In the Room Of Light

by Jeff Baker

Ethan sighed as he walked from the bus stop towards the little building made of round stones. He patted the small paper bag in his jacket pocket. The big stores couldn’t replace the burned-out bulb from the old floor lamp that had been his Mom’s Grandmothers. One of the clerks had recommended a place called “In the Room Of Light,” on the west side of town so Ethan took the bus and found himself walking up to the little shop. The windows were probably glazed because it looked dark inside.

Inside was another story.

Floor lamps, table lamps, chandeliers hanging almost down to the floor from the ceiling, most of them lit. The room looked bright somehow. Like Christmas, Ethan thought. One side of the room had a wall of bare bulbs in sockets and even a mirrored dressing table ringed with lights like he’s seen on TV.

He pulled the bag out of his pocket and looked around for a clerk in the maze of lights. He saw a thin, balding man behind a small counter against a wall, sitting in front of a cash register, going through receipts. The man was facing the back wall and didn’t look up as Ethan approached.

“Um,” Ethan said. “I’m trying to find a replacement for this bulb…they sent me here.”

The clerk muttered “Let me see,” and reached out a hand without even turning. He glanced at the bulb and said “Yes. They don’t make many of these anymore. But we carry them.”

He reached under the counter and rummaged around and then handed Ethan a duplicate bulb that looked new. He still didn’t look up at Ethan.

“Uh, thanks,” Ethan said. “How much do I owe you?”

“Twenty,” the clerk said, busy with his receipts.

Ethan’s Mom had given him fifty dollars to cover the replacement bulb “just in case.” She knew the bulbs were an off-size. And Ethan had bus fare, his own money from his part-time job at the burger place. He set a twenty on the counter and put the new bulb in the little paper sack.

The clerk turned and picked up the twenty.

Ethan stared. It was like the man was only half there. He was divided right down the middle and his right hand side wasn’t there but there was a dim light coming out of the length of his body. It reminded Ethan of a light bulb he’d seen set in a coffee cup as a decoration one time.

Ethan ran, clutching the bag. Somehow he made it through the maze of lights and out the shop door. He didn’t really remember the bus ride home except that he spent it sweating and shaking.

He watched his Mom put the bulb in the lamp telling him he shouldn’t run with a light bulb in his pocket.

—end—