literature

Lightbulb

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Bruel counted himself lucky that he was able to find an apartment where he did, so far into the city and on the twentieth floor of a high-rise. Everything he needed could be found there, from the television to the couch to his great collection of books both new and old. Everything that is, except milk. One couldn’t quite think without a good glass of milk. That was, after all, the reason he was going out.

He ran through his head a list of all-night stores that would carry milk. After great deliberation and thought, he decided on Frappe’s convenience store across from Antonio’s tailor shop on 34th street.

He gathered his coat and hat, placing the coat on over his suit, taking care to avoid putting his hat on as he walked down the hallway toward the elevator at the end. He nodded a friendly goodbye to Ms. Stonewall as she left the small lift heading back to her home at the far end of the hall. Stepping lightly and with a smile, he entered the elevator himself and patiently waited as it lowered him down to the bottom floor.

The lobby was empty this time of night, but people and cars still passed by on the street outside. The jazz clubs were open all night, and every night was a night to celebrate. He dropped his hat onto his head as he moved out from the double glass doors of the apartment building.

Taking a deep breath of the crisp cool air, he watched as a dirigible passed overhead, one of the many skybuses that traveled from the lower city to the airships far into the clouds and among the skyscrapers. Something struck him as odd about the sky this evening, but he wasn’t sure he could quite place it. Shrugging lightly, he resumed his quest.

It didn’t take long, a short block walk, really, and he soon found himself at the front door of Frappe’s store. He paused for a moment at the door handle when he realized what was wrong with the sky.

There was no moon.

There should have been a moon, for it was a full moon last night, and it was the first night of the full moon. He frowned, standing half in, half out of the door. Taking a cursory glance at the sky, he leaned into the store, then back out again, to see if the situation had changed. It hadn’t.

Bruel shrugged again and entered the store. He picked up a carton of milk from the freezer in the back and, just to be safe, a box of light bulbs. Paying, he thanked Harold, who ran the store, and left.

He didn’t go home right away. Instead, he wandered off to the bus stop on Eighth avenue, the one that went out to Torusville to the west, and waited for the evening bus to pick him up. When it did, he paid his dime and sat patiently until the bus left town.

It was twenty minutes outside town that he called for a stop, and stepped off into the pitch night. The road both ways seemed to trail into nothingness, though the distant glow of Sulia alerted him that he was still where he should be. Wandering off into the grass, he headed for the forest, a swell of inky blackness, a sea of non-color against the panorama of endless stars.

There, hidden among the trees, nestled between two old great banyans, was a tiny wooden shed. He approached in a practiced manner, smiling and grinning the whole way. The door cracked, smelling of old dust, and squeaked, telling a tale of rusted hinges. Across the floor lay countless tiny shining dots, like speckles of mica embedded in the dirt.

He leaned forward into the shed, groping for the chain on the light within. His fingers found purchase, and he pulled.

Nothing.

Frowning, he set the carton of milk down and followed the chain to the light bulb. He gripped the dusty thing in his fingers and slowly eased it out of its socket, the sound grating in the odd silence. He shook it, lightly, and heard the spring within dance about. One hand tossed the old bulb aside while he fumbled in the box for a new one.

He tore the new bulb free and carefully eased it into place where the old one once resided. Pulling the chain, he smiled widely, mouth open, as the bulb shone in the darkness. He nodded once more, and he took his milk, leaving the box of bulbs there, and gave them a quick pat before he shut and locked the door once more.

As he left the forest onto the plains, he took one last look at the full moon high in the sky.

“That got it,” he said, and headed for home.
Old (spring '04). Short.
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