Waiting For An Eclipse

Prologue

"We were like the Sun and the Moon, catching glimpses of each other, waiting for an eclipse."

I wiped the sweat out of my forehead as I successfully posted the calendar at the back of my new bedroom door. I fixed the small square acetate to mark the date today.

April 26, 2042

Today was the day that my parents, well mostly just Dad, decided to finally move out of the house I'd been raised with and into a new one. It had also been three years, since the accident. Because of that, Dad realized it was better to stay in my mother's hometown where we could be near her.

I sighed in relief. Elliot, my younger  brother, had always been teasing me for being old-fashioned. There was already a digital calendar out for everyone, but I still choose the paper one.

"Charley."

I heard Dad's voice call out my name. I walked out of my room and found him in the hallway right in front of my older twin sister's new room.

"Have you seen Gabrielle?" He asked as he closed the door.

I thought for a second as he waited. "Ah! She told me about 30 minutes ago that she was going out to buy snacks. I think that was when you were out."

He nodded. "Are you done unpacking your stuff? I've got a visitor coming in less than two hours, so I need your help in unpacking the boxes down in the living room. Gabrielle promised to help me clear those boxes, but she's not around."

I nodded. Dad thanked me. Then he started to walk towards the stairs. I followed and caught up with him.

"Is it one of your patients, Dad?" I asked as I walked down the stairs beside him.

"No, Doctor Walker." He said cheaply, not elaborating further, because he knew I knew what that meant and what they're going to talk about. We were both silent as we opened the boxes in the living room.

I chose one box that looked different from the others. It was like a box that you buy from a store where you can put your gift for someone. I noticed there were 2 other  boxes like this. I opened one and saw notebooks. No, they looked more like journals.

I got one and flipped the cover. There was a short line on the first page written in a neat handwriting.

Days of Aurora Paige Lewis
Volume 5, Part 2

My eyes widen in shock as I read my mother's name. I flipped to the next page and the header was May 23, 2016. Mom wrote this 26 years ago. I closed the notebook and looked at the first pages of the others, but all of them were the next parts of the first notebook I got.

I opened the next two boxes and true enough, there were more notebooks on them with the same notes on the first pages, but none of them were Volumes 1-4 and the part 1 of Volume 5. I counted the notebooks and each box held exactly 17 notebooks, but I knew better that there were more.

I moved around the living room, trying to find the same kind of box when Dad had noticed that I wasn't helping him anymore.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he took out the picture frames from the box he was unpacking.

"You know about Mom's journals, right? I'm trying to find the box with the others, because they're not complete."

Dad stopped and looked at the notebook I handed him. Then he chuckled. For the first time after that accident, my dad finally smiled genuinely. It'd been three years since Dad's cheerfulness seemed to vanish.

"I always smiled whenever I saw your mom write an entry and laugh at how consistent the content of each one was."

I looked at him confused as he flipped through the pages with a hopeful spark on his eyes. He turned to look at me and might've noticed my confusion.

"Ahh, you see, your mom writes entries differently. She writes what exactly happened, conversations exchanged even if not exact, but the thought was near. Her memory was so crystal clear, but she forgets things easily. She has short-term memory that's why she started these when she was 12 I think. Then stopped when you were around 3 I guess. At that time, she was too busy to even write a single word."

Dad let out a short laugh again as he read through them. I realized. I must've gotten this old-fashion trait from Mom, since she still prefer paper and something hard copy rather than digital.

"Then, where are the first volumes?" I asked as Dad handed me back the notebook for me to place back.

"She must've caught sight of these boxes and brought them with her. They are indeed essential for her recovery. Let's take those to her, too." He answered and continued on to his next box.

I held onto the notebooks. "Can I read them first?"

Dad stopped to look at me. "Sure, but don't read them when I'm around. There are entries of me in those."

"Duh, Dad," I retorted that made both of us laugh.

I heard the front door close and footsteps in the foyer. Gabby peeked inside the living room and gasped.

"Oh my god, Dad. I'm so sorry." She said as she entered the room.

"It's all right. Charley's here to help. Go and finish your boxes. Seems like you prioritized an acquaintance." Dad winked at Gabby, which made her blush.

I looked at her, sending her a message saying that we would talk later. She seemed to get the message and stuck a tongue out before she walked out of the room. I just laughed, placing the three boxes away from the others and started to unpack some.

Gabby handed us cold drinks halfway and began to help unpack. After an hour and few minutes, we finished all of them. Dad thanked both us, and Gabby went back to her room, saying she had to finish hers.

I stacked the three boxes and carried them. The boxes weren't that big and heavy so I managed. I stopped walking when I noticed Dad was still in the living room, staring at our family picture that we all took 5 years ago.

Gabby and I were both still 11, and Elli was 9. It was the most recent family picture that we got, seeing that both my parents were busy. I turned my gaze from Dad to Mom in the picture. Then I looked down on the boxes.

"Dad?"

He didn't reply. His mind was off somewhere, probably thinking of Mom. I counted 5 seconds in my head and called him again louder this time.

"Ah, yes?" He turned to look at me with an expression that seemed like I woke him up from his sleep.

I looked at him for a second, wondering if it was right to ask the question.

"You told me that Mom wrote entries every day starting when she was 12. And those entries were exact, detailed events that happened on her day, right? Like a motion picture turned into words."

"Right." He said with confusion in his tone.

"Do you think-?" I began and stopped, suddenly aware of the lump in my throat and swallowed.

"Do I think what, darling?"

"Do you think she predicted the accident was going to happen and took action ahead?"

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