It was the kind of storm that seemed like a sign from God; terrible clouds rolled into the sky in the early afternoon and the very atmosphere had an over-boiled greenish hue to it. Three lightning flashes followed by thunder cracks spaced out dramatically over fifteen seconds had everyone’s attention. The first bolt hit an electrical substation knocking the power out for many blocks, making the second two thunderclaps even more dramatic in all that unnatural silence.
Tom was on a fool’s errand, sent out of the house where his day-off nervous energy was driving Dar crazy. She was in the kitchen making a birthday cake, which was no small feat because Dar was a better artist than she was a homemaker. She said to Tom, “I need sixteen candles,” and off he went, calling out to either of the kids in case they might want to join him. June would have gone, but she was deep in the jungles of the back yard, deep in the jungles of her mind, and didn’t hear the call. August was up in his bedroom reading Letters to a Young Poet, and even though his father went up and personally invited him to go to the store, August said no, and Tom let him be because he figured, on his birthday, the boy should be allowed to do whatever he wanted, even if what he wanted to do was be antisocial.
A few bated seconds after the third flash and crack in the Houston sky, tinkles of hail began playing on the aluminum back patio roof. August had stopped reading because his room was now too dark; he was staring out the window at the front yard trying to decide if the raindrops were actually bouncing when he heard his mother’s exasperated call from downstairs.
“August, quick!”
He ran down the stairs taking three at a time, almost tumbling over himself, to find his mother in the darkened kitchen next to the dead electric stove, a useless bowl of cake batter in her arms and other ingredients and implements on the countertop. He tried to be cheerful for his mother. “Oh, no, now the surprise is ruined!”
Dar said, “Ha-ha,” then in a more serious tone, “Would you run out back and get Junie? She’s in the back yard and it’s starting to hail.”
August said, “Cool,” referring to the hail, and took off.
Tom was at Piggly Wiggly, in the parking lot, sitting in Dar’s old vw bug – his work car for many years – the engine off, asking God for a sign of some kind. Then came the hail. It seemed pretty clear to him that this was it: An electrical outage and ice on a hot summer sky. As the hail echoed inside the car, Tom prayed, thanking God. He had been working at East Texas Motor Freight, driving a truck on alternate weekends, riding with another fellow who was about to quit his job and move with his family to a community in Central Texas where amazing things were happening in a little town called Waco. Bruce was very excited about what he described to Tom as the best place to be when the End Times came, “And they’re coming, Tom, I know they are; the Signs are all around us.” Tom tended to agree with Bruce.
Bruce was like Tom in a lot of ways, from a small town and a big family where the Bible was shoved down his throat so severely that he couldn’t breathe or think for himself. It wasn’t until Tom got away from all of that that he began understanding the awesomeness of Jesus’ love. He and Bruce both had been quietly searching for some kind of meaningful spirituality in their lives, something that felt real. Bruce had talked to his wife about it and discovered that she too had been secretly searching for something, was happy to give up all of their worldly possessions and join a movement in the name of Christ. Tom was a little reticent about bringing it up to Dar – they had always agreed that Religion had gotten lost somewhere along the way, it was in fact one of the things that attracted them to each other – but he was ready now to move forward with the plan he and Bruce had been talking about; God had given him the sign that helped him find the confidence to do what had to be done.
One of Tom’s biggest concerns was about his twelve-year-old daughter, who seemed to have some sort of mental deficiency, perhaps a kind of autism, according to what he’d read about it at the library. He had heard that people were getting healed in Waco; he believed that maybe June could be healed, too. Dar had never been willing to discuss June’s mental health with him; she accepted that June was a little socially withdrawn, but always pointed out that June was also advanced beyond her years. Dar saw June as special, not “afflicted.”
August found his sister standing in the back of the yard, in the small clearing between the fig and sweet gum trees, being pelted by hail. She was giggling open-mouthed and staring out across the side yard at the wooden fence at nothing in particular.
“June!”
He grabbed her around the waist, yanked her out of her stupor and ran back to the house, by which time she was crying frantically. Dar came out to the patio to meet them and attend to June. The two of them petted the frightened girl and cooed over her until she calmed down. Dar said, “Shh, everything’s okay.”
On closer inspection, there were several welts on June’s scalp, one with broken skin. August noticed first. “She’s bleeding!”
This announcement made June start crying again.
Dar led the three of them to the upstairs bathroom to doctor her wounds, saying, “Oh, Junie, what were you thinking?”
To which June replied, “I think somebody turned out the lights,” setting them all to laughing.
August and Dar were crowded around June on the toilet under the one small window in the bathroom when Tom arrived. He hollered his usual greeting in the downstairs darkness, “Hey, anybody, Daddy’s home!”
June darted out of the bathroom hollering happily, “Daddy! Daddy!” meeting him halfway up the stairs, jumping into his arms.
“Oh-ho-ho! How big are you?”
“Too big for you!”
“That’s right!”
“Rain hit my head, Daddy!”
Tom was amused at first. “What?”
“Rain hit my head and I bled!” She touched a delicate finger to her head and Tom realized what she was talking about but didn’t let on his shock. “You did?”
“Uh-huh, in the yard. In the sky.”
“Wow.” He carried June down the stairs to the couch, sat with her and gingerly examined her head while she sat patiently. Tom said, “My poor little Junebug.”
August and Dar stood side by side at the top of the stairs and August announced, “It’s official: My birthday is ruined!
Dar said, “Nonsense.”
August followed her down the stairs. “Well, the oven doesn’t work.”
“That’s okay, we’ll celebrate with Ding Dongs.”
“Oh, brother.”
Dar laughed. “We might have a little trouble fitting sixteen candles in one Ding Dong, but we can put four in each. Or maybe we’ll put eight in yours and eight in Junie’s and you can both blow out some candles.”
June said, “Yay!”
August said, “Who ever heard of birthday Ding Dongs?”
Dar grabbed her eldest and hugged him around the neck, “You’re my birthday Ding Dong.”
“I think I’m offended.”
Tom moved out from under June. “Except that we don’t have any birthday candles.”
Dar fought back her derision. “What? Where’d you go?”
“Piggly Wiggly.”
“And they didn’t have birthday candles?”
“I didn’t go in. Right when I got there the power went out.”
“And what, they just closed up the store, just like that?”
“Well, no, I doubt it. But everything runs on electricity, and I figured it would be a hassle and take forever.”
“You figured it would be a hassle to get candles for your son’s birthday cake?”
“Dar, let’s not argue.”
“I’m not arguing.”
August said, “It doesn’t matter; I didn’t want a birthday party, and there’s no cake anyway.”
June bounced in her place, “Ding Dongs!”
August hopped in place mimicking June, “Ding Dongs!”
She said, “Yay!”
“Now, now, wait a minute, kids,” Tom said. “We have to eat lunch first; your mom probably made August a special birthday lunch. We have to eat real food before dessert – right, mom? – even if it is Ding Dongs!”
Dar headed for the kitchen, “I didn’t make anything. No lunch, no cake. There’s only Ding Dongs.”
Tom took a deep breath then said, “Well, all right, then!”
June said, “Yay!” and Tom attacked her with tickling fingers.
August followed Dar into the kitchen. “Why don’t we put them on little plates and eat them with forks and knives?”
Dar said, “That sounds fun! Out on the patio?”
“Yeah!”
“Could you put a tablecloth on the table out there?”
“Sure, mom.”
“No, wait.”
“What?”
“Let your father do it.”
“I don’t mind.” He pulled a tablecloth out of a bottom drawer.
Dar took it from him, “No, no, I insist. It’s your birthday; let your father and sister do it.”
“Mom.”
“They love doing stuff together. You can help me.”
“Okay.”
She called out, “Tom?”
From the other room: “Yes, dear?”
June echoed Tom, “Yes, dear?”
“Could you and Junie set up the patio table? We’re gonna have the birthday party out there!”
August said, “Jeez” under his breath, somewhat embarrassed by the whole day.
Tom burst through the swinging kitchen door with June on his back. “Your willing helper-monkeys, here to help!”
June said, “Who’s willing helper-monkeys?”
“You and me, Junebug.”
“I’m not a monkey!”
Tom said, “Mommy, can you tell me if I’ve got a monkey on my back?”
She handed him the tablecloth and patted June’s behind as they passed by. “Looks like a monkey to me.”
June said, “But monkeys don’t wear clothes.”
As they exited the kitchen, Tom said, “You’re a special circus monkey, the kind that wears a pretty red dress with daisies on it!”
“Nuh-uh!”
After they were gone, Dar said, “I know!” pulling the box of Ding Dongs as well as the Ritz crackers out of the pantry. “There’s some tuna salad in the fridge, could you get it out for me?”
August opened the fridge. “Oh.”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Nothing. The light’s out. I forgot about the electricity.”
“It’s in the pink Tupperware.”
August took the tuna out and set it on the counter, pushing the cake-making supplies aside.
Dar said, “You can put that stuff away.”
“Okay.”
She went briefly into the dining room and came back with four fancy gold-trimmed china plates and matching cups and saucers, tinkling like wind chimes.
“Your wedding china?”
“I can’t think of a better occasion to bring it out than my baby boy’s sixteenth birthday.”
He ignored her comment. “Should I just throw out this cake goop?”
“Yes. Please.” She disappeared again and returned with two dinner plates.
August asked, “What are those for?”
“Just do your job! It’s a surprise…”
She covered one plate with a layer of Ritz crackers, sixteen of them, making sure they were all puffy topside up; took a melon baller from a drawer; scooped perfect little round mounds onto each of the crackers. When August was done putting away the cake supplies – dirty things in the dishwasher, unused things back in the pantry or on the shelves – Dar said, “Open four Ding Dongs and put them on this other plate. Do something creative with them.”
August carefully removed the foil from each, flipped the Ding Dongs right side up on the shiny side of the foil then crinkled the corners toward the waxy brown cakes like flower petals. Dar was finishing scooping tuna at about the same time he was done.
He said, “Oh, I have an idea! Can I do something?”
“Yes, honey, do whatever you want, it’s your birthday!”
August was taking a fistful of matches from the kitchen match wall dispenser when Tom and June walked in side by side.
Tom said, “Go ahead, Junebug.”
June giggled and said, “Helper monkeys ready for our next tax!”
Tom said, “Task.”
Dar pointed to the cake plates, cups and saucers. “Set the table with those. Oh, and get the dessert forks and knives from the china cabinet; I forgot.”
Tom said, “We’re going all out!”
Dar responded without any particular affection, “That’s right.”
“Come on, Junebug.” They shuttled off to the dining room and came back shortly, June’s hands full of fancy silverware, including the pie server. He gathered up the china and they headed back out to the patio.
August said, “Look.” He had stuck four matches into each of the four Ding Dongs, red tops and white tips up.
Dar smiled, “Birthday Ding Dongs with torches!”
“I leaned ‘em all toward each other so they would light at the same time.”
“Good idea,” Dar said.
“Yeah,” August said proudly.
“I’m impressed! –Let’s go.” She grabbed the milk jug out of the refrigerator and followed August to the patio where the table was set and Tom and June were waiting anxiously in chairs next to each other. Outside it was raining steadily. Dar and August put their two offerings in the middle of the table; Dar widened the gap, grabbed a potted fern from a ledge and put it between them while August sat.
Tom said, “Perfect!”
Dar sat, they all joined hands. “In honor of our sweet sixteen, August Collins.”
“Aw, mom…”
Tom said, “August Thomas Collins.”
“Big monkey brother,” June said, averting Dar’s annoyed glance at her husband. Everyone laughed and the party was underway.
Dar and Tom followed the kids’ lead as they ate the tuna Ritz crackers, matching their silliness but generally avoiding each other’s gaze. Regularly, June asked when August would open his presents, “Now? Now? Now?” To which the answer from one of the three others was always the same, “No, not now!”
After they got through the crackers and August and Tom had set their sights on the curiously decorated Ding Dongs, June said again, “Can Oggie open his presents now?”
Dar said, “Before the birthday Ding Dongs?”
June responded like her mother had made a suggestion instead of asking a question, “Yay!”
“I don’t know,” Dar came back, “it’s up to your brother.”
“What’ll it be, son,” Tom asked, “presents or Ding Dongs first?”
“I don’t care,” August said. “Whatever June wants.”
“Presents! Presents! Presents! Presents!”
Tom said, “I think she answered for all of us!”
August said, “Yeah.”
A table in the corner of the patio had the presents on it hidden behind a rusting metal milk crate with garden tools in it. Obviously, Tom and June had been up to more than just setting the table while they were on the patio alone together.
“Can I?” June asked.
“Absolutely,” Tom answered.
June pushed herself from the table, walked to the hiding place and brought three presents to August one at a time while the others watched, enjoying how she held herself, obviously about to explode with excitement. The first present was wrapped poorly in a large piece of newsprint that June had decorated with blue-and-red trees on an intricately filled-in yellow background. No tape was used to wrap the gift and two doll legs stuck out from one end. The second present was a small, thin rectangle, wrapped professionally but not fancifully in brown and red paper. The third was a little bigger, two parts wrapped in mismatched Christmas paper tied together with flat pink ribbons.
August said, “They’re all so pretty! Which one first?”
June had almost made it back to her seat. She returned to August and slid her present toward him. Everyone laughed. He rolled the doll out of the paper slowly, meticulously; it was a doll he had seen many times, June’s favorite with the crayon colored face and hacked off hair.
August gasped, “A doll!”
June grabbed it, “Tammy!”
“Very nice,” he said. “Why don’t you keep her in your room for me.”
“Okay.”
“But can I keep the paper?”
“Okay.” She carried Tammy back to her chair and sat.
“Which one next?”
June sighed and said in a voice beyond her years, “Oh, it really doesn’t matter.” They laughed.
August looked at the two presents before him and chose the thin rectangular one first. It was another copy of Rainer Maria Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet. August stared at it a little too long before he said, “Thanks, Dad.”
Dar shook her head.
Tom said, “What?”
“That’s what I gave him for Christmas.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“No it’s not. –You can return it. Have you read it?”
Dar said, “Of course he’s read it.”
August said, “Well, I just started reading it, actually.”
“Just?”
“Yeah.”
Tom reached for the book. “I’ll return it for you.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
Tom apologized to Dar.
She said, “It’s okay, Tom,” and sounded a little sympathetic for once.
August looked at the two of them then over at June who was staring blankly at him. He picked up the gifts from his mother. He knew they were going to be art supplies. He didn’t want more art supplies – that’s why he had acted so excited when she gave him the Rilke book at Christmas, in hopes that she would opt for books over art supplies in the future; even books about art would be better, he imagined – but he could tell by the shapes of these two presents that it was going to be a pad of some sort and a set of paints, or perhaps some brushes, or both.
“I like the way the paper clashes,” he said cheerfully.
“Looks like you raided the hall closet,” Tom said laughing.
Dar laughed, “I did!”
August opened the gifts, first the pad then the paints. A nice wooden box of watercolor tubes lined up in a rainbow row.
Dar said, “M. Graham are the best; the colors are really saturated. And,” she said, leaning in to emphasize her point, “they’re made with honey.”
June said, “Honey?”
“That’s right, Junie! But don’t eat them!”
June said, “Ew!”
August said, “I won’t. Thanks, mom.”
Tom cleared his throat and all attention fell on him. “Well! Since your mom gave you two presents, I kind of have a second present for you, too.”
August said, “A car?!”
“No!”
“I didn’t think so.”
Tom chuckled. “No, something much better. Something so good it’s a present for all of us.”
“A present for all of us?” June asked, wide-eyed and innocent.
“I want us all to take a trip together.” There was only the sound of the rain. “As soon as we can. Maybe even this weekend since Monday’s a holiday.”
“Without discussing it?” Dar said cryptically.
Tom pressed on, “I have a friend at work who’s moving with his family; they’re going to live in this really cool place with farm animals and other people, new friends. I’m gonna miss him, so I want to go visit him in his new home.”
“Without discussing it beforehand?”
Tom stopped. “I’m sorry, honey. You’re right. We’ll talk more about it.” Then to everyone, “But it could be fun. It’s only three hours away, and it’s a beautiful drive through the country. It would be fun to take a family trip together, wouldn’t it?”
June said, “Yeah!”
Dar said, “Tom?”
“Okay. Your mom and I will talk about it. But anyway, I just thought it would be a nice birthday present – the thought just came to me – that’s the only reason I brought it up without saying anything ahead of time. I’m sorry, Dar; you’re right.”
The electricity was restored at that moment; Tom took it as another sign from God. “Hey!”
Dar turned to August, “Let’s light your little Ding Dongs then go back inside where there’s a/c.”
“Okay.” August fished four matches out of his pocket. “We can all light our matches at the same time.”
Dar made a face at August then Tom. August stumbled.
Tom said, “You know what would be a better idea? Why don’t you and I light them? Then you and your sister can blow them out together.”
June was silent. She held the Tammy doll to her chest.
August handed two matches to his father.
Tom said, “Are these strike-anywheres?”
Dar said, “Yeah, use the floor.”
They both leaned over and struck their matches on the concrete floor; June stiffened in her seat slightly. Dar picked up the fern and moved it off the table and shifted the plate so Tom and August could more easily hold their lit matches under the unlit ones in the Ding Dongs.
Tom said, “Are you ready?”
August said, “Yeah.”
Dar said, “Shall we sing while you light them?”
June was silent, stiff.
Tom said, “Yeah.”
Dar and Tom sang awkwardly together, “Happy birthday to you…”
Dar said, “Come on, Junie, sing along.”
June shook her head.
Dar and Tom sang, “…Happy birthday to you…”
Dar said, “Junie?”
August and Tom angled their matches in, two each, lighting the other sixteen matches pretty much simultaneously—
“…Happy birth-day dear—”
The match tips flared up golden like four torches, sending up little puffs of black smoke. June clenched her doll and started screaming at the top of her lungs, startling August, who knocked several lit matches out of a couple of Ding Dongs onto the tablecloth and wrapping paper, which caught fire. Tom started pounding at the matches, upsetting the matches on his Ding Dongs. He pounded at them, too, smashing a Ding Dong here and there. He blew big gusts at the flames. August followed his father’s example and blew at the spreading fire frantically. And June screamed.
Dar ran to June, wrapped her arms around her from behind, shushing her. August leaned toward June, falling over in his chair, frightening June more; she continued her high-pitched screams, which echoed around the metal and glass room. Once the flames were out, Tom reached out for June; she pulled away from her mother and reached toward him. He picked her up; she stopped screaming immediately, hid her face in her father’s neck and whimpered.
August stood up. “Now it’s official: My birthday is ruined.”
Dar hugged him. “It’s all right, honey, nothing’s ruined.”
June continued whimpering and Tom just said, “Shh…”
Right then, the electricity went off again.