Issue 11.2 Spring 2016

11.2 cover image

 

 

There is a Light That Never Goes Out

 

Zeph Webster

 

 

Jon and Celine had traveled three days to South Carolina and back for the funeral of their best friend, David. From the driver’s seat Jon observed a night completely engulfed in fog. The mist and the absence of moonlight, the dim and natural darkness of night, hid anything two hundred feet away from the headlights, which provided little salvation. The headlights didn’t quite reach the horizon line of the meeting place between the road and the sky and it seemed like the blackness went on forever.

 

But the lights made the immediate parts of the road bearable.

 

Jon watched the road through haggard eyes. His eyelids were cumbersome, the corners crusted with yellow discharge. This was a side effect of traveling from Illinois to South Carolina and back in less than four days. Some hours ago, at the break of dusk, Jon had noticed that everything seemed far away; road signs on the shoulder appeared blurry and fake; moving cars appeared to be shapeless figures. The only thing real was motion. The push of the wind soared on the outside of the automobile, proof that the car was taking them somewhere distant. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere safe.

 

The past few days had weathered him nearly senseless: he could no longer smell the stink of cows or skunks they passed in the car. He relied on color alone to identify road signs. He could no longer feel the pain of loss or grief; he only felt his eyes sinking into the back of his head. He looked over to Celine, her eyes closed and breathing steady in the passenger’s seat. He peered over closely, trying to look past the black hoodie that covered most of her soft, blonde head. He saw her bottom lip protruding from behind the fabric and felt somehow lifted. He imagined what she would feel when she awoke from her slumber. Would she continue to be inconsolably sad, as she had been the past few days? Would her emotional drainage take a toll on her physically as his own had? He figured that if fatigue were her only oppressor she would have it easy. But he knew Celine, and he prepared himself for the worst. Perhaps David’s death would have an even more tragic toll on her. He was afraid something inside of her would break. Perhaps their David’s death would form a numbness that would barricade itself in between her and her humanity, a numbness that would make her unable to face reality­­unable to feel human­­unable to feel the comfort of love, the excitement of knowledge, the nausea associated with hopeful anxiety, or even the bittersweet sting of life­reaffirming sadness.

 

Jon turned his thoughts away from Celine and towards David. Despite his mother’s parental reassurances, David was an unattractive boy. His nose was too big and crusty for his face. His skin was patchy and acne­ridden­­dry in some places and glossy in others. His thin, wiry glasses made his eyes look small and beady. He wasn’t hideously disfigured, just a little off­putting.

 

David was different not in one of those quirky, indie movie ways­­David was weird, and everyone around him knew it. He was often quiet and stood in the background, and even though the last thing on his mind was something perverted or evil, everyone agreed this made him seem creepy. David was the guy you saw on the elevator and with whom you very consciously avoided eye contact. You’d stand in the tight metal box going up and feel guilty for the palpable discomfort this kid’s presence had caused you. You rationalized, you told yourself you aren’t usually this shallow. And then moments after stepping off the elevator you forgot about him and went on with your day. You’d never think about him again. But Jon and Celine loved David’s inability to be anything other than himself. In the right situation, David was an extremely excitable boy. He was particularly fond of caped heroes and the fantastic creatures of cinema. When the three of them attended the premiere of T?he Hobbit,?he had worn a generic Halloween cloak to the midnight premiere. He had a fantastically queer sense of humor. At school functions and extracurricular competitions­­the only times you could get David to be out in the open­­he would often make passive comments equally witty and dry to Celine or Jon. Once he had made a joke about the semen­like consistency of the lunch’s mayonnaise, and then bolted away from the table. Jon and Celine always assumed this was his way to accent the joke. When he returned he said nothing of the instance. He had the ability to memorize page long soliloquies for the sake of a joke. He would perform movie dialogues, scenes from Shakespeare, or off­broadway show tunes that seldom lasted less than five minutes. Sometimes he did it for the sake of a reference; sometimes it was for the sake of having a quip in the case of certain conversations. Jon and Celine were always slightly curious about how much effort went into memorizing these speeches, but they never asked. They liked the mystery surrounding David’s talents. It gave him an essence of magic.

 

...


From the car Jon kept his eyes focussed on a patch of grass about a hundred yards in front

of him. It appeared as if it were the thing moving towards the car, and not the other way around. It crept up and soon flew passed. Next Jon focussed on the telephone wires that seemed to rise and fall with the steadiness of a heart monitor. Jon’s attention kept being called back to a mangled mosquito that lie caked on the windshield, held together by the mortar of blood, guts, and the push of the wind. Jon turned on the windshield wipers but they were too short. He pulled the lever and water squirted on the windshield, but the dead little bug eluded the water. Jon tried to ignore it.

 

He blinked a few times to wake himself up from his drowsiness. He contemplated waking up Celine for her turn to drive, but decided to let her sleep for a while. He wanted her to be safe for as long as possible. He lightly slapped himself in the center of his cheek, then felt silly.

 

Jon thought of David’s wake. He and Celine had stood next to David’s mother and father­­the former, a tired old bit of a thing; the latter, cluelessly confused and sad. It had been a particularly maddening occasion. Jon grew angry at the emptiness of the funeral home. Insulting. David deserved to be loved. He deserved to be mourned. He deserved more than what he had gotten in life. Even in death his legacy had gone wanting. When some guests finally arrived they hugged the members of the funeral party and offered their sympathies. By the second hour Jon had become nauseated at every word and inflection of the phrase “I’m sorry for your loss.” As if sorrow meant anything.?I’m sorry for your loss. A?s if they couldn’t spend the time to come up with something, anything less grotesquely cliche than those five fucking words. I?’m sorry for your loss. A?s if their pity was comforting. I?’m sorry for your Loss.?His loss was more than something to feel sorry about.

 

His feet ached and hunger caught up with him. Celine had been quiet all day. When spoken to she responded curtly. Minutes after having gotten into Jon’s car for the journey home she began crying. In that moment Jon felt catatonic. He wanted to comfort her but felt hesitant, so he put his hand on her shoulder and squeaked out “There, there.” He knew the act was awkward and futile, but he held onto her in a desperate attempt to give out some sort of sympathy. She didn’t really seem to notice. Between desperate sobs she told him of how she missed David, how she was angry at David, how David was at least partially responsible for his own murder; she was angry at his selfishness, she was angry at her selfishness, and she was angry at the world for being so cruel to him. She felt guilty for wanting to put David through another minute of pain on the world, but she’d do it in an instant. She hated everyone at the wake. She loathed their sympathies and resented their kindness. She sat in the car, trying and failing to calm down, but a new volley of sobs found its way out every few minutes. Above all, she just wanted to bitch about the incident with David.

 

...


Jon thought of the moment he and David met in preschool when David recognized the

Charizard on Jon’s shirt and demanded that they talk about Pokemon. “If you don’t bring your cards tomorrow I’ll punch you,” he had said to Jon. To the young David, failure to act on a Pokemon bond was a wasted opportunity. Jon was pretty sure that any incarnation of David­­no matter the age­­would have felt the same way. He laughed with fond remembrance on the road that cold, fall night. A car in the other lane passed with its brights on. The flash was quick but powerful. It hurt a little bit. He felt oddly comforted by the eye­shattering light. It was the only sign of life he had seen in awhile.

 

Jon longed for another sign of life and turned on the radio, keeping it low for Celine. When he heard the sound of The Smiths playing he immediately turned it off. They were David’s favourite band. Jon wasn’t sure whether to applaud or curse the universe for its sick irony. He felt himself sink further into the leather seat and grew antsy. He turned the music up, just a little, and hoped to feel a little bit of David. He yearned to forget: David is dead.

 

Driving in your car,
I never never want to go home

Because I haven't got one

Anymore.

 

Take me out
Tonight.

Because I want to see people

And I want to see life.

 

Driving in your car,
Oh please don't drop me home
Because it's not my home, it's their home

And I'm welcome no more.

 

And if a double decker bus Crashes into us,
To die by your side, it’s such a heavenly way to die,
And if a ten ton truck Kills the both of us,
To die by your side, Oh, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

David had grown increasingly reclusive since moving to school in South Carolina. Jon and Celine worried he was running away. But the school seemed like it would be a great opportunity and they supported him. For the first few weeks they communicated him over phone, video, text, and messaging, but around the first snowfall of winter they had stopped hearing about his classes and television shows; instead he gave uneasy smiles and asked only about them. They grew fretful. One day over a Skype call David began crying. Celine and Jon spent a long time discussing what could be done. David’s parents weren’t an option: his mother couldn’t take care of herself; police would lead to an institution, of which every past instance had gone poorly. They came up with their plan to rescue David on the third day, the same day David was found in the shower with a straight razor, cold water beating down on his corpse.

 

The song came to a close:

There is a light and it never goes out.

There is a light and it never goes out.

...
Celine had been awake for quite a while before the song started playing. Now she laid

there quietly uncomfortable in the passenger’s seat. She exited from her slumber with hesitation and annoyance. She let out a soft moan and stretched, letting Jon know she was awake again. She took in her surroundings and regrouped. She ran her hands through her hair and let go of the spare strands. She liked watching them float down. Then she looked over to Jon and gave him an intentionally troubled smile, but he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes were locked on the road. She did this once more and felt foolish. Then she came up with an audible checkup to let her presence be known.

 

“Of course that fucking song would be playing,” said Celine.

 

Jon turned his neck towards her out. “Yeah,” he laughed. He had a sick kind of desperation in his laugh. After a moment of silence the smile faded from his face.

 

“I couldn’t not listen to it though,” he said.

 

“I know.”


“. . .”


“. . .”

 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.


She rubbed her eyes and said “I enjoy sleep.”


“. . .”


“I enjoy sleep a lot.”


He turned and flashed her a smile. She returned it uneasily.


Suddenly another car passed. The headlights reflected in the couple’s eyes but quickly

vanished.


“. . .”

 

“. . .”


“Do you want me to drive for awhile?” she asked.


“Thanks, but I think I’m okay. I had a shit­load of coffee today so I’ll probably be up for

the next week.”


“It seems like you’ve been driving for a week.”


“Well that’s true.”


“I’m not tired anymore. I’ve gotten more than enough sleep.”

 

“I’m really okay, Celine.”

 

She gave up for now.


“How long was I out?” she asked.


“About an hour.”


“How are you doing?”


“. . .”


“Jon, come on.”


“. . .”


“. . .”


“I’m the same as I’ve been for the past six days.”


This time she reached out and rubbed his shoulder.


“How are y?ou? doing?” he asked.


She ignored his question and instead said “I can see you’ve been crying.”


“Not trying to hide it.”


“Yeah,” she said. “You’re a pussy.”


He laughed and tried to think of a clever response. “Now, now,” he said. “In ancient Greece it was a sign of masculinity to show emotion.”


“Well times have changed.” She smiled at him and gave him a friendly slap on the arm. “I need a man not some crybaby.”


He spoke sarcastically, trying to play along with her tone. “Yes, but, my self­aware, highly critical, 21st century lady, shouldn’t you not need any sort of man?”

 

“I don’t. But misery loves company and I’m just trying to be a dick.”

 

“So vulgar.”

 

“Well, you know, ‘fuck you,’ you know me.”

 

They smiled. Their heads turned, eyes pointed at the road, their minds a thousand miles away. They didn’t even notice the silver Lexus with the LED lights that flew past them.

 

...


Celine and Jon sat in a fast food joint at 3 A.M. They hadn’t spoken in a while. Jon sat with eyes staring down at his cheap food. He thought of the advertising that went into the room­­the cafe­esque furniture hiding the fact that this place contained some of the most bland and white food he had ever tasted. He felt horribly cynical. He ordered a plain cheeseburger that tasted like ash.

 

Celine sat across from him in the shitty little red, white, and blue booth. She glanced up at him every thirty seconds or so. Her eyes kept being drawn to a crushed little cockroach near his foot. She was concerned with Jon’s well being. Her nature made her sensitive to the feelings of others. Her morose tendencies were a connection she and David had had that Jon could never understand. She tried not to think about David any more. Instead she thought of Jon. She knew he felt without a friend and she wanted to be there for him, but inside she hid a great resentment. She felt ignored. She felt as if her own empathy for Jon was going unmatched. She hated him for not thinking of her; she loved David just as much as he did. But at the same time she understood­­David and Jon were bonded long before she entered the picture. She resented him for not being able to feel that the loss was just as important to her. She knew this was not true, but she hated him for it just the same. She looked up again and saw Jon’s eyes, hazel and glassy, and she choked up. Her heart was crushed under the weight of passion, with the love that kills.

 

She let her fork fall onto the plastic tray beneath her hands and spoke. “This place sucks,” she said.

 

“You suggested it.”

 

“I just said the name of the first restaurant I saw. It’s not my fault they have good realtors.”

 

“True. It’s no one’s fault that this burger tastes like monkey ass.”


“Not the cook’s?”


“No, he’s just making what the company wants.”


“That’s why I went with a salad. Lettuce is just solid water, and water tastes like water no

matter how much they try to doll it up.”

 

“I suppose.”

 

There was a long pause.


“I mean, if you don’t put dressing on it.”


“. . .”


“. . .”


“So are you sure you’re okay to keep driving? Driving while sleep deprived is just as

dangerous as driving drunk. Did you learn nothing from those pep rallies?”

 

“I think that’s a different thing than a pep rally.”


“Well they’re no less peppy than the football team’s record.”

 

“Honestly I’m not even that tired. I could drive all night.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Y es.”

 

“Don’t push it, Jon.”


“Look, I know how to drive a car. Leave me alone.”

 

“. . . ”


“I’m sorry, Celine. I know you’re just worried.”


“. . .”


“Thanks for caring,”


“. . .”


“I love you, Celine.”


“I love you too, Jon.”

 

...


Back in the car Celine shed soft tears. Dripping down. She told herself that she wept not

for herself and Jon but for David. Twenty minutes later she was fast asleep, facing away from Jon, towards the window. Head pressed against glass. She fell asleep watching the motion of the air outside the car. The intimacy forced on her by the situation killed her need for isolation.

 

Jon felt that he should do something to comfort her. He didn’t understand her. He didn’t know what she was feeling. She was asleep. He hadn’t understood David either. He didn’t understand his relationship with David.

 

He looked over to her. She had the eyelashes of a makeup model and a dainty little nose that turned up at the end. Her deep breaths fogged up the bottom corner of the window on which she laid her head and Jon felt the invisible pressure of her plush lips and he felt her mouth come up to his and the phantom kiss was so real he could taste the Mountain Dew and onion ring flavor of her mouth. He wanted to feel safe with her. He wanted to lie his head on her shoulder and feel her carry him through tragedies yet to come.

 

He looked at her­­her hair straight, eyes shut, mouth parted, breasts slowly rising up and down from a constant breathing pattern, arms crossed, fingers hanging from limp palms­­fulfillment, gaiety, and pleasure consumed him and he knew he must be weak; only through weakness could a strength this powerful come.

 

John looked to the road ahead. A car’s lights flashed for just a moment.

 

The road snaked to the right, causing the car to veer towards the left lane and Jon looked back to Celine and felt an incredible rush and how he kissed her and how he wanted to feel her skin against his and how he wanted to act on the intimacy that clouded his mind and how he wanted so badly to tell her he was sorry for every stupid thing he would ever do.

 

Another car passed its lights lit up the night and he knew that she was mad at him but he didn’t care because he was mad about her and he loved her he loved that he didn’t understand her and he thanked a God he didn’t necessarily believe in and he thanked God for this girl and he thanked God for the sensation going through him and it had something to do with dopamine that is the brain chemical that gets you high and though he hated the labeling of such a real emotion as this love as scientific he didn’t care because he didn’t care about labels or vocabulary or biology or DNA or what made a person happy or sad or strong or weak because he was grateful for this moment here with this beautiful person and the lights of a car approached Jon and he chortled out a sick little laugh and tears came to his eyes and he felt whole and he turned toward her and thought about the joyful prospect of spending his last moments with her he wished for a crash and turned the wheel straight toward the approaching headlights and suddenly he was moving toward the lights and they sped towards him like the patch of grass he watched but motion here is no lie and screeching the cars passed Thank God We Passed shattering road horn wind and it was all over and there was no more the crash (ERRERRRRRERKKREEKEEE­ KEKKKKRRRKUSHHHHSHHSHSRR) And It Was Good because here she was next to him with the foul mouth and the plush lips that protruded from behind the black hoodie the draw of her breath and the life and he wished for such a heavenly way to die And he thought: The pleasure, the privilege is mine.

 

THE END

 

 

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