A bulb story

bulb story

he didn't much like the look of the 60-watt bulb beginning to glow
above her head. it smacked of haloes and obligations, of some divine
tinkering with her womb, will and atheism. he could see that she was
far from happy with it either. she reached up in disgust and grabbed
the hot glass globe with a hankie, then dumped it onto the table
between them where it continued to shine coyly, almost blush with
electricity, as if it knew it was persona non grata, an unwelcome
thought.
had it shoulders it might have shrugged an apology. but as it was, it
could only glimmer a mixture of dim guilt and faintly injured pride.
most irritating of all, however, was that it seemed to be possessed of
an innate cuteness.
it was an innocent, bald, toothless, vulnerable, winsome, bonny little
bulb - a merry little thing! - and it was impossible to completely
dislike. if truth be told, now that it had been switched on, neither
had the heart to switch it off. somehow that seemed immoral.
so, for the time-being, they kept it.

it pursued her the most, haunted her almost. like a puppy it followed
her everywhere it could, and if she couldn't trick it into the wardrobe
of an evening, it would burn in bed with her, keeping her awake unless
she wore sunglasses.
she couldn't openly reject it, and he began to discern between it and
her the foundations of a relationship of sorts. sometimes she'd play
with it (Hide-&;-Seek or Murder-in-the-Dark.) she was known to sing
to it soothingly or scold it for getting too near any water.

so the bulb became part of the household, although it was a silly,
dependant, sentimental thing and needed a lot of attention. nights out
became difficult because nobody would bulb-sit, and it worried them and
wearied them beyond endurance.

however,
it was a heart-breaking day when it finally dimmed and died, and they
both cried quietly to themselves when the other wasn't around. it
wasn't spoken about, and he knew to say nothing when he noticed the
spent bulb had been boxed in cotton-wool and carefully buried at the
back of an obscure kitchen drawer.

figuratively speaking, it continues to glow, since it has created an
indefinable but intimate connection between them which hadn't existed
before, leaving behind a trace of its warmth and sentimental nature, a
little afterglow of its dependancy.
this curious after-image is like sharing a secret and a sorrow and a
safety and a danger and an instinct and a trust all in one, and so it
is glorious and frightening at one and the same time (and possibly the
nearest thing they'll ever get to being in love with each other.)