Seeing the Light
I have a light that hangs on the wall. It’s a bare bulb except for the metal thing on top that looks like a halo. I got the light from my ex-boyfriend. He wasn’t really a boyfriend. We never got that far. The sex was usually great but sometimes I noticed him looking out over my head, or at the TV that was on with a basketball game, and always when we were finished, his phone. Eventually he stopped texting. Then two months later, he texted me and asked me to come over. It was late. 11:45 PM. I went anyway. We had sex. It was great as usual. But he hadn’t brushed his teeth and I could still taste the chicken and garlic he’d had for dinner. He told me he loved my breasts. I liked that he loved something about me. Even if it was just my breasts. Maybe it would spread. This loving parts of me.
But then he got this look. Like he had things to do. Things to do without me. Even though it was 2:00 A.M. The remains of his dinner that he’d ordered from Fast Wok on the corner lay in an aluminum container sitting in his trash. I could see it there in his tiny kitchen from the bed of his studio. A meal he’d consumed and tossed. The metal container sat on top of the normal trash, along with a beer bottle. It was obvious he didn’t recycle. I’d never noticed this about him. I wasn’t sure I could be with a man who didn’t recycle. I headed into the bathroom. It looked different. The light was bright and garish. The shade was missing. “What happened to the shade for the light?” I asked. He was sitting up in bed, reading his laptop “I dunno,” he said. I stared at the bare bulb. The last time I saw it, it sported a white shade printed with silver zigzags. It looked sad there, all alone. Uncared for.
I asked him questions about his job, plans for the weekend, the one friend of his I met, Kenny. He answered with “Ok,” “Not Sure,” “Fine.” These normal everyday questions seemed to grate on him. I looked at myself in the mirror under the strange glaring light from of the fixture’s bare bulb. I really looked. My straight nose, my even lips. Then I looked under what I saw to search for me. When I saw myself there, I noticed my eyes, bright as constellations, even in the garish light. I smiled when I saw them and felt bad at the same time. I dressed, pulled out my toothbrush and paste and began brushing. My teeth gleamed. Then I packed up everything including the light. I unplugged it and stuffed it in my purse, avoiding touching the hot bulb.
When I left, I waved. I didn’t kiss him. I kept my toothpaste taste for myself.
