The sun shone brightly and heavily past tufts of clouds.
The teacher took attendance, as always.
"I would like to introduce a new student..."
My eyes slid off the new student (what a tiny girl) and shut without my permission. Sometimes, life is so boring. Why can't time move faster? The teacher began to lecture, as always. Life continued, as always.

The girl was small and uninteresting. She always, always seemed to be glaring intensely at something in the sky. Her eyes had been drifting somewhere near the sun. Ouch.

She was invisible; everyone was blind to her, except me.
At lunch, she stared at the sun. (I wish I knew why.) I caught myself wishing I knew why.
Who was she? Why did she keep staring at the sun?
"Hey Joe," a friend greeted, slamming his lunch tray on the cafeteria table.
"Don't call me that."
"I didn't call you 'that.' I called you 'Joe.'" he quipped. As always.
"Hey!"
We laughed as we ate, and all questions surrounding that girl fled my mind in preference for simpler thoughts.
If this is my life, there’s nothing memorable about it. (Always, always, as always.)

The girl consistently did the same things–staring at the sun. Always staring. No one noticed, as if she didn’t matter. (She does now.)
If this is my life, it just got interesting.

"Hey.” I approached the girl.
I wished I knew why she always stared at the sun. Her eyes left the sun and turned towards the sound of my voice. She did not speak.
"What's your name?"
She still did not speak.
“Can I ask you a question?" I say.
"You already did."
"Hey now!"
"Your inquiry?" Her sharp voice cuts through my protests.
"Oh, why do you always stare at the sun?"
"That was the sun? I didn't know," She droned.
I laughed halfheartedly. (It hurts to laugh. Why does it hurt?)
The bell rang. As usual.
As she left, I realized that she hadn't answered my question at all.

I began to hang out with her at lunch. We weren't friends.
Every lunch break, she gazed at the sun. I wondered what she saw.
Each day, I asked, "Why do you always stare at the sun?"
She never replied.
Today, however, she replied. "Because God is there."
"Really? God?"
She did not speak for the rest of the day.

Sometimes, I pondered what she saw. Sometimes, I doubted what she saw. Sometimes, I felt blind. I wanted to see. Ever since she said that, I searched the sky for God with her.
Each day, I interrogated her, "What do you see?"
Every time, she replied, "God. He is there, sitting on his throne."
This time, I said, "Then where is Satan?"
"The Devil is there too."
"Huh?" I saw nothing, neither of them, God nor Satan. I skimmed the clouds, but nothing revealed itself to me, divine revelation or otherwise. How did she see it all, while I remained blind?
"They both sit on their thrones, one blessing virtues, one manipulating sins. One smiling kindly and one laughing maniacally. One showing mercy and one practicing deceit. But in the end, they are the same.”
For once, I was the one who stayed silent. (Not quite as always.)

"What color would you classify the sun as?"
Startled out of my musings, I quirked an eyebrow at her. Initiating a conversation? That was a surprise.
"Uh... Orange-ish yellow?"
"I see. And what does that look like?"
"What kind of question is that?"
She did not speak, but that was fine. Comfortable silence fell between us, like always. She appreciated our friendship(?). Companionship. Friendship? What?
"Are we friends?" The question tumbled out of my mouth before I could hush and strangle it into silence.
She did not speak, but she stopped looking at the sun and locked her eyes toward me.
"Yes," she mumbled, "I suppose we are." I grinned. Friendship, it is.
"Why do you always look towards the sun?" I asked again.
"Because God is there."
"How can you tell?" I wanted to see God. Just curious.
"It's warm." That's proof?
"But tons of things are warm.”
She did not speak. Why does she always drop the conversation at the worst possible time? (Want to know, need to know.)

I planned on confronting the girl sometime before lunch. I was so close! How is God there? I wanted to see. I just wanted to see God. That’s not really so much to ask. My sneakers squeaked as I hastily prowled the corridors. Walls, bland and endless, stretched out before me, but she, like God, did not reveal herself. She was absent.

My fingers skittishly tapped on our table. Our table. We were the only ones that sat here. It was ours, and only ours.
She sat down beside me.
"Where were you?" I asked. Her eyes flashed.
"Oh. I had to meet a teacher.” She replied. I doubted that. (Want to know. Want, want, want, NEED.)
"Why were you looking for me?"
"I was just wondering how you know that God is there."
"It’s warm."
I didn't push it.

The sun was back with a vengeance; the sky burned like fire. The ferocious weather disconcerted me. The sun's wrath was dangerous, especially for her.
"You shouldn't stare at the sun so much. You'll hurt your eyes and go blind." She can't lose her sight; she won't be able to see God if that happens! (I won't be able to see God if that happens.)
She flinched. My alarm tripled. She was frozen in place, like a silent warning.
I considered shaking her, throttling her, yelling at her to take care of her health, until I spotted something terrible, something impossible.
She was smiling, with twisted smirks.
Something wailed and echoed in my empty chest. Barely audible, like distant sirens.
Her satirical smile chilled me. I've missed something. Something important.
Something hatefully honest shrieked within me. I wont be able to see God. Ever. (No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I need to see, I need to see. Why, why, why, how.)
In a flash, the smile disappeared. As if it was never there.
I felt like screaming.

Drown it.
Drown it down. Swallow the questions and drink in denial. God is just a religion. Why do you want to see God so much? (Curious. Want to. Wanted to.)
Drown it. Stop wondering; don’t ask. Some questions are better left unanswered. (Haha.)
She smiled.
She smiled, as if she knew something even more scandalous than God. And she wasn't ever going to tell me. (She does; she does; she wont. Friends?)
As her friend, she would tell me, right? (No. You aren't.) She was going to show me God (When did she ever say she would show you God?), so she needs to keep her eyes safe. Herself safe. (Nothing to lose.)
She knows something that will ruin me. She'll never show me. (She never said she would.)
I'll be blind forever. (Haha.)
Drown it. The reflection of the sun.
I just wanted to see God. (Just interested. Life was boring before Her.) Does she think I was using her? Have I been using her?
No. I am her friend. (Right?)

Neither of us apologized for anything in particular. Everything was spoken in monosyllabic words, aside from my constant question, which had been spoken so often that it felt rehearsed and effortless.
I felt justified in my outbursts. I was right to worry for her. I care about her. Not just because of God (anymore). Make that clear today. You're her friend.
"I meant it, you know. You will hurt your eyes and go blind."
"...I was under the impression you wanted to see God." She knew then. She knows I am greedy and self-centered.
"I do. But I'm not going to compromise your sight for it."
"I stare at the sun on my own free will."
"Yes, why do you stare at the sun anyway?" I scrambled for safe ground.
"God is there, resting in the clouds."
"How can you prove God is there?"
"Would you like to see it yourself?" There it was. What is she planning?
I hesitated.
"Yes..."
"I'll show you then. Promise." She'll show me! She promised to help me see God! She laughed at my cheering. (Like friends.)
"Thanks! Just remember, I'll never see God if your eyes fail me!"
She smiled her rare, good smile.
Her shoulders trembled in barely restrained giggles. Her head slanted forward, and her hair covered her face.
I should feel happy, maybe proud that I could get her to laugh, but I can’t. I can't help but think that she's laughing at me.
         (Haha.)

Every time I reminded her to keep herself healthy, she simply smiled her Good Smile to assure me. Whenever she smiled her Good Smile, I dreamt about The Other. (Nightmares, really.) She was watching me and pitying (snickering at) my misfortune.
She is hiding a secret, and I'll never know. (Stifle the curiosity. Drown it.) But she said she would show me God, so what could ruin me now? She promised.
"You promised." (Reassure me.)
"Mmm." Assent.

"Ciechi," the girl offered. She was regularly starting conversations now.
"What's 'Ciechi?'"
"My name."
"Wow, I didn't even realize I didn't know your name! My name's James. You can call me Joe. Want to start over?"
"Okay."
"James. Why do you always stare at the sun?"
"Ciechi. God is there."
"How can you tell?"
"It's warm."
"Sorry, I don't consider that proof. Will you show me instead?"
"If you tell me why you want to see God so much."
"Huh?" (This is not a part of our script.)
Her eyes locked onto me.
"I'm curious. I want to see Him too." (Maybe see with you.) I’m kind of scared as well. What will I do after the mystery was solved? Will life turn boring again? (No, Ciechi will stay with me, even if my curiosity is sated. Life was never boring with Her.)
She nodded, and returned her gaze to the sun.
"You are confusing," she began, "Simply because you are interested?"
"Says you, Ms. I-Can-See-God. Who is the more confusing person here?"
We laughed. (Friends.)
"S'first time I've heard you laugh, Ciechi."
"Pray it wont be your last." (Right?)

“Joe!” my friend called.
“Don’t call me Joe.”
“You let that new girl call you Joe!”
“Ciechi doesn’t make it sound dumb.”
“Ciechi? Ironic.”
“How?” What could he possibly know (that I don’t)?
“‘Ciechi’ means ‘blind’…” He trails off. A look of concern blooms across his features.
“You okay? Joe?”
The sky was cloudy that day, it hid the sun, and I could not find that girl. I couldn’t find God either.

She was blind. That’s why she stared at the sun. That’s how she saw God.
I wanted to see too.
She was the blind one, yet I was the one who felt blind. God was never there. (Was He?) Doesn't matter. (Doesn't it?) She is no longer here. She told me she would show me, and she lied. Now she's gone. (Maybe she wasn’t there to begin with. Will life be boring again?)
I have my answers. If knowing the truth changes my view, then whom would I see when I look to the sky? God? Satan? Neither, it seems.
Instead, I merely see the sun.

"Hey Joe," my friend says as he sits down next to me.
"Don't call me that."
"I didn't call you 'that,' I called you 'Joe.'" he quipped, as always.
"Can it."
Silence falls.
“Is that girl here still?” Still hoping.
"Who? Your girlfriend?" he asks.
"Nah..."
"Oh, she is! Do I know her? What's her name?"
Silence.
"Joe? Joe! James! Earth to James!" Worry was creeping into his voice.
I did not speak.
"James? James? Why are you staring at the sun?"
"Ciechi."

       (Hahaha.)