The light didn’t come on. I falsely assumed the bulb had burnt out. I got another bulb; a replacement for the one I thought faulty. I removed the bulb and shook it, no telltale rattle. I replaced it anyway, setting the other aside. I didn’t put it away, I set it aside.
The new bulb didn’t work either; it had never been the problem I checked the combinations of on-off switches, both the pull down chain near the bulb, and the switch on the cord. I didn’t want to consider the possibility that it was unplugged. Who would have unplugged it and why? Another possibility occurred to me, the wall-switch the one that controls the wall plug. I switched it to the opposite position, and went through the series of switches again, two switches, both on, both off, one on one off, one off one on, four possibilities and only one solution. The initial problem was even more complicated. The wall switch, the bulb, the pull down chain, the cord switch, and the wall plug. I made some assumptions. I took a shortcut, and it paid off. Five switches, all of which had to be properly set. A combination of five things taken two at a time. Thirty-two possibilities, thirty-one lead to darkness one to light, but like I said I made some assumptions and it paid off.
The next day, the new bulb is illuminating my reading area, I’m trying to read, but my wife is chatting. She’s in the hall closet searching for paint. “I have hundreds of different colors, and never the right one” she says. I’m trying to read, and her chatter is annoying me. “Someone needs to replace the bulb in the hallway,” she says. I know she expects me to respond, but I’m reading, and I’m already annoyed. I can see the bulb I removed the day before. I’m not looking at it, but I know it’s there, not where it belongs, but near me on the shelf. It looks out of place. I left it there because I was too lazy to put it away. I know she will speak again. Can’t she see I’m reading, am I being unreasonable. There is no way to stop her so I set the book on the table and stand up. I take a step to my left retrieving the bulb from its place, I take another step and lean over the gate, the gate that keeps the dog out of the living room. “HERE,” I say, handing her the bulb. She’s surprised, she shakes it. “It’s good,” I say, offering no further explanation, hoping to cut the conversation short. “Where did you get it,” she says. She knows I didn’t get it from the closet where we keep the bulbs. Exasperated I say, “I pulled it out of my ass.” “You pulled it out of your ass” she says. “That’s right I pulled it out of my ass.” I sit back down, retrieve my book and begin to read.
Meanwhile, she has removed the cut glass shade to replace the bulb. “The shade is dirty,” she says, “look at this.” “Can’t you see I’m reading and that your talking distracts me,” I say. I immediately regret my harsh tone, but say nothing that will delay me getting back to my book. I finish the chapter. I can’t read anymore; there is tension in the air. I pick up my book and enter the room where she’s now painting. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. She looks up, smiles and says, “hey can’t you see I’m painting.”
