Chapter 6: Yūgen

- (noun) an awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep and mysterious for words.

Dad was supposed to build something that mattered. It didn't have to be anything complex because simplicity is key. He would have a steady business, pay the bills, and I'd get to see him smile again. Tessa would be able to go off to college; the two of us would prove her that we could be alright on our own. Dad and I would throw the football around in the yard and the grass would tickle because we'd forget shoes. He'd make grilled cheese, burning it half of the time, but I would not complain because he tried. Maybe one day he'd come home and an actual dog would hop out of his pickup truck who he had rescued from the pound. I'd probably name it after some constellation.

Tessa was supposed to get accepted into one of those prestigious colleges she had dreamt of since middle school. At first, she'd call every night because it turned out she would actually be the one to struggle without us. She'd come home on the holidays and talk about how different her campus was from Lockhart. Dad would find out about Shane eventually, but he would only hold a grudge for so long.

Lucas was supposed to stick around and I'd make fun of him for his bad driving when in all honesty it wasn't terrible, just mediocre. He was supposed to hang out and drink beer and help build campfires. We would laugh at cheesy jokes he read off a joke book that his mom gave him last Christmas because she just wanted to see him be happy, always did. Lucas was supposed to stay until he found someone he loved so much that whenever he saw them he forgot how to speak. Tessa and I would be bridesmaids in the wedding; Dad would be the Best Man. Then they would go off to have kids who had the same mop of curly hair as their father. He'd teach them how to surf because that was his real passion.

And me? Well, I was supposed to finish To Kill a Mockingbird and take some kind of message from it. I was supposed to go back to school and be accepted because I joined some sport's team, and they would remember how good of a person my sister was. I was supposed to have good friends, maybe a boyfriend here or there. We would go out to parties, to the beach in the summer, and make those friendship bracelets everyone does. I was supposed to be okay.

But I'm not okay.

I don't get to realize this until we're many miles from home, speeding down a straightaway in the middle of a barren Texas desert. I discover all of those "supposed-to-bes" where simply unsaid thoughts and never set in stone.

I'm stuffed between my sister and our father. It is a comfortable packed-in and not shoulder-to-shoulder or toe-to-toe because there are only four people now. But why does it still feel bone crushing? Because Lucas is dead, and I'll never poke fun at him again, and we'll never laugh at those stupid jokes, and his mom will never see him happy, and I'll never be in that wedding, and he will never have those children who are Mini-Lucas' with their hair eating away at their face.

There is no house to go home to, so there won't be any genius inventions from Dad, or overcooked food, or dogs. Tessa can't graduate or attend any of those dream colleges she deserves to be at.

I shove my back into the seat's worn-and-torn fabric, fists balled. No one has uttered a word since we abandoned the factory, and all I have been getting are blank stares and this white noise while this truck – Optimus Prime – zooms by a whole lot of nothing. My seat moves the slightest and I am pushed forward. I glance around; no one else seems to have taken notice. My eyes do a sweep and I'm looking at the steering wheel turning on its own, pedals shifting as the truck changes gear.

I catch a glimpse of my hallow brown eyes and swirling dirty-blonde hair in the side mirror. The mirror itself is chipped and scratched, kind of mucky, too. I can still see me, though. I most likely will not be going back to school – at least the same one – which sounds great and all, but in hindsight, now I won't be able to be a part of something, or even become popular like my older sister. I look away when the side mirror pivots my way, feeling somewhat uncomfortable that I am being watched because this whole "my-truck-is-alive" thing is still new to me.

Leaning back, the seat allows my presence this time. I feel, well, I know, I should be crying in this stuffy truck because that is what people do when someone dies, but, I – I can't . . . I just can't.

Tessa can. "Lucas – " The name rolls off her tongue in a bubbly way. Her cheeks are stained with fresh tears and her mouth hangs open like a gaping fish because she is having a tough time swallowing up all of this oxygen that never goes away. "We just left him."

I don't know the way it went because it all happened so quick. We were waiting and he was coming and then we were running and the bomb – the heat – the ashes – Lucas was just there . . . like – like that. I had a whole five seconds to mourn before tires were squealing away, and now the whole world wants me dead and –

Slow down, Cassie. You're here. You can breathe. In, out. See, your heart still works.

Tessa and I must have switched roles today because usually she is the one who is – or has to be – strong and breathe, not become a weeping mess. I hate crying, but she tries to smother her tears and bury them six feet under. I can see the real her regardless because she is my older sister, and I watch the way she tiredly releases the college rejection letters into the kitchen trashcan. I know when she's nervous for Dad, or me, or a test in school because she grabs at her arms and rubs them because she mostly has to be her own anchor. I can never forget Mother's Day because every year I discover her at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped like a vice around a steaming cup of coffee. She doesn't drink coffee because she says it overstimulates her. Except on Mother's Day.

Dad stretches across me to get to Tessa and holds her hand. "He's gone." Lucas is gone.

"He meant more than that," my voice cracks. Dad releases Tessa and his arm snakes around my shoulders.

"I know, honey," he says, bringing his free hand up near his mouth. He sniffs hard, swallows, before snapping his head to the window. "I know . . ."

Dad rubs at my shoulder, and I stay put. My eyes point ahead. We're off of our main traveling road, pavement turned to sand and dust. I change direction to look at what is on my right: a bubbling Tessa and a Shane so quiet that I almost forgot he got dragged into this mess as well. Our eyes collide, different colors clashing. He nods and his eyes mean it. Mine narrow to examine his movements before dropping because there is not much to respond to.

It's not a good time to apologize for his expensive rally car getting turned into a Nothing like Lucas.

Our means of transportation stops. Steam blows out of its pipes when it rests back on its wheels. There is still a slight buzz radiating about, which I guess is like its energy; how to tell if your car is alive 101. Dad's arms go away from me as the doors open by themselves, which is still weird. I scoot out of the driver's side after him. Tessa and Shane climb out of the other side. There is a drop, which is the biggest for me since I'm the smallest, and I try to brace for impact before letting go. Nothing is bad about it, but when I plop down into the dusty earth a pins-and-needles type feeling shoots up my legs. I shake them out.

When I get in a few steps, I lift my head to find out where the hell we ended up: an empty gas station in the heart of Texas desert. Great.

I hear a ZAP! and I spin around to watch the truck splay open and begin unfolding. Gears turn and spin, and I jump back when a closed fist hits dirt because the rumble is bigger than expected. In less than a minute here is Optimus Prime, crouched down and looking at us four.

"My deepest sympathies for the loss of your friend," Optimus leaves the words hanging in the wind. I am not sure if he means it, but he understands what happened. He has probably lost others to people like that, he said so before. I am still adjusting to this: Optimus Prime in general, his voice, the car-to-robot thing, running from the government. It has just begun for me but for him it's been years.

Optimus instructs, "Stay here till I'm sure we weren't followed. We are all targets now."

No one speaks and he doesn't leave time for it. One second he is towered over me, and the next he's back to a familiar truck and driving away. Dusty, old Texas swallows the vehicle up.

"So we're hidin' out now?" Shane's voice from behind me, "That's the plan?"

I watch the dust cloud shrink smaller and smaller.

I guess so, Shane.

"We're taking orders from a truck?"

Why not? He saved us, helped with not getting a bullet lodged into my skull. Dad wants to know if Shane has a better idea.

I face my sister's boyfriend. "He didn't have to come back for us."

"Lucas is dead, Cassie." Tessa jumps in, having to remind me.

"Optimus helped us."

"He's the one those people wanted dead!"

I throw my arms out, unsure of the exact root of my frustration, but it is there. Dad settles me down by turning and placing a hand on my rigid skin. I loosen up some, and then he's the one to tighten because he takes note of Shane's arm around Tessa, which I had not noticed because it is a normal gesture between them for me now.

Dad moves up to the pair. "Hey, move away from her, kid. Don't – " He walks through them, separating Shane and Tessa so they are no longer attached at the hip. "Keep your hands off her, alright? No . . ."

He storms off, they look at me, and I shrug because I'm only thirteen and none of this should be real.

The interior of the gas station has seen better days with its ancient furniture and mounds upon mounds of clutter lying around. It reminds me of the barn, but at least our beloved "research lab" flowed a little. Normally, Dad would be all over this, but instead he grabs a chair and sits backwards in it. His one-hundred-an-hour brain is actually easing up, and that is what worries me even though he needs it to slow down.

The tension builds.

Tessa hops up on the counter where I guess you'd pay for gas and whatnot. She uses the palm of her hands to slide her body so she's parallel with the counter, and then she weaves her legs into each other to sit like a "pretzel" if someone wants to use kindergarten terms like me. I lift myself up in the conclusion of her movements and it hurts a little from all that running earlier. The adrenaline is finally beginning to wear off. I hang my legs off the counter and let them swing freely despite their soreness. I watch Shane position himself at a table some feet to my right.

Nothing is said. The tension keeps filling up this space and I know it's only a matter of time before it'll pop like a balloon.

Tessa grabs two cords I could hardly see. She hunches her back to look down at what she's doing and connects them. The room lights up in a bunch of different colors that are strung all around this gas station. It's like Christmas. The majority of the lights are caught tangled up in a bunch before my sister. I stare and pick apart blues and greens and reds.

Popping a balloon can be fun if it is after a party and you need to get rid of all the lightless shapes, so you come up with a handful of methods to do so without using a sharp edge. Like standing on it, the good old run and jump, or just taking a seat. Nevertheless, the outcome is the same.

The not-fun balloon popping is when you're at that six-year-old's birthday party, and someone happens to accidently touch one of the balloons wrong and it pops so loudly that the whole party needs to be stopped because now this kid is going to have a freak-out.

Yeah. That is how messy the tension shatters in this gas station.

"Well, bright side," Tessa's voice is very dull and low. "you guys met." She holds on to the "t" and it makes it worse by bringing more attention to the fact that Dad knows about all of . . . this now.

"Where is he from?" Dad's reply comes within a second later, voice too calm and collected for comfort.

Tessa unplugs the lights, it grows darker. "I told you . . . he's a driver from Texas."

"Texas?" Lights come back on. "Where? Dublin, Texas? Shamrock, Texas? Why does he sound like a leprechaun?"

If it was any other day, I would probably laugh at the remark, but I bite my tongue and push my legs back to kick at the underside of the counter instead. Shane says that my dad would get his ass kicked in Ireland for speaking such words. He's probably right.

I hear Dad counter, "Well, we're not in Ireland, Lucky Charms. We're in Texas." The conversation chugs along, but I lower my listening ability to seek out something to do, like my sister turning on and off the lights. I find it when I peek at the shelves behind the counter, pulling out from the grubby depths a snow globe. I wipe it clean the best I can. It's the shape of the state of Texas painted to resemble the American flag. How patriotic.

Tessa's words are different from the rest of the talk about Shane and what his job is, "Yeah. At least he makes a living . . ."

I look up. The lights switch off again.

"Thank you." replies Dad. He hides his feelings and his eyes flutter to me. I have not had much to say this whole time. "You – you knew about this, right?"

I nod, kind of hesitantly at first.

"How long?"

"About a couple months." It's really been around half a year, but I find it better not to mention that.

He bobs his head to himself, gliding his tongue along his lips. Dad shuffles his weight in the chair. "Well, that's just great, Cassie. Good to know."

Dad's words do nothing to make me feel better. Luckily, Shane dives in headfirst to help me out – a required action if he wants me to like him – and he speaks about the legitimacy of the whole situation. He races rally cars, the driver-navigator thing, Red Bull, that little car we left to burn was worth so much.

Dad springs up, coming forward at us, "How old are you?" He narrows his eyes at Shane.

Shane answers, honestly, "Twenty."

And here it comes. Dad starts listing off everything wrong with how Tessa is a minor, and he'll punch him, and Shane will call the cops, or Dad will call the cops first because it is illegal. Yet, none of that would work out too well because we're "criminals" now and all of us will be on trial if someone were to pick up a phone.

I shake the snow globe to drown out sounds, wishing it would snow in Texas because I have never seen it before.

Yeah. Snow in the dry desert. That's funny.

"I was in high school when we started dating." states Shane in an attempt to explain. Dad looks confused and I don't blame him entirely. It was sure whiplash when I found out.

"You're telling me you're twenty-years-old in high school?" Dad laughs, nearly beside himself. He bites out while starring daggers at poor Shane, "That's nice. How many times have you been held back?"

"Dad, stop." Tessa pleads, quietly. "We dated for a little while before. I was a sophomore, and he was a senior. It's fine."

Dad scoffs. "No, it's not fine."

Shane has kept calm throughout this whole ordeal, and I'm beginning to wonder if he is actually collected or just playing off being intimidated by my father. He grips the counter that we all have seemed to be hovering around at this time, pointing out, "We've got a preexisting juvenile foundational relationship. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Wow. Big words coming from you, buddy. They teach you that in leprechaun training camp?"

Heat rushes over my body from Dad's words. As much as is normally humorous for me to witness Tessa getting into trouble, I feel bad about the way Dad found this one out. It was so delicate, and it crashed into the spotlight in the worst way possible. Like a prom queen bending over and ripping her dress in front of the entire school, her crown tumbling from her head to hit the gymnasium floor.

I've heard this conversation before. I found out about Shane and my older sister's relationship on a Friday night months ago. It was a late night for Dad, so he wasn't home yet, and I was sitting out on the porch because that is what I do when I cannot sleep. A car pulled up and I assumed it was Tessa because she had claimed she was going out with friends' hours before. However, when I saw that she was with a guy and they shared a goodnight kiss, I figured out it was more than that, and pretty quickly, too. Tessa thought I was in bed, until she spotted me on the front porch curled up in my usual chair, eyes wide and mouth open. I met Shane before I could dash inside. They carefully explained the whole situation and emphasized just how much Dad could not find out. I was not too fond of Shane, but it wasn't like I was going to cry to Daddy either. Tessa just couldn't take the chance of her little sister even thinking about it, though.

I look to Shane as the last bits of my memory of how we met passes through. He is okay now; hauled us out of Lockhart so I can't complain too much. Turning back to the snow globe that screams America, I shake it again since all of the particles have since floated to the bottom.

"They're kind of cute," I speak down at the snow globe souvenir, trying to save-face. "Like Romeo and Juliet."

"Romeo and Juliet, huh?" I hear Dad thinking it over. "You know how those two ended up?"

"In love." Tessa muses. I observe it snowing in Texas, the lights click back on. I wonder who pays the electric bill around here . . .

Romeo and Juliet reminds me of a school I may not ever attend again, and it makes my brain hurt.

"Dead." finishes Dad. At this point I am listening along, but not using my eyes to follow people because I am busy with the snow globe. Every time Texas gets slightly uncovered from snowflakes, I jerk it around, jabbing myself in the gut during the process, and another storm comes through. "Do your parents know about this? Is your dad okay with you dating a seventeen-year-old girl?" The SWISH! sound it makes from the liquid inside is also better than the humid silence and heavy words here.

I keep my ears open to hear Shane's answer, "He took off when I was five, but if I ever bump into him, I'll ask 'im."

My stomach is starting to get sore from hitting it with each shake of the snow globe because I am hunched over, but I don't care. I guess I am just distracting myself.

I stop and raise my head when Dad finally leaves Shane and comes over to Tessa and me. "You know, Tessa, I trusted you."

The lights turn off. They don't come back.

"To what?" Tessa questions in this weird and annoyed drunk-like voice. It throws me off. "Never have fun, take a risk? Just stay home and take care of my little sister? Be a normal teenager like you were, right?"

Sometimes, I feel like it's my fault, or I'm a burden, or just too much like my dad for Tessa to want to deal with. She sticks with me and supports me without complaint, yet times like this when she is upset, I can't help but wonder if it is the truth speaking for her. It's dumb and I should not worry because that isn't me, but I don't know . . . I just, don't.

And that's what kills me.

Back to Dad. "I am your father, okay?" He points to himself, and when he uses motions like this, I know he is serious. "And I have been busting my ass to take care of both you and your sister."

"Is that what you were doing when you brought home the truck? All you had to do was report it. But instead, Cassie had a gun pointed at her, and now Lucas is dead." Tessa uses her hands to turn her body so her legs dangle off of the edge of the counter like mine. "And my life is over." She jumps down. "Thank you. You've taken real good care of us . . ."

Tessa throws open the old front door, slamming what's left of it closed after she leaves. The walls tremble and I can feel the vibrations from the action through the counter.

I set the snow globe down.

One of my favorite parts of Texas are its sunsets. The colors are bright and all mixed into one another. Sometimes, the reflection produced when the sun goes to bed is reflected so strongly that the part of the earth I can see changes color entirely or is at least tinted. Tonight, the sky is painted in shades of blue, yellow, and orange. Nothing attention-seeking like the heavy-duty red sunsets, but still pretty.

When I look at the sunset it helps me get lost, makes me forget, even, about . . . about things I don't want to cross my mind, or – or talk about. And maybe I shouldn't have to deal with it, and maybe that's the answer. The stuff still exists, though, and it always will; these thoughts in my head aren't for me to throw a pity party from my own misfortunes because that isn't me. I'm happy to be alive. I know it could be worse.

Just today – well, today – really upped the ante. I would be lying if I said it was not overwhelming, and that I am one hundred percent me, one hundred percent okay.

The snow globe is in my hand. I lower it to the sand. Tessa is somewhere out here. I don't know where. I have never experienced a sunset in the Texas desert outside of an abandoned gas station that creaks every time the wind blows a certain way. There is a first for everything, I suppose.

I move a few yards forward, throw out my arms. Standing in a portion of a Texas desert where the dust never ends, I spin. My legs pin in tightly and the world is going around me in blurs of colors. I can feel my arms doing their own thing, as I do not think that I have much of a say right now.

When I stop, I stumble, ending up letting myself give in and fall onto my butt. I catch my breath, hold on to the earth again. It is peaceful here. My ankles rotate and my feet sway back and forth like wiper blades on a car. The laces on my shoes flop around and same grains of sand come out of them, but not much. I wish I had decided to wear my boots today instead of my Converse sneakers because I can feel some crusts of sand down in my socks, stuck between my toes.

Wasn't like I was expecting my house to be blown up, though.

Creamy yellow, dark boots, light steps, flowing clothes – my sister becomes visible from shrubs and the corner of the gas station.

"How's the whole 'my-life-is-over' thing going for you?" I call to her, bracing my palms on sand, dirt, rocks – whatever is around.

Tessa shrugs, approaching me. She looks tired. "Why are you sitting in the dirt?"

"It's just Texas," I reply. Extending my hand out to my older sister, she takes it, pulling me up. I brush my jeans off.

We both face the sunset that is shrinking by the second.

I hear Tessa snort. She wipes her face. "It's pretty stupid, right?"

"If you want it to be."

"No, it is. I was more worried about Dad finding out about Shane that I didn't stop . . . to – to think – " She stops for a second, I watch her face change. She's burying it again. "Lucas isn't here anymore, and, Cassie, you almost got shot – "

I can feel the cold metal of the gun painfully digging into the back of my neck again. I shudder. "Tessa . . ."

She shakes her head, grabbing one of my arms. Her light green eyes are glassy, but she's still fighting it. "You're always going to be my little sister, okay?"

I nod. "Of course. And you'll always be my jerk of a big sister."

Tessa smiles. "C'mere, you brat,"

She hauls me to her, so I don't have much of choice, but I am not trying to get away. We're sisters. We fight over things we will forget about in an hour at most, share everything, talk about the same topics over and over. She dates stupid boys; I hang out with people that I do stupid things with. We rarely hug and rarely cry because we grew up a certain way, and it is just how it is.

Over Tessa's shoulder, my eyes catch the gleam of the snow globe I left sitting in the sand.

The Yeager sisters are hugging.

Maybe there is a chance it can snow in Texas after all.

Sometimes, big action movies that try to incorporate "average" people in what has the chance to be a life-altering phenomenon can lose me on the whole characterization aspect of writing. I am well aware that it is fiction material created for entertainment, but a normal human being existing in a fictional world is still a human being, at the end of the day.

The truth that although the concept of Transformers is not real, people are.

So, this is it. These are people, everyday people with their own issues; they very well could be someone you see walking down the street. They're not "special", they just got thrown into a situation bigger than themselves.

~ Rainy