Just like the song – I got sunshine on a cloudy day. She threw him out. After five days. My sister threw the bastard out.
‘It wasn’t a reconciliation,’ she insists. ‘I don’t know what it was. I felt sorry for him and I became confused but when he spoke I didn’t listen, I could feel myself switching off, so I knew in my heart it was all over.’
In some ways these past few days have been a necessary bane upon all of us. Closure. All the experts talk about it. How important it is when putting something to rest.
My sister had to see her ex again. She had to know once and for all that it would never have worked. She had to know for certain that she was immune from falling under his spell whenever he wanted her to.
She laid down ground rules. No drinking. No drugs. No sleeping in her bed. He followed them, but after two days she saw him dragging his feet, keen to stir things up.
‘He had that light in his eyes,’ she said. ‘An ugly light. Shuttered. That light stopped me from seeing what was in his heart. He didn’t want me to see what was in his heart because his heart was black, unchanged. So he had to go. He had to leave for good.’
All day it has been overcast. Grated gray clouds gather at the edges of the sky. The long, white curtains in the bedroom flutter with a winter-scented wind. I should be happy. I should be relieved, but I am worried the reprieve will be short-lived.
I scan the sky, hearing the birds call their brothers to shelter, holding out my hand as a clump of maple leaves fall, russet, tawny. I just need one glimpse, a hint, the palest of yellow glass. Searching, straining, I pray for a little bit of daylight.
And there it is. A glimmer. Tiny as a speck of glitter, watered down, fighting for survival in the worst of a winter afternoon, but enough. Sunlight.
Looking up at the sun gives me what I need on a day such as this. It may not be a sign that was sent to me, but I like to think that it is; this stubbornness of the dying light. Giving me hope, giving me faith in the power of being set free.