The Streetlight

It was strangely warm out for a January night. On a night like this, John and I would be cuddled up on the couch, my head on his chest, watching a movie. John would always fall asleep and snore loudly in my ear. That little couch had been through years of use and now creaked every time there was weight on it. John always loved that damn couch. I couldn’t bring myself to sit in it, much less get rid of it since he had passed. The impression of his body laid on the right recliner, where he had spent nearly 50 years lounging with his feet up, watching the news. He used to yell at the stories he disagreed with, and every time, I would march in angrily, wondering why I had ever even married him in the first place. I regretted it even then. I loved him, and I had for most of my life, so life without him was hard.

It wasn’t just his self that left when he had died. His dreams, his aspirations, his thoughts, his opinions, his memories, all had died with him, as mine would one day die with me. It was hard losing someone who had been such an important light in my life. When I was shy and quiet, he was outspoken. When he was stubborn, I was forgiving. He balanced me out and made my dull life burst with color. Without him, life was bland. I stood outside now, my nightgown draped over my frail bones, and my slippers flat on the rugged ground. I began to walk with an unexpected urgency. The tree we had once carved our initials into had long since fallen, and the yard’s emptiness sent a twinge to my heart. I remember when we used to run around in the leaves like we were kids, throwing them back and forth, and diving into the piles. As we got older, the leaves just sat there until they blew away. Now, a few leaves sat at my feet. When John was here, he might’ve told me to go inside because my slippers would get too dirty, but without him here, I continued walking as if the the night was reeling me in. Each step felt more effortless than the next, my body floating down the road, watching the world change around me.

I remember when John and I would be sitting out on the porch together, watching the cars drive by, counting the colors of each one. We would take guesses as to where they were going, or what they were doing. I wonder if we were ever right. Every time we sat out, we would see an old beige sedan sputter by slowly, an old lady in the driver's seat. She would always wave and smile at us, until one day we didn’t see her car again. I never bothered to stop and ask her name or anything. I’m sure she was long gone by now. The sky was dark and endless, no stars in sight. In fact, the only visible light was a streetlight on the upcoming corner, flickering intermittently. It was on this corner that John and I would part ways to go to work every morning. He would go left, and I, right. Even after the many years of marriage before our retirement, it always hurt to see him turn the corner, as if he was taking my heart along with him. I had always worried that one day he would turn the corner and wouldn’t come back. The thought of losing him was unimaginable at the time. I had never expected it to be so soon, but everything in life had an end, and I knew that now.

I passed the Allens' old house, its once tidied lawn now a field of overgrown weeds, and the red wooden door now stained with the years of neglect. We used to go over to their house to have dinner, and they were always fighting. John and I would sit uncomfortably as they fought, sending awkward glances at each other, our fingers intertwined under the table. John would make jokes to lighten the mood, and I would just watch him laugh. He had a way of capturing the room’s attention with his smile. I would always catch myself just staring in awe. His smile made everything better. When I had my miscarriage, he sat beside my bed while I cried, squeezing my hand. I didn’t know how to go on, but he showed me hope. He showed me a light at the end of the tunnel, his soft smile warming my heart and healing my wounds.

My heart began to ache. No matter how much I thought of him, or how much I needed him here, he was gone. No amount of pain or tears would bring him back. I stood at the base of the streetlight, it’s faded glow beaming onto my unkempt hair. I looked at my hands. The same hands that used to hold his. The ones that would run through his hair and pull him closer. Now these hands were lonely and lifeless, the soft skin dried with age. My legs began to feel sore, my old bones aching beneath me. I lowered myself to the ground beside the light post, my heart heavy and my mind blank. I began to forget everything from my name to my age, to how I had gotten here in the first place. I lifted my head slowly to see another dim light in the distance. I was instantly consumed with an unfamiliar warmth. The light seemed to be approaching me steadily, like a creature in the night. At that moment I longed for John: for his smile, his touch, his laugh, and even his angry yelling. The light came closer and closer and I felt my tense hands let go, my head resting against the metal streetlight. My tired eyes pressed shut as I felt the light reach out to me, closer and closer, until that’s all there was.