98% by Ruth Medlin

When I was a kid in school, a grade of 98% on a test was pretty darned good. It showed that I had prepared for the test. I had studied. I had memorized the material until I was certain that my efforts would produce a good grade. Most of the time, I was correct, 98% was enough for me.

That’s why I decided to stay home for the solar eclipse day on April 8, 2024. I was but a scant few miles from a town that would be in the path of totality, 100%. I figured that my own back yard would give me a very good view, even if my location was estimated to be at 98% of totality.

It’s funny how life gives one the opportunity to make decisions based on mathematical outcomes. Weather forecasters predict our chances in the weather department…”There’s a 60% chance of rain tomorrow, so be sure to keep that umbrella handy,” or “There’s going to be some overnight snowfall, I’m predicting somewhere between 1-2”, so no need for shoveling before your morning drive to work.” Farmers use mathematics to calculate planting seasons for their crops. Home builders give estimated dates to their homeowners of when they will complete their building, weather notwithstanding. It seems like the entire world uses mathematical computations to figure out about everything. So, I was fairly confident in my decision to witness the solar eclipse that would give me a pretty good view while sitting out on my back patio.

The day presented itself with a few morning clouds that gave way to a beautiful cerulean sky with plenty of sunshine and a prediction of 73 degrees. At 2:00 pm, I went outside all decked out with

my wide brimmed hat, my solar safety glasses, and a bottle of water. I positioned my chair to just the right angle towards the sun, turning it to the southeast. I sat down and I immediately felt the warmth of the sun. The trees were still and the birds, oh my, the birds were singing such a cacophony of sound! I also began to realize that most of my neighbors were outside in their patios too. One was hosting a ‘watch party’ while others came out of their homes at various intervals, peeking up to the sky through their solar glasses that were perched at varying degrees on their noses.

The breeze began to pick up, at first so subtly that I barely noticed, but then, my arms began to feel cool. I tugged on a sweatshirt. It was a bit of a challenge to keep toggling between my solar glasses when I wanted to look up at the sun and my regular sunglasses when I wanted to watch my backyard growing dimmer. I was fascinated by the hue of the trees. They went from bright green leaves to dim brown ones, like an old-fashioned sepia photo. I realized that everything around me was taking on that same brownness, like fine gossamer curtains in an old Victorian home, dropping over the windows to shade rooms from the heat of the day while at the same time, allowing just enough sunlight to seep through their sheerness, muting the rooms colors to a single, dull hue.

Then, at 3:08 pm, the eclipse reached its zenith-98% of totality. Everything turned silent. The birds stopped chirping. My neighbors stood awestruck with only muted murmurs of wonder. “Oh my gosh,” I whispered, sitting perfectly still with my face tilted upward, my wide-brimmed hat falling off the back of my head. For a few moments, we were all transfixed, filled with amazement at this moment in time. We were witnessing celestial history, right in our own respective backyards. Then, slowly things began to resume in their ordinary way. The kids next door, who had been corralled by their parents during the eclipse, now unleashed, began running around the yard with their dog, Rocky, madly dashing after them. The brownness of the day faded slowly back to green, and the warmth of the day returned. I stepped

back inside the house. I felt a bit dazed, not myself. “Well, that was Something,” I muttered, “really, really something!” The remainder of the day was consumed with newscasters professing to have captured the best photos of the eclipse, and of course the local back stories of folks that provided the human element. They expressed feelings that we all craved because it made us seem in alignment with each other and maybe for just a few brief moments, a little bit closer.

My solar afterglow persisted for a couple of days, and I found that the topic of most every conversation I encountered began with the question, “Did you see the eclipse?” followed by words like amazing, wonder and oneness. I understood in a finite way, that I had made the right decision to stay in my own backyard. 98% turned out to be just right for me.

Ruth Medlin is a writer who lives in Cincinnati, Ohio. She worked in the fields of education and public service. Ruth enjoys cooking, reading, and traveling. Her first book, Me and Mar, will be published in 2024.

Please connect with Ruth in her Facebook group Clementines.