Lights> Part One Malena Mann

Author's Note: 

In these first chapters I introduce several key ideas that are central to the plot as well as the characters that will be partaking in the plot. I explain how the world that the characters are in works, which was extremely challenging because I wanted to focus on the characters more than on the weird world that they live in. I also plan on adding to these chapters, I just need some guidance on how to do that and what particular elements to expand on. I'm struggling with the main character's voice since she's temperamental and sassy. I want to keep her strong voice but I need to balance it out so that she's still likable and relatable to the readers. I'm also unsure as to how much backstory I should provide. Lastly, I  struggled with the verb tense that I wrote in. I use a lot of flashbacks but I stick to the past tense throughout the whole thing. I think it might be best to switch to present but I would like to hear what people think bout it first. Thankfully, all of these issues and questions can be addressed during the workshop. 

Chapter 1

We call them lights, those small glowing orbs of the remnants of the people that we once were. At least that’s what I call them. They have many names: angels, ghosts, spirits. I’m not sure whose light I saw first, probably a stranger’s, but I remember the first time I realized what they were. I was eleven and at my grandmother’s passing ceremony. Grandma Linda had died two days ago and ever since we had been celebrating her passing at our house. Her casket had been sitting in the middle of our living room, replacing our coffee table and partially blocking the television. I didn’t quite know what was happening. I thought grandma was napping in a strange box in the living room for no good reason and Capri and I kept trying to wake her up by throwing paper planes at her so that we could regain the quarter of the screen that the top of her casket hid. We had given up on waking her and were trying to watch TV when a sharp cracking sound echoed through the house. Capri and I jumped and screamed and my mother, who had been in the kitchen, ran to us. She told us to be quiet and watch. Grandma Linda’s body began to swell at an alarming rate, like one of the helium balloons that mom used to get me for my birthdays. Grandma Linda continued to grow until the loose cream button-down shirt that she was wearing stretched as far as it would go, old pale skin peeking in-between the buttons. When I was convinced her shirt was going to rip there was a strange high pitched whistling sound as her body began to deflate. I covered my ears in an effort to muffle the sharp sound but it echoed inside my head. By now grandma’s body had folded into itself, the saggy skin covering the bones like a thin tablecloth. I was so busy looking at the skin and bones that I missed the small flickering light that was dancing almost a foot above grandma’s face. In fact I would have missed the glowing orb completely if Grandma hadn’t told me to look at her. That’s when I understood what the lights really are.

Now I would much rather be waiting for Capri’s splintering than sitting on this rickety plastic chair at Blue Ridge’s Memorial Yard. Capri and I used to call it the Junk Yard since the only thing in it are headstones, empty caskets, and plastic foldout chairs for the lost ceremonies. This is my first time attending a lost ceremony and considering its being held for my dead best friend it sucks just as bad as I had initially imagined. All it really is is Mr. Carter delivering a speech in honor of the lost and then burying the empty caskets under the marked headstones. The ceremony should be starting soon. Mr. Carter is standing behind a small wooden podium going over his notes, which is odd since they are likely to be the generic “they left this world too soon” spiel that anyone that watches television is probably familiar with. By now most of the chairs are occupied. This isn’t really surprising since the Thompson family has been a part of Blue Ridge’s community for generations. Even Mayor Neils is here, sitting in the middle section of one of the two columns of chairs.

At first I tried keeping up with who was showing up, taking little mental notes like the following: Laura Schneller. 20. Amelia’s best friend. Is wearing a purple polka-dot dress that would have made Capri cringe. Maurice Fink. 18. The Thompson’s neighbor. Collects bird feathers. Weirdo.  Mr. Matthews. Old. High school principal. Dyes his hair but won’t admit to it and has several small cacti decorating his office. I was about to start taking notes on Jeremy Wayne when I felt something on my lap. I looked down to see my mom’s hand on my knee. She gave it a light squeeze and threw me a pity smile. A smile that I had grown uncomfortably familiar with over the last few days.

Doctor Thompson, Mrs. Thompson, Amelia, and Capri were all sleeping in their home when it caught on fire. They’re saying it was an electrical spark that started in the kitchen due to the faulty toaster. That toaster had been broken for weeks, staying on unless you unplugged it from the wall or jammed a fork into the base of the switch that forces the bread tray to pop up. That night, Capri and her family had tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. She was supposed to spend the night over at my house after eating with her family but Doctor Thompson had a patient with an emergency and ended up working late, so Capri texted me to let me know that she wouldn’t be able to make it to my house. I told her I would see her at school the next day.

We should have thrown that toaster away. Capri and I had talked about tossing it in the trash and forcing Mrs. Thompson to go buy one. Capri’s mom loved toast; she had it every morning for breakfast. No exceptions. Mrs. Thompson said she would go to the store and get a new one, but she never did.       

Mr. Carter cleared his throat, scanned the quieting crowd and began his speech.

“‘Those who are lost are not forgotten.’ Never have these words been truer than with the Thompson family. Kind, loving, and generous, Edward, Lucy, Amelia, and Capri will continue to live in our hearts despite their tragic loss. I remember when Edward…”

I had heard enough. I untangled my headphones, unwrapping them from around my phone. I plugged them in, inserting a small bud into each ear, resigning myself to wait this out.

Chapter 2

It was only after Grandma Linda died that I became interested in the lights. I had seen and heard the lights before, but I had never really cared about what they said. Learning that Grandma Linda was gone but not really made me feel relieved at first. It was like she had never left, she reminded me to brush my teeth before going to bed and she asked me how school went, even though she followed me to school. Those were also the disadvantages of having her as a light. She had the ability to follow me anywhere, exponentially expanding her nagging radius.

After grandma died, mom brought it upon herself to explain the traumatic events that Capri and I had just witnessed. She made us hot chocolate, even though it was three o’clock and the middle of the summer, and had us sit in the kitchen. The remains of Grandma Linda were still in the living room and we weren’t keen on going back there anytime soon.

“Splintering is the final stage of the passing,” said mom. “When a person dies, the soul needs time to condense into its purest form. Depending on how complex your soul is this can take anywhere from hours to days or months. When you splinter, your soul is finally able to break free of your body.”

“Does it hurt?” asked Capri, noisily sipping on hot chocolate.

“No, honey. People don’t even remember it.”   

I wasn’t quite sure I believed her. After all, how would she know if she has never died? Grandma Linda must have sensed my skepticism or read my mind because next thing I new she was talking to me. The weird thing about talking to lights is that it all happens in your head. I had heard other lights in my head before but never someone’s voice that I was particularly interested in listening to, which made it extremely easy to simply shut these voices out or treat them as background noise.

“I don’t remember feeling anything,” said grandma.

“Its so weird that we can still hear her,” I said.

“You will get used to it sweetheart,” said mom. “And you can learn to shut it out if it bothers you too.”

“But what about Ms. Linda?” asked Capri.

“She will continue to be with us. That is the beauty of passing and splintering, we never really have to say goodbye.”

That night I couldn’t go to bed. Grandma Linda’s light kept flickering by the foot of my bed, shadows bouncing around my small room. I tried blocking it out, the way mom said I could. But no matter how hard I tried the light continued to dance behind my closed eyelids. I finally asked grandma if she could leave and she floated through my bedroom door, disappearing. I didn’t see grandma until over a week later.

Chapter 3

            It’s been a week since Capri’s death. I’ve been spending my days talking to Grandma Linda and watching TV. My summer excitement and activities were centered on Capri. We had spent all of spring semester coming up with a list of things that we wanted to do during summer break. We would be seniors in the fall so this would be our last truly enjoyable summer, without having to worry about things such as college, moving away, and making new friends. Her death brought all my plans to a sudden halt. We had only gotten through the first six items on our list on the night she died. We were supposed to go to the beach today. We had begged Amelia to let us tag along with her and her friend Laura and they had surprisingly agreed. Capri tried to convince me that this was entirely an act of kindness from Amelia’s heart, but I have a feeling Capri might have threatened to blackmail her. Capri always got what she wanted no matter the cost, and blackmailing was her specialty.

Instead of spending my summer tanning by Capri’s pool, I had spent this last week painting and repainting my nails and watching bad reality shows. The light grey couch in the living room was slowly but surely getting a permanent dent from my butt cheeks. 

Mom’s friend, Charlotte, told her that it’s normal for me to feel this way and convinced her to buy me a fish. I don’t know how a fish is supposed to help me feel better about losing my friend forever but my mom fell for it. I had gone out for an afternoon jog, the first since Capri died, only to find my mom had come back from work, with a fish. She said that I had to name it and that I had to treat it the way I would treat Capri’s light.

            “So you want me to replace my dead friend with a fish?” I asked.

            “Olivia, you’re being dramatic. I’m just trying to—“

            “No! Don’t try to understand. Just leave me alone.”

            Even though I had just gone on a jog I headed back outside. I walked to the end of our driveway, stopping next to our mailbox. I took a deep breath before putting my headphones in and ran, not bothering paying attention to where I was headed.

            Capri’s house is exactly 1.2 miles away from mine. Or rather it used to be. I was running without paying much attention and I ended up running straight to where the Thompson’s house used to stand. Capri and I have lived in the same neighborhood since I moved here when I was seven years old. Beechwood Grove is an old neighborhood with grand Victorian style homes intermixed with nature trails, creeks, and woods. The developers decided that it was essential for Beechwood Groves to embrace the American right to own land and had provided plenty of space between every home. During those especially hot and humid days that I would walk to Capri’s house I used to curse the patriotic assholes that designed our stupid neighborhood. The route to Capri’s house is particularly beautiful since it requires cutting straight through the beechwood grove that the neighborhood is named after. Capri’s house used to be a beautiful three-story house with a large screened porch, pool, and greenhouse. It was probably one of the largest and most beautiful homes in all of Beechwood Grove. The house was a beautiful robins egg blue and had ornate trimmings in a soft cream color. Capri used to call it The Nest.

            The Nest has changed a lot since I last saw it. Everything was lost in the fire except for the greenhouse, which was placed a little ways behind the house. The once grand structure was now nothing but a heap of burnt wood. Even though the fire had taken place over a week ago the smell of smoke and burnt wood was still strong. I pulled my headphones out and walked up the stone pathway that led straight to where the steps to the bright yellow door to the house used to be. Some wooden stakes had been planted around the scene, yellow police tape running through them like cheerful streamers.  I assumed that whatever was salvageable, if there was anything, had already been removed from the site.

            I don’t know how long I stood there, looking at the charred remains, but I would have probably stayed put a lot longer if it hadn’t been for the sound of steps coming towards me. I turned around to see Maurice Fink and a police officer walking up the stone steps.

            “Olivia?” asked Maurice.

            Even though Maurice and I went to the same school and essentially grew up next to each other we probably never exchanged more than a few words between us. He was a year older than us and never seemed to be one with many friends. In fact, Maurice would have probably managed to live his entire life unnoticed if it weren’t for the wild mop of blonde curls that sat atop his head. His crazy mane attracted many unwanted stares that usually sent the poor guy shuffling in the opposite direction.

            “You can’t be here, Miss,” said the officer, reaching the last stone on which I stood.

            “How come?” I asked

            “Olivia, I’m sure the officer has his reasons. Why don’t you—“

            “Whatever,” I said, interrupting Maurice.     

            I shuffled past the officer and Maurice and began my descent down the stone path. I had reached the mailbox when I heard quick steps behind me.

“Olivia, wait.”   

            I kept walking, deciding it was probably time for me to jog back home when I felt Maurice grab my arm. I turned to yank my arm away but he surprisingly had a firm grip.

            “I’m sorry,” Maurice said as he shook some of the curls away from his eyes.

            “You already called the cops, its fine. I just want to go home.”

            “I didn’t call them, Olivia. Look, I’m really sorry. Not just about right now, but about—“

            “Its fine, Reese. I just want to go home.”

            He threw me one last pity smile before letting go of my arm. I put my headphones back in and jogged home. When I got home the sun was beginning to set and my parents were sitting in the kitchen. Dad was chewing on a sandwich while mom worked on filling out a crossword puzzle. I walked in just in time to hear mom cheating.

            “What is the ‘Asian language in a region famous for tigers?’” she asked.

            “Bengali,” I said as I grabbed an apple from the bowl between them. “Also, that’s cheating, cheater.”

            Mom hurried to fill in the word and smiled at me.

            “Its not cheating if I ask my smart daughter for help,” said mom.

            “You said you wanted to do this on your own!” I said, trying not to spit out apple everywhere.

            “That’s true,” said dad.

            Mom has been saying she’s going to fill out a crossword puzzle by herself without cheating for years. She has been at it everyday for nearly two years and so far hasn’t managed it. I may not agree with her crossword-filling ethics but I admire her determination.

            “Do you want a sandwich or anything to eat, Oli?” asked mom, setting down her pen.

            She’s been filling crosswords out for nearly two years and she still refuses to do it with a pencil.

            “No thanks, I think I’m just going to go to bed,” I said.

            I’m making my way out of the kitchen when I see the pathetic fish sitting in the small circular glass bowl that my mom got for it. Mom set the fish on the small table where we set our keys, gum, and spare change. I walk up to it and bend down to look at it more closely. The fish is floating uninterestedly close to the surface, barely moving. It’s not very big, but the beta fish is beautifully colored in multiple shades of blue going from a metallic teal to a midnight blue and a black tail tip. I smile at it and pick the small bowl, making my way to my room, fish in tow. Capri’s favorite color was blue.