100TWC - Day 28: Light

He's out there. Sitting in the dark. Why does he do that? How can he? Always leaves it to me to shoo our guests home, collect their unfinished glasses of wine and stack the dishwasher. While he steps out into the night. Sits on the deck with his bloody pipe and his glass of single malt. Cogitating.

Why doesn't he put a light on? I've given up asking. Never get a straight answer. I don't know how he can sit in the dark like that. I hate it. The dark. Too many awful memories. Don't ask. I probably couldn't even explain half of them. Buried, they are. Or cremated. With candles, tea-lights, open fires. Anything that banishes the darkness. But mostly the blessed, bright, searing light of a decent 100-watt bulb. That'll banish the dark from even the most intransigent corner. I felt uneasy when they stopped making 200-watt ones, but you can still find the 100-watts if you know where to look.

Don't know how they managed in the old days. Gas lamps and such. Nightmare. All those shadows that seemed empty but could have been filled with God knows what. Carrying a candle up to bed and trying not to let it blow out. Its wispy yellow flicker trying to light your way. And failing. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper... Ugh! I always said we wouldn't play those mind games with any children of ours, though of course we never had the chance. One way or the other.

No, I have to have a light on. Even if I get up in the night. Bedside light. Landing light. Bathroom light. If it was up to me I'd probably have them all on all night. He won't have it though. Can't sleep with the light on, he always says. What about us who can hardly sleep with it off? If it wasn't for the street lights I'd never get any sleep at all. Sometimes I crack the curtains to let more of it in. He thinks the track needs adjusting. But it's OK. He won't even get round to looking at it for another six months, and anyway I don't do it every night. So he forgets.

I could never live in the country. We went on holiday to Cornwall, once. Stayed in a country cottage. It was pitch black at night. Absolutely pitch black. You couldn't see your hand in front of your face. I had to sleep downstairs.

Things always look jollier when it's bright, don't you think? It's not just darkness that gets obliterated. Other bad things go too. Moods. Tempers. Even dark thoughts turn brighter with a decent light on. And it's easier to get things done. Better than sitting dwelling on... No, you need to be able to see what you're doing, I always say.

I saw a film once. The Unbearable Lightness of Being it was called. If I'd made it I'd have called it the Bearable Lightness. Or the Wonderful Lightness. There's already too much darkness in this world. What we need is more light. They say that eventually, in a few million years, the world will stop spinning and one side will be permanent day, the other always night. I know which side I'd live on!

He wouldn't be able to sit out on his damned dark deck on my side of the world! Anyway, everything is tidy now. Dishwasher's on. Leftovers are in the fridge, all covered up. I quite fancy one last drink on the deck myself.

"Don't you want a light on out here?"


[ this is a companion piece to "Dark" which appears next in the writing challenge - on Day 29 ]