Faulty Streetlights

It was 2 in the morning when Rick woke up, feeling the presence of the November chill intensified by the rain crawling to his skin while his ears were muffled by the monotonous rhythm of the raindrops pitter-pattering on the rooftop. The chill seeped even on the narrow gaps between the windows.
It took a few more minutes before he noticed two unusual things.
First, it was strangely dark. Naturally, the lights inside his room were out. But even so, there would always be light coming from the MERALCO post standing across the street from his apartment. Usually, its rays would be filtered by the dirty-white curtains hanging on his bedside window, bathing his room in what seemed to be an artificial moonlight. This time, there were no lights coming from it. As far as Rick knew, like the rest of the streetlights in the neighborhood, the one across the street has been victim to poor maintenance; and to think that a quarter of his total earnings from his 8 to 5 office work at a network service provider goes to taxes!
He eyed the window in his room for a while, trying to make out some image at the sky which was at that moment a canvass of black. The rain has formed veins on the glass. Rick reached his arm on the space beside him on the bed. His fingers felt the slight depressions on that space, and it confirmed the second unusual thing he noticed: she was not there.
All at once, the streetlight went on, and his room was cloaked in bluish-white light. It flickered for a while, like candlelight disturbed by a draft of wind—a sign that its presence would not be permanent.
Rick got up. He felt goose-bumps on his bare chest. He opened his dresser and put on a shirt.
As he stepped outside his room, he immediately noticed that the light in the dining room was turned on, and all around him wafted the scent of instant coffee.
“Up already?” Rick asked as he walked towards the dining room and saw the woman who was supposed to be sleeping beside him there, sitting on a chair, sipping coffee, her fingers wrapped around the cup’s handle, taking careful sips.
“Can’t sleep,” she said. She was wearing thin pajamas and a black cotton jacket with the sleeves rolled down all the way to her wrists. “There’s more hot water at the thermos, if you’d like some—”
“That’s all right,” Rick said. He was already filling a cup with water and was putting the coffee powder. Moments later, he joined her at the table. For a while, the only sounds present where the harmony of raindrops on the roof, the stainless steel teaspoon bumping on the ceramic cups, and the faint sound of a sip.
Rick watched her take out a cigarette from the pocket of her cotton jacket and lit it.
“Anything wrong?” Rick asked.
She exhaled smoke before answering. “Nothing.”
“Hmm,” he replied, somewhat finding difficulty decoding her answer. “You can tell me, you know.”
“I’m just cold. I can’t sleep feeling like this.”
“As if coffee will be any help,” Rick quipped. “It’ll just make you stay up.”
She stood to take an ashtray from the kitchen cabinet. “It’s been raining for hours now.”
“Since five in the afternoon yesterday,” Rick said. The scent of coffee and smoke lingered on his nostrils.
“The streets will get flooded again, don’t you think?” she asked.
“Now you’re turning away from my question,” Rick snapped.
“Let it go, honey. I’m up because I’m cold. Can’t we just leave it at that?”
“All right, all right. Whatever you say,” Rick said. A while later, he continued: “Although I doubt it that the streets will get flooded tomorrow. It’s not so wild a rain.”
“How would you know?” she said. “It may not be so wild a rain, but it’s been pouring for hours.”
Rick stared at her. “What’s bothering you?” he asked.
“What?”
“What’s with all that talk about the rain? Since when did you even care about the weather?” Rick asked.
“Am I not allowed to talk about it?” she asked.
“Of course you are,” Rick answered. “It’s just so…not you.”
She just smiled. She finished off her cigarette and Rick saw her eye the contents of her cup for a moment. Minutes later, the sound of the raindrops on the roof was gone. As the rain stopped, it brought this stillness all around them, as if the whole apartment was taking a deep breath.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe the streets wouldn’t get flooded.”
“Just pray that it wouldn’t pour again in the coming hours,” Rick said. “It’s been in a cycle, you know. Pour, then stop, then pour again, and then stop again.”
“Weather’s crazy,” she said.
“It’s like that damn faulty streetlight outside,” Rick said.
She looked at him. “Yeah. Speaking of which, that streetlight freaks me out,” she brushed back her hair with her fingers, revealing her ears. “The way it turns on and off in an unpredictable way gives me the feeling that something supernatural is around.”
Rick laughed. “It’s just broken.”
“Just imagine the accidents that could happen! Street accidents, hit-and-runs—not such good ways to go,” she said. “Terrible.” She drained her cup. Rick emptied his too, before lighting a cigarette. She put her elbows on the tabletop, her chin on her palm while staring at something at the ceiling as if analyzing something of prime importance there. Rick loved watching her like this; to him, it was her most beautiful pose—it gives him this proof that her mind was up and running, thinking, rationalizing things—that she was with him, alive and well.
“Honey,” she said, her eyes on Rick. “I wanna ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“How long do you think are we going to last?”
Surprise impaled Rick’s mind and he tried his best not to show it on his face. He simply took some time rolling thoughts inside his head, trying to come up with the right words to mutter. Contextually, Rick knew that the question wasn’t at all difficult, yet it felt so difficult. Not because he doesn’t have any answer, but because he wasn’t sure if she would be satisfied with his answer. You are the greatest thing I’ve ever had in my life. I want you to be the mother of my children; my companion until I die were the stupid, yet honest, words screaming inside his head.
“You don’t have to answer,” she said suddenly.
“What?” Rick replied, confused.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why I asked that.”
“Where did that question come from anyway?”
“I just thought about it—never mind,” she said almost at once.
“You wouldn’t ask that unless it came from something.”
“Like what?”
“Unless—” Rick began. “Unless you’ve thought about it.”
She didn’t reply. Instead, she stood, took their empty cups and placed them on the sink. The air was still frigid despite the absence of rain. Coffee and cigarette fumes have become frail hints of some past in an unseen realm. Rick was still at the chair, staring at the ashtray and the salt-and-pepper ashes littered there with the bent cigarette butts, placed there like some misshapen still-life. She was silent as she sat back, with Rick watching her.
“I’m going to Cavite this weekend,” Rick said, breaking the silence.
A nod was her only response.
“I was gonna ask if you wanna go but it seems—” Rick started.
“I have other plans,” she replied quickly that she almost stuttered.
Rick sighed. He looked at his palm, turned it around, trying to search for some right words to say now that he mentioned their hometown. “You should visit some time,” he finally said. “At least once a month.”
“Maybe someday.”
“A lot of things have changed, you know,” Rick went on. “The kids are grown-ups; the adults have turned into senior citizens; some old residents moved out, some moved in…”
She suddenly spoke. “People are born, people die.”
Rick looked at her. “There’s nothing wrong with visiting, you know,” he said. “Don’t you want to see your parents?”
Upon hearing his last word, he heard her click her tongue while her eyebrows curved, full of irritation. “I will visit,” she said. “But I’m not going back.”
“They’re the ones financing your stay here,” Rick reminded her. “Don’t forget that.”
“It’s their obligation,” she said. “That’s what they shouldn’t forget.”
Rick chose not to reply. He knew there was no point in going further. He looked at her and saw a pissed-off look spread all over her face.
“You know what,” it was she who spoke, and Rick could tell that from the sound of her voice, she was suppressing her irritation. “There are times when I simply think that I appeared in this world in this present state. No past. No memories. Nothing. Just tomorrow to think about.”
“That’s a terrible thing,” Rick replied.
She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said in a low voice while slightly nodding her head. “In this world it is.” She stood and then went back to the bedroom. Before the door completely closes, Rick followed her.
With the light coming from the post outside, Rick saw her lying there on the bed with her face on the pillows. He strained his ears and made out whispers of sobs. He sat on the bed and placed a hand on her shoulder, and then gently shook it.
“What’s wrong? Tell me,” he said. With that, she got up and faced him. A few strands of hair were sticking on her face, conspicuous even in the bluish-white light from the post outside.
“I’m sorry for being like this,” she said. “Sometimes, I think about a lot of things. One moment, I got them all here in my hands, and then all of a sudden it all falls apart.” She swallowed and wiped her tears with the blanket.
“You think too much,” Rick said. He didn’t know what was the right thing to say. Or, if there was a right thing to say, he thought this was not the right time for him to say it. “I’m sorry if I tried to talk you to going back to—”
She cut him short with a quick kiss. “Stop,” she said. She rested her head on his shoulder. “What if it comes to a point in time when I’d begin to realize that all of the things I’ve lived for were all mistakes?”
Rick tried thinking about what she said for a moment. “Well, those things led you to me. Do you consider being here with me as a mistake?”
To that, she didn’t reply. She just pressed her nose on Rick’s shoulder. Rick didn’t ask anymore; he knew she was upset and that they would always have plenty of time to talk about it.
“Why don’t we try to go back to sleep?” Rick said. “Maybe it’ll clear your mind.”
She slightly nodded. And then they lay, facing each other. Rick tried closing his eyes, clearing his mind so that sleep would come, but not a minute after closing them would he open them again, just to look at her. There was something wrong, he could feel it. That thought has penetrated his consciousness and peace wouldn’t come unless he got some answers.
“But do tell me,” Rick said. “What really is wrong?”
“Just me and my problems,” she replied, her lips barely moving, its outline barely noticeable in the light coming from the curtained windows. “Maybe you’re right. I think too much. I care too much.” Rick felt her hand wrapping around his. “I’ve always wanted to turn around—but that’s impossible. We always pack a baggage, don’t we? And we just carry them wherever we go.”
All of a sudden, the light outside was suddenly extinguished, leaving Rick’s bedroom in complete darkness. Rick felt her arms wrapping around her. He felt the warmth of life all over her body.
“Scared?” Rick said, chuckling.
“Not really,” she said. “Just surprised.”
They lay there, bodies against each other for a while in silence.
A few minutes later, she spoke. “Rick?
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry if I can’t give the answers that you want. I know you’re confused and affected with these things happening to me—”
“It’s all right,” Rick interrupted.
“Maybe someday, I will,” she said. “But I need time.”
“Okay.”
She let go of him, and pulled the blanket up. Rick saw her looking at the ceiling. “My life’s like that streetlight. Yeah sure, it’ll stay on. But not forever,” she remarked.
“How about staying with me forever?” Rick asked.
She just smiled, but did not reply.
Rick stared at the ceiling for a while, looking at nothing, while his room was still in the darkness. After a few minutes, he could feel her warm breath brushing his neck. He looked at her and saw that she was asleep. The streetlight came back on again, and with its light he saw her face: a face that seem to reject any sign of being troubled. Rick marveled at her face for a while before closing his eyes and delved into the realm of sleep.

Rick woke up at nine in the morning. The sun’s rays floated across the room in a golden glow, and landed on the floor and walls. Despite the weight on his eyelids, Rick refused more sleep and immediately got up.
She was gone.
In fact, she wasn’t in his apartment anymore.
All that was left were the cups they used when they drank coffee—those cups that touched their lips as if in a kiss. Three times he tried to call her that day—the first and second time, she wasn’t answering but just let her mobile phone ring; on the third time that Rick tried calling, her line was already busy.
That afternoon of the same day, it was she who called Rick.
“What’s the matter?” Rick asked with anger and worry wrestling on his voice.
“There’s something I need to do,” was her reply. “I’m sorry.”
“May we please settle it now?”
“Let’s talk about it some other time.”
“You always say that but we never do,” Rick said.
“I told you I need time.”
Rick tried more to make her speak out to him, but failed.
A month after that, she said she wanted them to break up. That was before the year ended, and inside his bedroom, Rick contemplated on the fact that their relationship was over, while smoking cigarettes and drinking beer with the faulty streetlight outside turning on and off as if in a rhythm following the beating of his heart.
He didn’t know what was wrong, what was the matter or if it was his fault that she wanted to break up. If so, then what has he done for her to arrive on such decision? Yet no matter how many questions Rick asked as to why she wanted to break up with him, he received no answer. She wanted to move on completely, Rick told himself; although he himself wasn’t a-hundred-percent convinced about it. She clearly wanted no more connection with the people from her past. After all, we’ve been together since high school.
But if moving on was her only reason, Rick thought. Then why must she hurt some other people, like me?
He let those thoughts swim in his head, together with beer and nicotine now rushing through his bloodstream. Smoke wafted around his room, the ghostly-white strands were like dissolving memories. He crushed his last cigarette on an ashtray resting beside his digital alarm clock on the bedside table. He stared at the ashes for a while. With the light from the streetlight coming from the window, the ashes glimmered like dirty gems. He then lay down on the bed, facing the ceiling. His eyes somewhat hurt. He tried rubbing them, and a while later they stung because of the nicotine on his fingers. Tears came, but Rick closed his eyes in time that the first few drops spilled. The streetlight went out, and he had no idea if it would go back on again. Rick knew that there was nothing he could do about it except to wait for it to turn on again.