light up a short story

 

       At the peak of the rocky beach he stood, feet awkwardly planted, arms slightly out from his sides to balance. Tired eyes scoured the horizon, the bleak blues becoming one until he was encased in sea and sky, the only reality the sharp pain in his feet. The wind buffeted his body, wriggling in through his overcoat, tangling the hair that escaped from under his hat as the salt scrubbed at his skin. He remained, rock-like. At one with the steady groynes, feeling as old as the barnacles that clung to them for dear life.

 

 

     Untidy clumps of heather speckled the top of the slope, each ridge of pebbles iced with seaweed, beer cans and dead fish. A light spray offered his open lips slight relief but he refused it, refused to see if it came from sea or sky.

     A family was dotted at the waters edge. Small children screaming delight as they escaped the waves to the haven of their mother. She, smiling, laughing, allowed them to cling to her jeans – playfully pulling at toggles, tucking in scarves. His focus remained still.

     Gathering them together, their bobble hats drooping in the wind, she herded them up the steep ridges, driving them in front of her.

 

He couldn't leave yet. Just a little longer. Maybe in an hour or so the sun would come out. The kindly rays would dissolve his cyclic thoughts, inspire him to some action.

     The shouts grew fewer as the children puffed out cloudy breaths to keep climbing. Nearing him they crawled, zigzagging up the slopes, now quiet and concentrated. The mother followed, supporting stragglers, her gaze darting from one to the next. He didn't want to go home.

 

 

A red woollen hat bobbed into view as the smallest child reached the top. In her excitement she jumped, squealed, and tripped backward.

     For one fleeting moment he remained unmoved. Then diving forward he snatched at her arm, righting her, reassuring with a gruff:

 “Oopsie-daisy!”

The red hat tilted back to reveal large intense eyes, a freckly nose and the beginnings of a smile. She beamed, suddenly, and held up her arms to be lifted up.

 

To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do

 

     He clumsily patted her head, the swiftness gone. His hand flagged the tiny red hat and he paused.

 

 

 “It's ok Jessjess!” This to the child, her mother turned smiling to him,

 “Thanks so much, they get a bit carried away don't they!” Her head turning from side to side she silently stilled the others and they bounced about her booted feet, waiting wriggly for her to stop talking. He drew back, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

   “And it's getting a bit cold isn't it? I know we should expect it in winter. I must say I can't stand these mothers that let their kids run around in February with no hats on! Everyone knows you lose most heat that way!” She grinned again, disarming his silence.

           

 

     He continued to stand, eyes darting between children, unable to meet the gaze of another adult. The bulb had blown when his wife had slammed the door. If he went back she might not have come home. Emptiness. No lights. He didn't know where she'd kept the candles. Whenever there was a power cut she'd whisk off, skirts skimming the floors to a cupboard, a store, somewhere in the house.

 

And I can barely look at you
But every single time I do
I know we'll make it anywhere
Away from here

     The children were skimming stones off the groynes now, an empty can stuck out as their goal and their mothers eyes caressing each attempt, revelling in their efforts.

 

     Sometimes when she wasn't there he would have to turn all the lights on. If she was late home from work. Or if she asked him to put on the toast. He'd mean to, but his body wouldn't comply and time would pass and he couldn't remember it. He didn't mean to forget, things would just edge out of his mind. And she'd come home, looking sad, and trek out for some chips. He'd stand at the window waiting for her, and if she was longer than three minutes then he would turn the lights on one by one.

 

Slower slower
We don't have time for that
All I want is to find an easier way
To get out of our little heads

 

     Each small lamp and the big switch, a dimmer switch but he always put it on full. Three minutes was as long as he could occupy his thoughts. Then they'd stop following the carpet pattern, cease to care about the nutritional ingredients of Marmite and he had to stop the cycle before it started.

 

Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess

 

     Then she went away last week and he'd gone from window to window seeking her. Sophie had come home from school and taking his hand had led him from light to light. He didn't know what to do without her. Without either of them.

     The bulb had blown when she left and he couldn't remember. Did she say she was coming back? Did he need to warm the grill? Where did she keep the light bulbs? The mother was speaking and he couldn't focus, couldn't bring his mind back. One of the children darted to his feet to fetch a rock. He held out his hand. Sophie. Took a step toward her.

   “What are you doing?” her attitude shot out of its kind politeness, into blunt protection. “Haven't you got a home to go to?” His eyes refused to raise themselves, muddling between the young children and the stones. He couldn't bring himself. Couldn't bring himself to do it. Couldn't bring himself. Couldn't do it. 

 

            If only the sun would come out. He knew he could cope then. February, no sun until April at least. Two months. Sixty-two days. Or was it sixty-one? Somebody turn the light on. He softly started singing. They were walking away, and he was singing singing singing softly.

 

Louder louder
And we'll run for our lives
I can hardly speak I understand
Why you can't raise your voice to say

 And the children frolicked from one side to the other, crowding the pavement as their mother hurried them with sharp calls. Singing singing:

 

“...Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear.”

The damp blanket of grey sea and stone stretched out, smothering, as his eyes blindly and compulsively scanned the landscape. Wave followed wave in its unceasing cycle; chasing, grasping the pebbles then, losing grip, each retreated helplessly. He sang mindlessly, repeatedly.

 

“I'll sing it one last time for you
Then we really have to go
You've been the only thing that's right
In all I've done...”