A Day Unlike Any Other

      To say that this day started like any other day in Oaksbury would be a lie.  As the sun began to creep up over the treetops and shine its intense rays into every nook and cranny, something strange began to happen. 
      Instead of the blazing yellow light the sun usually would emit, the color of the rays was somehow opalescent and had a smokey quality to it, while still lighting the landscape slowly but surely.  The birds that would normally twitter in the trees, were warily, furtively, chirping, as if talking amongst themselves.  The landscape was imbued with an ethereal lightness that the inhabitants thereof weren't going to understand.
    Paperboys and milkmen, alike, were making their way through the altered light of early morning, walking as if they were about to run, but weren't completely sure why.  They went about their chores of the day with a feeling of being off balance, but did so, nonetheless.  When they encountered each other, they instinctively avoided each other's gaze, for to look at each other might somehow "admit" that something wasn't right there in that town.  That just wasn't done, and they had been taught that, well.  If you saw or heard something you shouldn't, you kept it to yourself.
    Alarm clock radios started to play the morning alarm song in each house.  Nothing unusual about that, unless.....every radio in every bedroom was playing the same song.  People started to awaken, wondering why "that" song was playing, on "that" radio station, but they thought nothing more of it.  Yet. 
    In one particular house, Dorothy Crable, sat up in her bed, rubbed her eyes, and focused in on "that" song that had awakened her.  Thinking back, she realized she hadn't heard it in many years, and it reminded her of her, now-deceased, mother.  In her day, her mother had been quite the singer, and used to sing "that" song often, but Dorothy wasn't particularly fond of it, for some reason.  It always gave her the "creeps", and for no palpable reason.  Just because.  But, she had been young, and now she had put away the things of childhood, and was a grown woman, no reason to be afraid, she thought.  But, she was certainly curious.  She brushed her curiosity off, and got out of bed and went into the bathroom and brushed her slightly greying, thick black curls, and went about her day, cleaning and cooking, with "that" song playing all along in the background.
    On the next block, George Blondell, a strong political figure in the town as its Mayor, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat there, bewildered by "that" song that was playing.  It made him think of his grandmother, who had died just a year ago.  She had been a spiritual woman, and would often play the song on her old record player, over and over.  He would wonder why, but never asked.  It seemed to give her a sense of comfort, yet gave him a feeling of uneasiness.  Today, however, he sat there on his bed, listening to "that" song over and over, and he began to realize it had a message knit into it, and he strained to unravel what it might be for him.  For what seemed like time eternal (but what was only fifteen more minutes), he sat there, but then got up and opened his closet door and took out and put on, piece by piece, his business suit, then went downstairs to have a cup of coffee and shake off this foolishness running around in his head.
      Jerry Verrity, a disturbing man in most people's eyes in that town, hit the snooze alarm, as he always did any other day, and slept another 20 minutes.  When the alarm sounded once again, "that" song was playing still, or again?, he wondered.  Only half awake, since he wasn't a morning person, he just laid there and listened to the song, and reminisced to a time when he was younger, and "that" song only served to stimulate his memories of his now-deceased grandpa.  Jerry wasn't always so dark and aloof, but he had been a troubled boy and his grandpa was the only one who could get through to him.  On the bad days, when he'd come home from school with a bloody nose or lip, bullied and battered again, grandpa would hand him his handkerchief and pat the couch next to him and "that" song would be playing, and they would just sit and talk and Jerry would try to ignore "that" song.  Today, however, because it began to play again each time it ended, Jerry wasn't able to just ignore it, and his perception of it began to change.  He got out of bed and looked in the mirror, into his own eyes, and saw the anger and sorrow there.  He went over to where the clock radio was playing "that" song, and he threw the radio against the wall, but in his mind he was still hearing it.  He had spent 15 years in prison because he had beaten one of his batterers from childhood almost to death. It was the day he snapped.  He never understood why he didn't finish that bastard off. Something he never understood had stopped him.  But, on with today, he thought, and went downstairs to make some coffee.  Maybe that'd scrub "that" song out of his head, he thought.
    By now, it was 7 a.m., and people were getting into their cars, leaving for work, prepared for their commute, and most were reaching for their radios to set the stage for the drive.  Something wasn't right, every radio station, every setting, was playing "that" song, yet, still, people were noticing it as individuals in individual settings.  The song's ethereal quality was eerie, to some, because it wasn't at all like "today's music" as some would call it.  It just played and played.  People were feeling curious and bewildered. 
    Mary Wilder, in her car, listening to "that" song, reached for her cellphone and tried to call information for the number of one of the radio stations, but cellphone service was out.  The song's tune and lyrics began to have more and more affects on individual people, Mary was no exception.  There was a subliminal message imbued in the song, and it was nagging at her, tickling her recollection.  Suddenly, tears were streaming down her face, as she thought of her deceased husband, a firefighter, who died fighting a house fire, but saving the life of the single mother and four children in that house.  She could "feel" her husband near to her, and the song played on and on, as she made her way to work.  She looked ahead at the road that stretched ahead, and it seemed as though it were sprinkled with fairy dust, and she felt a feeling of wary optimism that she couldn't understand as she continued on her drive to the job that she'd done for the last 11 years at Rocco's Diner.  After a short drive, she pulled into the parking lot at Rocco's, and went into the diner, only to hear "that" song playing on the radio sitting at the waitress's station.  It was still 40 minutes to opening time, so just she and another waitress, Joleen Bades, would be there.  She called out to Joleen, who hollared "back here!" from the stock room.  Mary felt relieved to hear the familiar voice, making her way away from the radio and "that" song.  She was so grateful to see Joleen, the always-steady young woman, because she made her feel "safe" today, yet she didn't understand why.
      Mark Jeffries got into his truck and switched on the radio.  "That" song was playing there, too.  He thought it odd that the same song that awakened him on his alarm radio was also still, or yet, playing on the truck's radio.  He took a sip of his coffee from his over-sized travel mug, and absently reached down to change the station on the radio, only to have the same song playing on the next station, as well.  He felt a feeling of fear try to grip him, because he was a vivid dreamer and had actually dreamt of something like this happpening to him.  In his dream, he'd walked and talked with his since-deceased daughter, who was only seven at the time she was killed riding home from school on her bicycle by a drunken driver, and this same song was prevalent throughout the dream.  He sat and gazed into nothingness recollecting her beautiful red curly hair and sunlit golden brown eyes, and how her little pudgy hand felt in his.  Tears began to roll down his wizened face as the memory of the scent of her tear-free shampoo crept into his senses.  The radio got louder, somehow, and it brought him back to the now.  He began to drive, noticing the odd light bathing the city he knew and loved. He thought it reminded him of fog, but with more of a glimmer.  Again, "that" song brought him back to now.
    By now, pretty much everybody in Oakbury had heard "that" song way too many times, and were peering out their windows at the strange iridescent light surrounding and caressing their town.  Being a more like a city and not a close-knit little town, the people here weren't so likely to call out to one another for much, today being no exception.  The winters here were ruthless and times were hard because of the economy, and it didn't make people feel muchmore likely to talk to one another. 
    By mid-day, people were venturing out to go out for lunch and do errands, and yet this strange light was impossible to ignore.  They looked at each other, but said nothing, just hummed the repetitive tune of "that" song to themselves as they went their separate ways.  One of those people, however, was teenaged boy, Ryan, who always questioned everything, because his mother always told him to if something didn't seem right.  He stood at the pinnacle of the grassy knoll in the midst of the town square and yelled, "Hey!  What's going on here today?".  A few people looked absently in his direction, but they kept going as though in a trance.
    This wouldn't do.  He yelled again, "Hey!  I said 'what's going on here?'".  One girl, about his own age, crept up on tippy toes and stood there, looking exploringly into his eyes, as if looking for the answer psychically.  Their eyes held for what seemed like hours, until Ryan broke the silence.  "You never answered me.  What's your name?".  She worked her mouth intently as if it was taking great effort to even utter words, and said "Valerie."  Ryan liked the sound of her name, it sounded like a song, in itself, he thought. 
    "So, Valerie, have you noticed the strange light and "that" song that's been playing on all the radios around town?".  She looked as a deer caught in headlights, and stepped back a couple feet, and fell silent again. Ryan jumped down from his precipice and slowly walked up to the girl, and stood about three feet from her.  Her head was down, and he reached out his hand and with his index finger he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes again.  This time, though, the look wasn't one of psychic query, but of genuine fear.  After a few moments, she worked up the courage to speak again and said "What does it all mean, Ryan?".  He looked at her, knowing somehow that she really needed to know, so he didn't speak glibly or comically as he might otherwise have under "normal" conditions.
      He thought hard what to say in his own words, but then he felt a powerfu, yet gentle, being come into his mind and it began to guide him as to what to say, and wondered where it came from, but, being the pioneering spirit that he was, he let it happen.  "What it means is, it's time for mankind to be soothed back into a state of euphoria, in these harsh times, then re-educated as to how the Maker intended for us to live. It's why "that" song, playing over and over, the melodic words are being used to heal and take us back to a more innocent place in time."
    After he said the words, he felt somehow different, better.  He looked at Valerie, and her countenance had changed, too.  She had a glow about her, now, and she smiled at him.  She started to speak, but he put a finger over her soft lips, and thought to himself "don't speak, it'll ruin this moment".  As if she understood, she ceased her attempt at speech, and just stood there, next to him, peacefully. 
    The two young people sat down in the midst of the day, there on the grassy knoll in the middle of town, and watched the comings and goings of the other towns people that strange, yet wonderful, day.  It was like everyone just "let" the day and the music carry them along, relieved from the cares of their any other day.
    At 5 p.m., people began streaming from their places of work and education, and what not, but something new was happening, and it made them all stop.  The light was changing again, to a more subtle glow with touches of lavender, and the air had a light scent to it, likened in some's minds as that of potpourri.  A gentle breeze had picked up, and it ruffled hair and clothing, "that" song still playing, now seemingly in the air. 
    Ryan and Valerie sat, witnessing this miracle, amazed at any of these people being anything like they were now, because usually everyone was clamoring about to get home or just "somewhere else".  Ryan, again, felt the being begin to prompt his words, and he felt lifted to his feet, and he walked to the highest pinnacle of the grassy knoll in the midst of town.  His hands raised, he began to speak, and everyone turned to him, listening. (song not my own, quoted from Hymnlyrics.org)
      "I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses, and the voice I hear falling on my ear, the Son of God discloses. And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own; and the joy we share as we tarry there, none other has ever known. He speaks, and the sound of His voice, is so sweet the birds hush their singing,  And the melody that He gave to me within my heart is ringing. I’d stay in the garden with Him, though the night around me be falling, But He bids me go; through the voice of woe, His voice to me is calling."  Everyone stood, hushed, not sure what to do next, but one thing they did notice is that it had gotten very quiet, "that" song had stopped playing, now that its words had been uttered by Ryan while doing the being's bidding.
    The town's people all looked at each other, then at Ryan and Valerie standing in the midst of them, and one by one, began to smile.  A kind of "understanding" was formed without anyone uttering another word, but they "knew" that nothing would ever be the same in their town, but they always wondered if "that" song had worked its power in other surrounding towns, but weren't wanting to venture out of that peaceful place they called home.  This kinder, gentler, place.