Spring, 1998.

[nonfictional]

Nᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ
Bᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ, ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪɴᴇ
♫

Comments

[photoreal]

[ It takes everything she has not to panic. Her feet feel nailed to the floor, her hands and arms and legs all frozen—

— and then there's a rustling sound and a click and light floods out of the little booth. A flashlight. He has a flashlight. ]

Yeah.

[ It's certainly a power outage; one quick glance at the windows is all she needs to know that. It's liquid black out there, not a hint of light. She shivers and moves a little closer to Alan as he comes around the corner of the booth. His fingers slide against her wrist, and it's nice, it's good, it grounds her in herself, and she takes a deep, shaky breath. ]

I'm better, now. The flashlight helps.

[ She tries for a smile, but it comes out unsteady and nowhere near her eyes. ]

I know it probably seems silly, but... I've always been afraid of the dark.

[nonfictional]

It's not silly.

[ Alice's smile is there, sure, but even with the long shadows across her face it's clear to Alan that it doesn't reach her face. It's a pity - she has one of the nicest smiles Alan's ever seen. What she needs, he thinks, is comfort. It's a good front, a brave front, and one he wants to respect so Alan keeps his smile soft and eyes warm. ]

Um---here. [ He slides his hand down to grab at her hand, opening it, pressing the flashlight in it for her. ] There's another one in the booth. Lets get you sitting and away from the big shadows, yeah?

[ Alice isn't an invalid, but Alan leads her if she needs it, hand protectively curling between her shoulders as he ushers her into the little booth. There's a camping light, too, because power outages have been plaguing them for a while. ]

You're okay.

[photoreal]

[ His hand is warm and steady at her back, and maybe her girlfriends would tell her this should be creepy, but all she can feel is gratitude. He has a flashlight, heavy and cool now in her smaller fingers, and she grips onto it like it's the edge of a cliff and she's about to slide over into an all-too welcoming gulp of air and a free fall.

She's aware, with a sense of perfect clarity, of how pathetic this could look. She isn't a child; she should play it cool. ]

Wow, you take this whole 'guard' role very seriously, huh?

[ But her the way her hand shakes, sending the light that beams from the flashlight scattering over the wall and floor in an erratic glow, like someone sped the moon up by about a thousand, makes her attempt at lighthearted teasing a lie. He guides her around and into the little booth and she sits without argument, her pulse still rattling in her veins; too fast, too fast. She looks up at him, the light casting his features into a harsh mask of themselves, like they're telling scary stories around a campfire.

But he doesn't look scary. He looks like a hero. ]

This is really nice of you.

[ He certainly hadn't had to do any of this, hadn't had to give her the flashlight she's still holding onto too tightly. ]

Sorry to take your seat.