death exists?

“Thanks,” I say, and the cloak of being fine that I wear with everyone else slips right off my shoulders.

I look into his sorrowless eyes and a door in my heart blows open.

“That’s a misconception, Lennie, the sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.”

like I have a window in my chest where sunlight is pouring in.

His delight quotient mesmerizes me. At the human factory, someone must have messed up and just slipped him more than the rest of us.

could I be so stupid? And it’s just dawned on me that I might be the author of my own story, but so is everyone else the author of their own stories, and sometimes, like now, there’s no overlap.

I remember thinking she’s like a trapped wind, a wild gale imprisoned in this kitchen with me, like if I opened a window she’d be gone.”

If anyone asks where we are, just tell them to look up.