The Sun Never Stops

Mia couldn't sleep.

She lay in her bed with her favorite blue blanket pulled up to her chin, staring at the dark ceiling. Outside her window, the moon glowed like a night-light in the sky. The crickets were singing their tiny cricket songs, and the whole neighborhood was quiet and still.

But Mia's brain was not quiet and still. Not one bit.

"Grandpa," she whispered into the hallway. "Grandpa, are you awake?"

Grandpa appeared in her doorway, his slippers shuffling softly on the floor. He sat on the edge of her bed, and the mattress dipped like a little hill.

"What's keeping you up, Sunflower?"

Mia looked at the darkness outside her window. "When the sun goes away at night... where does it go? Does it just... turn off? Like a lamp?"

Grandpa's eyes crinkled. He had the kind of eyes that crinkled when something delighted him, and questions about the world always did.

"Well," he said, leaning back, "the sun doesn't turn off. Not ever. Right now, this very second, the sun is shining just as bright as it was this afternoon when we ate popsicles on the porch."

Mia scrunched up her nose. "But it's dark outside."

"Dark for us," Grandpa said. He picked up her little globe from the bookshelf — the one with bumpy mountains you could feel with your fingers — and held it gently in his big hands. "But the Earth is round, remember? And it's always slowly spinning." He turned the globe with one finger. "So right now, our side is turned away from the sun. But on the other side..."

Mia sat up. "It's daytime?"

"It's daytime."

She stared at the globe, her eyes wide. "Right now?"

"Right now. This very second. Want to know who's getting our sunshine?"

Mia nodded so hard her braids bounced.

Grandpa pointed to a spot on the globe, far across the ocean. "Well, let's see. Over here in India, a girl — maybe just about your age — might be waking up to morning light coming through her window. The sun is peeking over the rooftops, turning everything golden. Maybe she's stretching, yawning a big yawn, getting ready for school."

"What's her name?" Mia asked, because every person in every story needed a name.

Grandpa smiled. "Let's call her Priya."

"Priya," Mia repeated. She liked the way it sounded, like a little bell.

"So Priya is starting her morning. Maybe she's eating breakfast with her family — warm rice and dal — and the sunlight is falling across her kitchen table. The same sunlight that was falling across our kitchen table this afternoon."

Mia pulled her blanket tighter, not because she was cold, but because this was the kind of thing that made her feel tingly. "The same sun?"

"The very same. There's only one. And it never, ever stops shining." Grandpa slowly turned the globe a little more. "And in a few hours, when Priya is eating her lunch and the sun is high over her head, it'll be starting to set somewhere else. Let's see..." He pointed. "Over here in Brazil, a boy might be watching the most incredible sunset — the sky turning orange and pink and purple, like someone spilled paint everywhere."

"What's his name?"

"Hmm. Lucas."

"Lucas," Mia said, nodding with approval.

"So Lucas watches the sunset, and he thinks the sun is leaving. But it's not leaving. It's just moving on. It's already morning for someone else, somewhere else. It's always morning somewhere, Mia."

Grandpa kept turning the globe, slowly, gently, and Mia watched the whole world go by under his fingertip.

"Over here in Japan," he said, "a girl named Yuki might be having lunch in her school courtyard, sitting under a tree with pink blossoms. The sun is warming her face. And way over here in Kenya, a boy named Kofi might be playing soccer with his friends in bright afternoon light, kicking up red dust with his sneakers."

"All at the same time?"

"All at the same time. Because the Earth is so big, and the sun is so patient. It doesn't rush. It just shines, and the Earth keeps spinning, and everyone gets a turn."

Mia lay back on her pillow, thinking hard. She imagined the sun like a golden hand, reaching down to tap each part of the world on the shoulder. Your turn. Now your turn. Now yours.

"So when I'm sleeping..." she said slowly.

"Someone else is playing."

"And when I'm playing..."

"Someone else is sleeping."

"And the sun just keeps going and going?"

"Round and round and round. It never takes a day off. It never takes a nap. It's been doing this since long, long, long before you were born. Since before I was born. Since before anyone's great-great-great-great-grandparents were born."

Mia giggled. "That's a lot of greats."

"That's a lot of greats," Grandpa agreed.

She was quiet for a moment, staring at the little globe in his hands. She reached out and touched it — found the bumpy ridge of the Rocky Mountains, then slid her finger across the smooth blue ocean, all the way to the other side.

"Grandpa?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think Priya is looking out her window right now? Like I was looking out mine?"

"I bet she is."

"Maybe she's wondering about me. About who's on the other side of the world."

Grandpa set the globe gently on her nightstand, right where the moonlight caught it. "Maybe she is."

Mia smiled at that. She liked the idea — that somewhere far away, a girl she'd never met was looking at sunshine and wondering who was looking at moonlight. Like they were connected by one long golden thread that stretched all the way around the Earth.

"You know what I think?" Mia said, her voice getting drowsy now, her eyelids getting heavy.

"What do you think, Sunflower?"

"I think it's nice. That someone is always awake. That the world is never all-the-way dark. It's like... the sun is tucking in one side of the world and waking up the other side. Like it's taking care of everybody."

Grandpa was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I think that's exactly right," he said softly.

Mia yawned — a big, wide, unstoppable yawn. "Will you leave the globe right there?" she asked, pointing to the nightstand.

"Right there," he promised.

"So when I wake up, I can spin it and find where the sun is going next?"

"First thing in the morning."

Mia closed her eyes. The crickets were still singing outside. The moon was still glowing. And somewhere — she knew it now, she could feel it — the sun was shining on someone's breakfast, on someone's soccer game, on someone's walk to school, on someone's pink blossoming tree.

The world was big and round and full of people she'd never met, and they were all sharing the same sun, passing it along like a gift that never stopped being given.

"Goodnight, Grandpa," she murmured.

"Goodnight, Sunflower."

"Goodnight, Priya," she whispered, even softer. "Goodnight, Lucas. Goodnight, Yuki. Goodnight, Kofi."

And then, with a smile still on her face: "Good morning."

Because somewhere, it was.

And the sun — the beautiful, patient, golden sun — just kept on shining.