Into the Twilight
The third short story in a series of studies on light
Seth walked along the street. For the moment, he was immune to the creeping evening chill. He made his own warmth, powered by a day of sunshine and good friends. The taste of succulent burgers languished on his tongue. Beer took the edge off the world.
Seth was happy.
The twilight gloom began to thicken. His good mood started to deflate with the darkness. Some unseen children squealed with joy but their voices sounded thin in the evening air. There was a clang of a plate being scraped. This was answered by a yap from an excited dog. To Seth, they were just noises. All exuberance was squashed by the grey, lifeless light. Seth sighed and walked on, his jaunty stride becoming a mournful trudge.
A car purred by. Just visible inside were two young people. The passenger, a woman, had her head on the shoulder of the driver.
Instinctively, Seth reached out his hand. But, of course, Muriel wasn’t there. She would have so enjoyed the day, Seth reflected. Her laugh would have filled the company of friends, inflating their spirits like balloons.
But she hadn’t been there today. Seth’s memories of the afternoon transposed into a minor key. He had missed something important. Was there a sense of loss, caused by Muriel’s absence, that he had ignored?
Lulls in the conversation popped up anew in his memory. He had told himself the silences were just moments where no one had anything to say. Now, Seth wondered if people were, in fact, avoiding talking about Muriel.
He sighed. The weight of the sigh seemed to add to the darkness. The beer bubbled up again. Grease clung to his palate. Seth felt unclean. The excesses of the day were a poison spreading through his body. He groaned at echoes of his own booming laughter.
Finally, he was at the gate of his bungalow. Their bungalow. He pushed at the wrought-iron that Muriel had insisted on. He had wanted wood. It all seemed silly now, those squabbles and rows. The chill of the black gate stayed in his fingers. Seth hurried down the path, desperate to get indoors.
His fingers curled gratefully around his mug. The steamy warmth of the drink mingled with the sullen air. Seth was sitting by the open back door. The garden was black and silent. He sat, aware of the damp and the chill, yet unwilling to shut it out. The cold served to jump-start his mind. It forced him into a shocking awareness. He sipped his tea, thinking of Muriel. Behind him, a cup of tea sat cooling on the table. It was made just the way she would have liked it.
A shudder ran down his spine. Reality hit him, followed by resolve. He must go to that place. The place where his worst fears were realised. The place he dreaded. But it was his duty to Muriel. He had to do right by her. He got up, walked across the kitchen and grabbed a pen from the messy drawer that Muriel had hated. In a shadowy corner, there hung a calendar. He turned over a few pages, feeling guilty as time flew by. Finally, the calendar showed the current month. He squinted at the page. Today’s date finally made itself clear to him through the gloom. Squinting, he scrawled a note in tomorrow’s space.
‘Visit Muriel @ Care Home’.
Seth let the calendar go. It swung on its nail. He watched it, oddly satisfied. Then, he crossed to the back door once more. It slammed closed.
The dark night was shut out.
This story draws inspiration from the song ‘This is Love’ by Mary Chapin Carpenter. https://open.spotify.com/track/1ZXQalacfds4nQz1ZxXsNR
