So I was walking into work and saw the streetlights go out. It was a strange thing, and not just because it’s the summer and the days are getting longer which means the sun is pretty well up most days when I’m on my way into work. And unlike sunrise and sunset which are slow events the streetlights going out, or coming on, is a sudden change. Blink, look away, or just not look at the right time and you’ll miss it. It reminded me of when I was six or seven and had a strange obsession with streetlights. When I was riding in the back of the car at night I’d lean up against the window and look up at them as they went by, and I felt like they were looking back at me like giant cyclopean eyes—mostly amber, but also the silvery white ones, brighter than the moon. We lived on a cul-de-sac and I’d stand under the street light and look up into it, fascinated by the black blotch in it where insects had crawled in and died, and I’d watch moths bounce around it and wonder if they’d ever break free. Or I could turn away from it and see how our house cast a sharp shadow. It was so easy to step from light into infinite darkness and back again. Even then, even in summer when I’d be out in the street with my friends, it was rare that I would see the lights come on. It was as though it were something I wasn’t meant to see. Our house was also on the edge of a hill, and from my window in the back I could look out at the cul-de-sac parallel to ours, or at the intersection at the bottom of the hill. On humid nights or when there was fog or a light rain there’d be a halo around the streetlights, as though they were growing brighter.
Once when I was staying with my grandparents they took me to visit some people who had a basketball court in their backyard. They had a high power lamp that hung over it that looked like a streetlamp, and I thought, oh, they must have taken one from the street and put it here. I didn’t think of them as having stolen it. Instead I just thought how interesting it was that a streetlamp could be pulled up and transplanted, like a tree. I wondered if my parents could take one and put it in our backyard. Maybe, I thought, the streetlamp on our street is lonely and it would like a friend.
Seeing the streetlights go out also brought back a more recent memory. I was sitting in a coffee shop one evening, next to the window. It was just on the cusp of darkness but the streetlights hadn’t come on yet. A guy parked next to the sidewalk and got out and started putting change in the parking meter. He was bald and skinny and in the half-light his silhouette looked like Nosferatu. While he was still putting change in the parking meter a woman walked up and started hitting him. It looked like she was really hitting him hard, too. I wondered if I should say something, but “Help! Some woman is beating up Nosferatu on the sidewalk!” just didn’t seem like it would get much response. And he was continuing to put money in the parking meter—maybe he was using pennies, or planning to park there for three or four days. He seemed oblivious to the pummeling. Then the streetlights came on and I looked away from the couple for just a moment. When I turned back Nosferatu and the woman were hugging and then they began to rock back and forth slowly, and I wondered, for a moment, if I should yell, “Help! Nosferatu and some woman are slow-dancing on the sidewalk!” but I couldn’t decide if that was a bad thing or not. The whole scene had been so strange, as though it were something I wasn’t meant to see.
Street lamps of all different styles and shades (get it, shades?). When you mentioned the blink and look way it reminded me of the Dr. Who episode with those stone statues the Weeping Angels that if you blink they get closer. One of my favorite story lines in Dr. Who’dom, When my street finally got street lights it was three, and that was it until recently when my parents said they were all replaced with the new fangled LED type street light. As for the strange woman dancing with Nosferatu, that must have been a sight, as a kid one tends to wonder whats going on in the minds of adults you see randomly as you did that day.
Yes, I definitely get you throwing some shade, and I’m glad you reminded me of The Weeping Angels on Doctor Who–one of my favorite stories too. In fact in my pottery class I made one of those angels with a base that says “Don’t blink” and gave it to a friend which, if you think about it, was a pretty cruel thing to do.
Anyway I always see weird things going on. Maybe it’s because my sense of humor is a little dark.
Wow, I love the way your mind works. When I was young, we were allowed to play until the streetlights came on. Such a cliche, I know, but it’s true. I still remember protesting, “But they’re not ALL the way on yet!”
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I think I was lucky living on a cul-de-sac where my parents could look right out the front door and see me under the streetlight, although there were times when I had to come in after dark. And I’d protest too that there was still light–technically light all night long.
I wonder if it’s enlightening to know that we both grew up on cul-de-sac’s, Chris, or as we used to call it “a dead end” which is much darker when you think about it. Thanks for shining your light here, as always.
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There is something enlightening about that, and I suspect that when we both think about cul-de-sacs we’re both reminded–although neither of us thought to mention it before–of Steven Wright’s joke, “I live on a one-way dead-end street. I can’t remember how I got here.”
My dad’s company was responsible for installing the street lights in Thunder Bay. As a result, we had two street light poles in our backyard that had basketball nets on the end.
I was in a store getting a new phone for our girl yesterday and listened to a man swearing at the top of his lungs in the store at the woman buying him the phone. When the swearing stopped I realized they had left the store carrying a phone bag. He continued to scream at the woman on the street causing a scene. Then they hugged and she walked away. Mental illness was my unqualified diagnosis.
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That’s really strange. The man screaming at the woman buying him a phone, I mean. If I were her I’d be inclined to buy him one of those phones filled with candy. You just never really know with people, though.