A. Candle's Light Read online

e’s Light

  By A.S. Morrison

  Copyright 2014 A.S. Morrison

  The parking lot slowly emptied beneath the apartments on Grayland Avenue. The sixty or so windows that looked out were drawn on the cold early spring day. Most rooms sat silent, awaiting their occupants to return from work or school. One of those quiet rooms, 305, had only one sound. A young man occasionally clicked at a mouse. He looked over a page and quickly went to another tab to compare. He shook his head, long brown hair swished a little higher onto his forehead, only to fall back into his eyes a minute later.

  The couch against the wall creaked. A small hand moved over to the small cluttered table. A finger flicked a folded piece of paper a little closer to the couch. The hand reached out and grabbed it.

  “What’s this? It says ‘Dear Resident’—”

  “Put that down.” The young man at the computer barked.

  “I was just looking.” The little girl sniffled. “I’ll put it back.” She reached forward and put the paper back where she found it.

  The young man didn’t turn away from the computer. His own finger flicked the mouse and deleted a tab. He took a deep breath and began to type, slow at first, and then his fingers picked up speed.

  “I’m bored.” The girl said.

  The young man rested his palms against the table with a thud, the clicking of keys stopped.

  “Then find something to do.”

  “I can’t. There’s nothing here.”

  “Now you’ll learn not to get sick.”

  The girl coughed. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “You sound terrible, Elsie, lie down.”

  “I don’t want to lie down.”

  The young man punched slowly at the keys with his left hand. “Then walk to school, you can sit up there.”

  “Mommy says I’ll get everyone sick.”

  “Do you want to be a scientist?” He asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well go and try out your hypothesis anyway.”

  “Why don’t you have a T.V.?”

  “I don’t want to pay for it.”

  “We have two T.V.’s.”

  “That’s nice.” The young man said, starting to type with both hands again.

  For a few minutes the only sounds were of typing and occasional sniffles.

  “Do you want to play a game?”

  “No, Elsie.”

  “Do you want to go to watch T.V.? Mommy won’t mind.”

  “She told you to stay here.”

  “She only said that because you are here. She doesn’t want to have a babysitter come over so she has me come here. I can go home if you come.”

  “No.”

  The young man hit on an idea and tried to get it down before he forgot it.

  “What’s Al short for?”

  “What?” He said exasperatedly. He groaned when he saw he had accidentally typed short instead of share.

  “You’re names Al. What’s it short for?”

  “Alfred.”

  “I like that.”

  He turned away from the computer for the first time in over an hour. “You’ll get better faster if you try to sleep.”

  “I can’t. You’re too loud.”

  Al scanned the small apartment for a place where she could lie down. The floor was bare except for the couch, the table, and the desk where he sat. There was a small kitchen area in the corner and three doors. One was to the hall, one was to a closet, and the last was to the bathroom.

  Elsie looked around the apartment as well. “Ours is much bigger. We have bedrooms.”

  “That’s nice.” He said dully, turning back to the screen.

  There was quiet once more. Al read over what he wrote, trying to come up with what to write next. He was almost finished, just a few more minutes and he could start on another.

  “Alfred Candle.” Elsie mused. “That’s a funny name.”

  “It’s Candel.”

  “The letter here says candle.”

  “They always spell it wrong. It’s on every check I give him and he still spells it wrong.”

  “Do you want to play a game now?”

  “No.”

  “I want to play a game.” She said, half singing.

  “I think you don’t seem very sick.”

  “I feel a little better now. Mommy gave me something before she left.”

  “Well get to sleep before it wears off.”

  Elsie put her head on the armrest of the couch. Al brought up a video and put his headphones in his ears. When the video was over he went back to what he was writing and started typing again. He finished it, saved it, and brought up a blank page. A large book fell into his lap and he flipped through it.

  “What are you doing?” Elsie asked, sitting up again.

  “Working.”

  “How do you get money?”

  “I’m doing it.”

  “What is it?”

  Al rubbed his eyes with his palms. “I write articles and reviews.”

  “Does it pay a lot?”

  “Not the way I do it.”

  “Mommy and daddy make lots of money.” Elsie stretched her hands out in front of her and looked at Al through the gaps between her fingers. “They have friends that come over and help. Sometimes they have friends over every day. They don’t stay very long.”

  Al lost focus on what he was doing and listened. “Does the building manager ever come over?”

  “Oh no, they hate him.”

  “But they pay him, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, all the time.” She sniffled.

  Al looked over to see the little girl sitting on the couch, her head to the side. A smile lit her face under her long brown hair. She looked tired, but not particularly sick.

  “Were you going to do anything exciting at school today?”

  “We were gonna start something new in math. I hate math.”

  “Do you miss your friends when you’re home sick?”

  “No, my friends are mean.”

  He turned to face her. “They’re mean?”

  “Yeah, especially Hazel. She’s the worst.” Elsie said, a grimace on her face. “Her dad owns a store. Everyone thinks that’s so cool. I don’t. I think she’s mean. And her dad is too. He wouldn’t give my mom a job.”

  “What store is it?”

  “Winbolt Pharmacy.”

  “Oh? I get my prescriptions filled there.”

  “Don’t. Hazel’s mean.”

  “What about you’re other friends?”

  “They’re worse. Mary saw me walking to school with my mom and she told everyone I was homeless. She told the teacher and the teacher told the school and they came by to see if I was. Mrs. Mason told Mary to stop.”

  “Did she?”

  “No. She still calls me that. Her friends do to. They call me homeless Elsie.”

  Al found his sympathy building. “You must have nice friends. Who do you sit with at lunch or play with at recess?”

  “I sit with Ernest. He never talks to anyone. He reads all lunch. Sometimes when I see Mary or Hazel making faces at me down the table I start talking to him. Once he even looked at me while I talked. But then he went back to his book. He reads big books. I wish I could read big books. I tried.”

  “And at recess?” Al asked, determined to find one thing Elsie liked about school.

  “I walk around with Catherine. She’s in another class this year. I went all around with her last year. I hate that she’s in another class. She called Mary names one day for pushing me. I wish she didn’t. Mary threw paper at me for days after when the teacher wasn’t looking. I hate Mary.”

  Al listened sa
dly, pushing the mouse around the desk absentmindedly. “Kids were mean to me at school too.” He said, staring at the wall above the couch. “They can be mean.” He turned back to the screen, but he forgot what he was doing. “Where’s your father? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “He’s visiting family. He goes a lot. Sometimes he stays gone for weeks and weeks. Mommy’s going in a few days, but only after daddy comes back.”

  “Do they ever take you?”

  “No, they say I’m not old enough. They’ll take me when I’m older.”

  He couldn’t concentrate with her talking to him. He needed his full attention to write the next review. He was beginning to wish that he had actually bought the product and tried it out. Al minimized the screen and put his computer on hibernate.

  “Do you have to leave?” Elsie asked.

  “What?” Al said, watching the screen turn dark.

  “The letter said—”

  “I might leave, but not for a while.” He stood up. “So, do you want to play a game?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, let’s play.”

  “But you said you didn’t want to.”

  “I’m done with work for now. What do you want to do?”

  Elsie jumped up from the couch as if she felt perfectly fine. Getting up so fast made her feel woozy. She put her hand on the table until she felt better. “One game I play with my dad—he describes a place and we go looking for treasure. Do you want to?”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “Describe something.”

  Al thought for a bit. “Alright,