The Light Above the Stove

by Joni Rose Wilson

 

 

            It was another one of those days.  The morning sun was barely peeking over the horizon and the sound of 6 a.m. traffic slowly slipped through the slightly cracked windows.  The coffee pot wasn't working again even though she had just bought it.  Rosy was sitting on her counter after another Monday had passed; the only light on in the house was the one above the stove.  Rosy was one of those people who didn't have a lot of conflict in her life, mostly because she didn't allow it.  It was that simple.  To her, pouting and insecurity were a waste of time.   

Her boyfriend was asleep in bed.  Jay was about 5’11” with sandy blondish-brown hair, and green eyes that if caught at the right moment were almost blue.  He wasn't a loud man even though  He was an adrenaline junkie.  He enjoyed the simple things in life as well.  He carried one of those colorful personalities that showed from the inside out.  Jay didn't have any room in his heart to carry the bad.  He knew a lot about so much;  things that books or the Internet could never tell or show a person.

Something told Rosy to get up that morning.  Once again she found herself on the kitchen counter.  Slowly sipping her milk, she noticed her cup.  It was a cup that she had taken with her since the last time she had been at her grandma’s house.  She hadn't seen her in years.  Suddenly, an image of her family sitting at the breakfast table came back to her.  The smell of oatmeal and bacon cooking, and the sound of it crackling to the background sound of Saturday morning cartoons seemed to be right there with her.  Just then, the ringing of the phone broke her memories. “Kye was in an accident… and..." the voice at the other end of the phone cried.  The words pierced her thoughts; she couldn't even hear herself scream.  Rosy and Jay had two days to make it to the funeral.

The flight was only two hours plus the three-hour drive from the airport.  It had been four years since she was home and it was Jay's first visit. In town, she saw pieces of her childhood.  There was that old fireworks stand with chipped paint.  Next was the gas station where she drank booze for the first time, and next to it was the park where her and Kye had wandered off after a party and passed out.  There wasn't a single place in her hometown that failed to carry some kind of memory of their friendship. 

On the way to her brother's house, they passed her old neighborhood, then finally reached the old dirt road that led to the house where she had spent many of her summers.  She could see parked cars and pickup trucks that belonged to her relatives.  Despite the circumstances, she was happy to see everybody and introduce them to Jay. 

A few days passed, and Kye's funeral was finally and numbly in the past.  Her brother had to take his kids up to see their mother and he would be gone for a few days.  Therefore, Rosy and Jay decided to stay a little longer.  She needed the time with her family in the comfort and relaxation of being Jay.  One day, it was so hot that she went on the back porch to take a nap on the swing. 

A few hours later, her cousin James woke her up.  There was music, lights, and some of her old friends at her brother's house.  It wasn't so much a party as it was just a few friends getting a final chance to relive some old memories.  It was hot; cut off shorts and bare feet were the only way to stay cool, but the heat brought its own kind of comfort.  Booze was replaced with tea, and the tea was sweet and the stories never grew old.  No one went home that night the next day, everyone had things to do, nothing to bake, just little things that needed to be done.  When they left, Rosy watered the lawn like her brother had asked. 

Day became longer in the nights grew shorter.  She decided to go for a walk to her uncle's house who had just lived down the old gravel road that she must have walked down a thousand times as a child.  While walking, she passed it least a half-dozen horses.  Most of them were either chestnut or black colored.  Taking a moment to watch them, one in particular caught her eye.  It was a brown and white paint.  He was the only one of his kind among all of the other horses.  He greeted her and walked with her until she reached the house.  After a long day of feeding, splicing fence, and helping her uncle maintain his ranch, they sat up  Down and had a few cups of coffee.  He gave her a few words of advice; some old cowboy wisdom, and a kiss on the forehead. Soon she was off.  Behind, her uncle sat on an old rocking chair with a lonely and smoldering cigarette. 

Untying her work boots, with a shower running, she heard the back door open.  Jay made it home a little earlier than she expected.  She wanted to be dressed and have their dinner ready on the table.  He went into the back room and brought Rosy a clean summer dress.  She wasn't one to wear dresses, but there was something about that evening.  After drying off, she put on the dress.  It was a clean fresh feeling of cotton.  They sat in the kitchen and after dinner had another one of their long conversations. 

It must've been about seven o'clock when she asked Jay to go for a drive.  They hopped into her brother's ‘95 white Ford pickup truck and were off.  They were well out of town when Rosy asked to pull off to the right just before the bridge.  They drove down a lone dirt road for about twenty minutes before reaching the spot.  The sun was going down and day was turning into night.  She tossed her flip-flops to the side and dipped her feet into the nearby creek, letting them sink for awhile into the sand. Later, Jay silently walked back to the truck turned on the radio.  When he returned, Jay reached out for Rosy's hand and they danced in the emerging starlight... 

Days passed.  They were finally home.  Late into the evening Rosy sat on the island in the middle of their kitchen.  Jay had gone to bed.  She stared out their window and pictured all of the things that she had looked forward to.  Her life with Jay, and if their future together... it was almost as if the stars, those same stars they danced to, carried the map to the rest of their lives.  It was then the Rosy realized that all she needed was the light from those stars, and just like that, the light above her stove went out.