"Sunlight" (Chapter 1- "Return")

Sunlight

Chapter 1: Return

Present

A young man lay on the floor, staring up at the sagging ceiling above him. A lone light bulb swung from side to side, and flickered on and off, on and off, making static noises, as a ladybug mindlessly crashed into it, finding the moving object difficult to navigate.

There was something wrong with the wiring, he was sure of it. The floor he laid upon was slightly damp, a rug on concrete just below ground. The high, uncarpeted wooden staircase, had a history of being the source of many splinters on bare feet. The room was about 12 by 12 and only 8 feet high. There wasn't much in the room; just years of discarded materials, clothes that were too small, old toys, some photographs, long-abandoned sports equipment, precariously

stacked boxes of the past gathering dust. They looked like ghosts in the dimness of the chamber.
                The light bulb kept on swinging, side to side, flickering more and more, losing light with every shift in motion. And then the room turned black. The young man's eyes adjusted, with the bluish light from the small, drafty, rectangular window at the opposite side of the room. He suddenly became aware of the pitter-patter sounds of rain. Slowly, the young man sat up. He was young, but he felt old. Everyday he felt too old. This place was all but forgotten by the two occupants of the home... nobody else came down here anymore. Only he could. Only he did. Every once in a while, when he wanted, needed to get away from things.
                The room smelled vaguely of mold, and other musty scents that were not entirely unpleasant.
                Gradually, he forced himself to stand. Made his way, in the dark, to the stairs. He knew the place well enough. One step at a time, he made his way back to real life, life in the present. He opened the door at the top of the stairs, like he'd done many times before. The house was too clean. It smelled over-sanitary, the opposite of the underground solace the young man had made for himself. He watched his dad, he watched himself, and the caretaking woman to whom he barely paid enough, watched them both. The young man had this day off. A Friday evening. He found his father sleeping in his room. The man was alone in that room, as his wife had been gone for three years.
                They lived together, father and son, but they were more isolated than either cared to confess aloud. They barely spoke, just helped each other with what was necessary. Lately, for quite a while now, actually, the young man had been doing most of such assistance.

The young man stared through the window in the small living room above his hideout. The rain looked like waterfalls from the sky. Thunder rolled quietly in the distance, taking its time to make its way to the town in which he resided in.

As he thought of the rain, he considered one more person who had once had a place in his life. This person made things seem brighter. Like a sliver of sunlight through closed curtains in an abandoned hospital room.
                That person had eyes the color of a clear lake on a cloudy summer day. Shy eyes. That person had hair the color of a wheat field at sunset. Golden. She was just that. And she understood.
                They spoke when they could. They were keys and locks. He meant not to be cliché, but truly, she was the only one who could get him to open up at all. Sometimes they spoke of childish or frivolous things, about the shape of clouds, about ice cream, and chocolate, and music, and the components of high school, which, for him, seemed eons ago, in spite of this young man's age. It hadn't been as long as it felt.
                He felt old, but this was not so, and she reminded him of his youth. She had been a junior in high school when they met, so long ago. Their physical relationship was innocent—accidental naps in her room, a stolen kiss every now and again.

And their conversation could also turn to serious subjects. They would talk about her brother. How she saw him, even though he had been gone for years. How she could see him make expressions, of approval, disapproval. When he was comforting, when he was not, but how she didn't want to lose the vision of him. How it would be like losing him again. They would talk about his mother. How he sometimes saw her too. Particular car crashes and a particular war. His uneven gait. The many towns he lived in before those events.

They spoke of everything beneath the blanket of blue and grey skies.

                And the clouded chamber that the young man had become was would light up.
                She was like a beautiful sunrise. She made him imagine a future. She made it seem tangible... like a future was attainable. That there was life beyond this. That he could keep up with life again.
                But his father’s feeble health further detiorated. The blurs of white coats, collared shirts, and pastel uniforms… they did all that they could. There was no longer anything that could be done. The young man knew there wasn't much time for the man. And soon, though he may have been old enough to take care of himself, he would be an orphan.
                He couldn't see her as much. And he found himself on a piece of driftwood floating away from shore. Off to an unknown location. Things were hard for her too. Eventually, she also drifted. She took her medicine, and her brother went away. Their phone calls grew shorter. She graduated from high school.
                A sunset.

                And then, there was night. Endless night. No stars. Only storms like this one. His soul ached.
                Somewhere in that basement was rope. And he knew there were pills everywhere in this desolate excuse for a house. There were knives and bathtubs and there was rain outside, pouring down... lightning somewhere.
                He could do it. His father was going soon, too. It wouldn't do a thing. The woman who watched the house, watched them, she was a kind, compassionate woman. She did more than what she should. She tried to be a counselor. She talked to them, the young man, and the older one. She might shed a few tears, as she stood in black.
                She would probably be the one to find him. It made the young man shudder a little. But he could do it.

                He could.

                A sound from outside interjected the young man’s thoughts, through the rain. Something harder than sky-water had hit. Gentle fingers in a loose fist, a tentative knock-knock upon the door.
                The young man took a deep breath. It was early. He walked toward the door. And there stood a face that had seared itself in his memory.
                There was sunlight at his door.
                Her voice rang clear and quiet.
                "Hi," she said. Trying to smile. She was sunlight.
                "I was just here visiting my parents for the weekend..."
                Blue eyes glowing.
                "I thought I'd... I wanted to see you."
                Sunlight.
                "Come in," the young man replied in a shaking voice.
                The sliver of sunlight stepped inside.