Palaces of light

Palaces of Light

The headline read, "Urgent. Film Two People. Will Pay Well. 539-0739".
The way the newspaper classifieds read always conjured a visual of a
large Native American man speaking in an English as a second language
class. The ad was an exciting find, however, because I was passionate
about filming people. I hadn't worked on a film in weeks, and I was
eager to dispel the empty feeling that pervaded because of this.

As I stepped out of the coffee shop and into the city, I carried a
sparked sense of optimism. A sense that things followed flow and rhythm
of invisible orchestras. I walked on through the city, past hundreds of
its inhabitants. A palette of diversity in their backgrounds,
attitudes, and personalities. I came to a phone booth, and decided to
exchange my coins for an opportunity. After dialing the number, the
phone rang several times. On about the fifth ring, someone picked up
but said nothing. A voice shouted from the background, "Did you get the
door Clyde?"

"Hello, this is Clyde Pemberton" the voice boomed in a thick English
accent.
"Yes sir, my name is Fisher Cole. I'm responding to your ad in the
..."
"Be here tomorrow," Clyde interrupted without remorse. " 5:30 in the
morning, 416 Ridgewood Drive. Don't knock, come on in. Bring your
camera." There was an abrupt click, and with that Clyde was gone. I
repeated his instructions in my head, as I searched in my bag for a
scrap of paper and a pen.

The next morning was a Saturday, and I awoke a little before 4:30. I
put on some presentable attire. I went with khakis, a short sleeved
button up, and the kind of shoes that handsomely display a shiny coin.
I walked out the door, removing myself from the comfort and security of
my humble apartment. I positioned myself in the tattered seat of my
eleven year old Honda; I got confirmation from the rear view mirror
that I had very bad hair, and I started towards Ridgewood Drive.

I navigated the city, with the help of a street map, towards the south
side. About fifteen minutes later I came upon Ridgewood Heights. It was
a jungle of reduced circumstances; like a lower middle class
neighborhood in a third world country. It was difficult to make out the
street signs and house numbers in the early morning shadows, but I came
upon my destination a few minutes later. It was a large, dark two story
dwelling that centered two smaller homes on each side. I parked my
vehicle, grabbed my video camera, and ascended the cement path between
knee high weeds towards the house. The house captured a small share of
the light from a street lamp; it looked dilapidated and I presumed it
to be haunted by something. My heartbeat seemed to echo inside my head,
like a nervous drum playing the pattern of anticipation. I remembered
not to knock, yet felt awkward about not doing so.

I took a hesitant first step inside. The inside air felt cold hitting
my face; it seemed charged with invigorating electricity, like the air
just before a thunderstorm. The sensation of cold was balanced by a
warm glow that bathed the ceiling in a shallow pool of orange light . I
wondered if anyone was awake, as I spoke a quiet "hello" to see. I did
this a few more times, daring to be a bit more audible each time. There
was no answer. I cautiously crept down a hallway, not wanting to awake
anyone, but to be able to investigate my surroundings. The place seemed
to be meticulously neat and well furnished. I noticed several doorways,
with each door cracked open somewhat, as I walked down the hall.

At the end of the hall, I arrived at a closed door. I stood before it,
and wondered if a knock would be appropriate. A voice cut through the
silence, coming from the room behind the door.
"Open the door," the voice commanded. I turned the knob, pushed
slightly, and tilted my head to see inside. I followed my eye to a
trail of light that led to a small man sitting comfortably in a
chair.
"I'm Clyde Pemberton," the man stated. "I sit here in this chair to
think". His voice was resounding, and was not commensurate with his
size.
"Did you have trouble sleeping, sir?" I inquired.
"I don't do much of that. There is a lot to think about," Clyde
remarked, as he rose from the chair. He spoke loudly, and with an
upbeat British accent. Clyde reminded me of a cross between Sigmund
Freud and a tiny Hugh Hefner. His robe was a rich red silk, and he
cupped a fine wood pipe in his left hand. He was a diminutive little
man; I am average height, and I would say he made it up to my
shoulders. Clyde was also especially thin. One might want to keep a
tight grip on his arm on a very windy day.

"Are you British, sir?" I asked.
"No, but I talk like I am" Clyde responded, with a straight faced and
serious demeanor. "You can roll the camera, Fish. Get a good shot of
me; I won't be here forever." I readied the camera, and pointed the
lens at the bubbly little man. "Flick on the light beam," Clyde
ordered. "Illuminate this darkness and my beauty will light up the
room!" The light reflected off his shiny red robe and sliced through
shadow and smoke, as he puffed on his stained wood pipe. His beard was
full, but well trimmed, and white like cotton. "The camera seems
pleased. It has stolen a wonderful image. Now pan over this way. The
love of my life sleeps like an angel lying on a cloud".

I walked over towards the bed with Clyde. I pointed my lens at the
sleeping figure; she was only half covered by the comforter, and I was
amazed at the tremendous size of that half. The rest of her lay
vulnerable to the crisp cold air. Just one of her arms was like a
wrinkled leg of a baby elephant, except that it was creamy white in
color. Her nightgown was covered in a sunflower print, each sunflower
was the size of my head. "This is my Bernadine. I'm sure that
Greenlilly, Alabama mourned her loss for some time after the day I
swept her off her feet and into my father's milk truck," Clyde stated
proudly. "She dreams of me, now. See that amorous look on her smiling
face.. I must wake her now, and we will create a new dream together.
You will wait in the main room. You're not here to film pornography,
Fish". I was quite relieved to be able to remove myself from this
scene. I turned the camera off, and made my way back towards the main
room to sit down.

I awoke much later to the warmth of the mid-day sun that poured in
through a window just behind me. I rubbed my eyes, and then noticed a
tall willowy person standing in front of me. He had pale skin, a
towering mohawk, a spiked necklace and wristband, and black eye
make-up. "Do you know why you're here?" the young man asked.
"Well, I'm here to film you're family, I guess." I replied
sleepily.
"Do you know WHY you're here?" he asked again, in a more resonant, but
flamboyant voice. His hand made a fist and rested on his hip, elbow
pointing outwards. "You know what you're here for, but do you know
why?" he asked earnestly.
"No," I responded.
"Well I can't tell you why!" the young man insisted. "And stop staring
at me like that! I'm not gay! .. You're the one with the funny looking
shoes!" he exclaimed indignantly, as he turned and stomped off out of
the room. I glanced down at my shoes, and appreciated the bronze glow
of a harmless little penny.
The young man soon returned to the room, and sat down across from me.
He gave an apologetic smile, as he crossed one leg over the other. His
eye makeup was smudged a little from crying. "I'm sorry I over-reacted
a few minutes ago. It's just difficult being weird sometimes. At times
I'm proud of it, and other times I feel like I'm a freak. Maybe I'm
just a confused freak."
"That's ok. I've felt that way before. I think that people that are
different should be celebrated for being true to themselves and not
being conformists" I commented.
"Yeah, we should have our own holiday" the young man joked, "Besides
Halloween."
Both of them smiled a little. "My name is Lewis. People at school call
me Stork, because I have long skinny legs I guess."
"I'm Fisher. It's nice to meet you."
"I can always tell if people are judging me after only a few seconds."
Lewis stated, "I can tell from the way their body language reacts to
me, and the expression on their face, and the tone of their
voice."
"Maybe they're just observing you," I pointed out.
"There is a huge difference between observing and judging. To observe
something is to see it as is, in a neutral fashion, just gathering
information. To judge is to have a colored perception, to compare
something to how you think it should be. A judgment is often critical
if something or someone doesn't meet up to standards."
"That sounds true. You're very insightful," I said.
"When you first saw me you were just observing. I knew that. I am just
really upset about something else," Lewis commented.
"What's wrong?" I curiously inquired.
Clyde burst into the room, "I see you've met Lewis!" he said. "The
camera does not want his image, though. Come with me my slippery little
Fish. I want you to meet someone special."

Clyde led me back down the hall to the bedroom, as he asked me to
start filming. Turning the corner, I witnessed something I was not
expecting. Bernadine was head to toe naked and lying comfortably on the
bed uncovered. She was easily 325 pounds of woman that gravity would
have to grapple with. Her skin seemed clean and soft, and she was so
pale that light seemed to bounce off her. Clyde nudged me, and gestured
for me to zoom in on her. "Bernadine, this is Fish. He's fresh out of
water, and we are his air," he proclaimed. Clyde had a way of spouting
simple and often strange comments that harbored deeper meaning. "This
is a wonderful woman here. She has a way about her that has unfettered
my soul."
"It's very nice to meet you," Bernadine said in a sweet Southern voice.
"Clyde is smart about people, and feels good about you being
here."
"It's nice to meet you also. How long have you two been together?" I
inquired.
"Twenty eight years, almost twenty nine. We ran off together when I was
sixteen. Clyde was six years older than me, and my daddy said I wasn't
allowed to be with him".
"Well, you seem really happy together. That's really great, you must
already be planning a big celebration for your thirtieth anniversary,"
I said, smiling. Neither of them responded. "I'm going to go and.." I
started to say.
"Go and sit and Bernadine will make some lunch for you" Clyde
commanded.

So I went back out to the main room. A few minutes later Lewis walked
through.
"Do you go to school?" I asked.
"I'm a senior in high school.
"Are you excited about graduation?"
"I'm excited about graduating, but graduation will be difficult. My
parents won't be attending, and Clyde and Bernadine don't go out,"
Lewis said.
"They don't go out at all. Why not?"
"There are people looking for them. Clyde is wanted for kidnapping, and
Bernadine is a missing person. Bernadine's father is a Sheriff a few
states over, and he has a lot of people informed about the situation.
They haven't been outside in years. They have everything they need
here, and if they don't I go out and get it for them. We live off an
inheritance Clyde received thirty years ago. I've been here for two and
a half years," Lewis explained. "They treat me better than anyone ever
has," he added.
"Who hasn't treated you well?" I questioned.
"My mother was biologically able to have only one child, and apparently
I was a huge disappointment. My parents basically tried to impose guilt
on me for being and acting 'different', and I wouldn't submit to their
brainwashing. I have a few friends at school, but most of the kids make
fun of me."
Bernadine ambled in to the room, carrying a large tray with a delicious
looking lunch "Here you are, Fisher. Lewis, you've already eaten,
right, sweetheart?" she said.
"Yes ma'am, I've eaten. I'm going to run to the store and get the
groceries.
"Thank you, Bernadine. It looks wonderful." I said.

Bernadine sat with me as I ate. After I finished she explained to me
that Clyde was sick. He had a terminable form of Cancer that he was not
receiving conventional treatment for. Clyde was very insistent on
dealing with the illness on his own terms. He pioneered his own forms
of treatment; he used the power of the mind over his diseased body.
Bernadine walked me back to the bedroom to show me something I would
never witness again.

As we moved down the hallway, I heard a strange sound, like a
hummingbird's wings hitting against the thick stem of a flower. As we
entered the bedroom, Bernadine took hold of my hand, and held it for
her own comfort. The legs of the chair Clyde was sitting in rattled
against the hardwood floor at an astonishing pace. I looked at Clyde,
his entire body vibrating like a large bell struck with immense force
repeatedly. Bernadine dropped my hand, and motioned for me to roll the
camera. As I began filming, she began to explain what he was
doing.
"He sits in his chair and does this for hours. It's the oddest thing I
ever seen. He says he's in a kind of trance. Clyde tells me he can make
his thoughts and brain power speed up incredibly fast, until he feels
at peace in palaces of light," she said with a puzzled look. "About
seven years ago, I thought he could die any day. He's given himself
hope and new life." At that moment, we heard yelling coming from
outside.

We left Clyde, and rushed outside to the front yard. Lewis was laid
out on the ground on his back. Four football players from Lewis' high
school stood over him, laughing at him as he bled from his nose. One of
them pointed at Lewis as he instructed him to stay away from their
school. As all of this was happening, a large blur started towards the
boys. Bernadine hustled down the front steps, and through the high
weeds of the front yard at a pace that left me in awe. She grunted like
a rabid boar as she barreled into two of the boys, knocking them
backside first into the ground. Bernadine fell face first on top of one
of the boys, painfully contorting him into a human pretzel. The other
two boys left unscathed darted off like jack-rabbits. The boy that was
knocked over next to Bernadine heaved uncomfortably, as he tried to
regain his breath. The unfortunate one underneath her cried out, with
the massive weight of the woman pinning him still. She seethed with
anger, looking down at the tanned face and blonde hair of the teenager.
I went over to them and helped her off the boy, thinking that the
frightened boy had been served a big enough plate of justice already.
No words were spoken by anyone, yet all present were nearly out of
breath and sufficiently rattled. Bernadine and I helped Lewis up, as
his blood ran from his nose and dripped down all over my shoes.

We walked him slowly inside, as tears fell through makeup from a
soon-to-be black eye. Bernadine tried to console Lewis, and she got him
to lie down on the couch. I walked back to the bedroom to tell Clyde
what had happened. As I walked into the bedroom, the hairs on the back
of my neck stood up, and I sensed something was wrong. I looked at
Clyde and realized that he was dead.

I returned slowly to the living room, dazed from the day's events. I
lamented the passing of what seemed to be a good man with an
enlightened soul. I gathered that I had been asked to come here to
document what Clyde knew to be his last day. Approaching the living
room, I saw Bernadine kneeling beside Lewis, who was lying on the
couch. She was nurturing him gently, wiping his face clean with a damp
washcloth. Lewis looked comforted, and looking up at her as she did
this, he commented softly "thank you, mom". Bernadine smiled sweetly,
and she proceeded to take care of her son.