We Are All Light

Rumbling high above the clouds, Ann’s plane soared onwards toward Michigan. She sat in her seat quietly, looking out the window, content with her thoughts for the duration of the three hour ride. The plains below her were a faint green glimpsed between gaps in the graying clouds. She thought she could detect the tiny towns peppering the ground, but she might have been imagining it. Wisps of gossamer cloud trailed across the glaring wing. The sun shone brightly overhead, though it was most likely hiding from the people under the overcast sky. Ann imagined for a moment that she was an Eloi, along with the other people on the plane. The people below were the Morlocks, toiling during the day and hunting Ann’s fellow Eloi at night. Ann loved her science fiction, and had just reread The Time Machine by H.G. Welles.

Thinking of the plane eventually brought her focus back to where she was. The roar of the engines was loud, and Ann found it hard to believe she had been nearly oblivious to it in her daydreams. The child in front of her shrieked as Ann saw a small toy La-La roll to her feet from under the seat before her. Picking it up, she handed it to the apologetic mother. Despite the cramped conditions, loud engines, louder children, and inedible lunchmeat, Ann actually liked flying. It was a sort of escapism--she could pretend to be a rich duchess flying high over Europe instead of a poor college senior flying out to visit her ex-boyfriend.

Memories of Alan wrenched her good mood away in a sudden and vicious yank. She hadn’t seen him for five months, since they broke up when Ann realized she couldn’t handle living with the near constant pain over Alan’s betrayal. He had moved back to Michigan to keep his mother company, and though they still talked from time to time, they had not visited each other since. She still loved him, however, and when he told her that his mother had passed away and when he had told her how lonely he was, and how he hated having to make all the arrangements by himself, Ann agreed to fly out to Grand Rapids to provide him whatever comfort she could.

...the burden of the other comes to be
light as a feather blown, more quickly vanishing.

Ann took a taxi to Alan’s house, refusing to become a bother, illogically denying that he was causing her any inconvenience. She stepped out, paid the driver, and stood awkwardly in front of his house for a moment, shifting the weight of the luggage from her fingers to her palms. There is a peculiar way that houses have of becoming darker when death has been present recently. It is an invisible and yet impenetrable black velvet curtain that hangs across the doorways and windows, calling a reminder to all that death can come to anyone. Ann braced herself to walk up the driveway when the front door opened, and there was Alan. Her breath caught, and all their pain was laid intermingled before them. Ann’s aching sense betrayal, Alan’s grief over his mother’s death. His sore remorse, her quiet sympathy. An interminable pause passed in which Ann’s voice was held captive under the pressure in her chest. Alan stared at her, eyes sorrowfully red-rimmed. He smiled weakly. Remembering herself, Ann awkwardly attempted a comforting hug. Neither could speak.

...so forgiving of the ways
we hold each other down

Ann and Alan sat silently on the living room couch as if penitent churchgoers. Graciously, neither spoke and they were alone with their thoughts. Ann used this moment as a time to regroup and fortify herself to be strong for Alan’s sake. Imagining herself preparing for battle, sending troops this way and that, she calmed herself. The fan whirled with a quiet hum above their heads, rustling Ann’s hair gently. She glanced at Alan out of the corner of her eye and felt a slight tensing in her chest. Her heart still softened for him, but then the pain of her hurt was that much more intense. His green eyes were a few shades duller now and his eyelids were red.

"Ann," he started, his voice full of unsaid apologies, "Thank you for coming here. I know how hard it must be."

At that he looked up and gazed at her, his eyes wet and brimming with a pain Ann did not recognize at first. After a moment of quiet, realization broke through her stare and she knew, with a bit of shock, that he was as hurt as she was. Her face scrunched in remorse and she surrendered herself to his embrace, and he held her until her tears stopped flowing.

...that watching him,
I see how men love women, and women men

Italicized phrases are from a poem by Liz Rosenberg called "In the End, We are All Light."

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