They Always Leave the Light On

As a beacon in the dark, the house in the cul-de-sac of Maple Street always leaves the porch light on. Even when they’re away the light remains on day and night and night and day. That’s where he stood, looking to the house three doors down from his parent’s house, his childhood home. He had returned home from college just two days earlier. He was told by his mother that Mrs. Michaels was doing rather well, ten years since the disappearance of her daughter Morgan.

Pretty Morgan Michaels, the girl was just twelve. He was thirteen, and remembered her like it was just yesterday.

He was Keith Harrison, and his mother was known as the queen of the cul-de-sac, not because she was rich, they were far from being rich, and not because she was a gossip queen, but because she was Mrs. Betty Crocker herself. Any bad thing that happened, his mother was always ready with a casserole or kind card, expressing her deepest sympathy, and though she was his mother, he believe that she was genuine. He saw the tears in her eyes when, after two weeks, Morgan didn’t return. He saw her sneaking peeks into his room, making sure they were safely tucked into their warm beds.

His mother had just cooked dinner for the family, a tender roast, his favorite, and because of this she cooked it. He was smoking a cigarette, something his mother wished he wouldn’t do. He laughed ever time she told him that he could die from such a habit. There were many other things that he could die from, but every time she reminded him of this, he instantly put it out. His mother was staying inside tonight, so he puffed away. He heard them moving things around in the home office, which was once his old room. That was where he would be sleeping. He was staying three weeks before going away to his new job, a marketing intern position in the big city. His mother didn’t understand why he had to move so far away, but his father understood his reasons.

It was way over tweleve years ago that he realized Morgan Michaels lived just down the street. They were in the third grade when he saw her riding her bike around her driveway. She rarely ever left her safe lawn, and it wasn’t until they started their friendship that she became so brave. He teased her, calling her a baby that she was a chicken simply because she was a girl. She had so much determination to prove him wrong, showing up at his house after homework nearly every night. It was fun, picking on her.

Morgan was already a beautiful girl at the age of eight, and had the curliest hair he had ever seen. It was usually tied back in a braid that bounced around her back as she ran after him. Usually she was going for him after he had pushed her or said something in jest. Maybe that was why she disappeared. Maybe someone thought she was too pretty to resist.

She had brown eyes.

She had a small nose and pretty almond shape eyes with eye lashes that facinated him at nearly every blink of her eyes.

She had a smile that would light up any dark room, and she was just a girl. Imagine if she had made it to adulthood.

He took the last hit of his cigarette and flicked off the hot cherry. The remainder of the cigarette he crushed in the palm of his hand, preparing to throw it away, and he was about to turn away when someone caught his attention. Over the way he saw Mrs. Michaels and her younger daughter Allison, carrying a few duffle bags into the house. Allison was a year younger than Morgan, but they were more like twins. He hadn’t talked to Allison since going away to college. In fact, he was supposed to go to her open house for her high school graduation, but was too busy with summer classes to return home. He felt terrible especially since he finally saw the woman she became. Her legs long, even longer looking in her short gene shorts and her straight ponytail dancing around as she pulled a box out of her mother’s station wagon. She had a bounce in her step as she moved, and for a second he was completely in a trance.

The scene was over when she and her mother got into the car, and backed out of the driveway. In the distance he could see the red tail-lights showing bright in the dusk of the night. He looked back to the end of the cul-de-sac to the house that sat with the porch light on. It had been ten years, but he couldn’t help but think of Morgan being there, inside the house as her sister and mother were away. There had never been a year that he hadn’t thought about her. Something would always trigger the memory of the girl who never returned home from the park, and he wondered if there was some way he could have prevented her disappearance. He was too lazy that day, to go anywhere outside, but she was too adventurous to stay home on a prefect night to be outside.

He turned the cigarette butt in his hand then finally headed inside to throw it away.

***

He was off to the store, going for a few things that his mother had put on a list for. She insisted that they get ice cream and toppings for sundaes after supper on Sunday. He’d probably sleep until eleven then get out of bed to smoke a cigarette before going to take a shower. He knew how he slept, and knew eleven was really sleeping in. Soon he’d be starting a new job, a grown up job. It was something he was able to do, grow up.

He walked into Carl’s Groceries, and took a basket from the three that were left. He doesn’t really even need a list for the items he was going for. It was his boyhood craving that made his mother insist on Sundaes in the first place, meaning he never needed a reminder of his favorite ice cream toppings. He would need bananas, chocolate, and caramel, lots of caramel. For his father he would need ground nuts.

He headed for the produce section when he saw Allison pushing a cart towards him. She saw him too and he felt something that he never thought he would when looking at her, complete ease.

“Keith Harrison,” she said as she stopped the cart and smiled at him.
“Hey Allison…how are you doing?”
“Good…I’m at my mom’s for a while, so I’m doing a little grocery shopping.”
“Same here,” he said as he rested his basket to his side.
She leaned over, peering into his basket. “Ah huh…nuts…you’ll need a little more protein than that.”
“No, this is for my father…”
“Than you’ll really going to need more than that.”
He laughed.
“It’s for Sundaes for Sunday.”
She smiled and nodded her head. “I see.”
“So you’re staying with you mom for a while?” he asked.
“Yeah, I have a college semester in England in two weeks, so I’m staying with her for a while, so I don’t have to worry about leaving all my things at the college. Then afterwards I’m going to stay with her again while she decides what to do…”
“To do?”
“The house,” she said. “She’s alone now…really alone and should move into something smaller, but she’s afraid to leave.”
“Right.”
The subject changed quickly. “Sundaes huh?”
“Yeah, I’m heading for bananas now.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy the Sundaes, and tell your mother I said thanks for the cookies.”
“Cookies?”
“Yeah, she made a whole batch of white chocolate chip cookies for me.”
He, for some reason, was surprised by this. “She did?”
“Keith,” she said as if to imply that he was asking a rather odd question. “She’s your mother…she’s always making or baking something.”
“I know.”
She laughed again. “Okay…you seem really unsure.”
“Come over,” he said unexpectedly.”
“Pardon me?” She gripped the handle of the cart until her knuckles were white. “On Sunday?”
“For Sundaes,” he said. “You and your mother could come over for dinner then join us for Sundaes.”
She nodded. “I’ll run it by my mother.”
“My mom’s making her famous potato salad…”
“Okay…pull out all the stops now,” she said as she bent her knee out and switched her weight onto her left leg.
“I know you couldn’t ever resist my mother’s potato salad.”
“I’ll run it by my mother…I owe her as much time as possible before I jet off to another country.”
“Okay…fair enough.”
She smiled and shook her head. “By Keith,” she said as she pushed the cart again. “Hey Keith,” she called back as she turned, but he hadn’t moved yet.
“Yeah?”
“Make sure you get strawberries too…really big ones okay.”
He smiled and nodded his head. “I will…big fat ones.”

***

He smoked another cigarette as he waited for the light down the street to turn on. He made sure to pick the same time every night after dinner to come out, and though he knew the light would always go on, he couldn’t help but feel part of the ritual, watching and waiting for the time Morgan’s beacon would come on. Perhaps he was expecting to see her run up the steps to the front door, swinging it open, yelling here I am then quickly go into her room, plopping down on her bed.

Allison was grown up, and he could remember what she looked like as a child. Not for all the money in the world could he imagine what Morgan would be like, all grown up. She was all four foot tall the last time he saw her, and still had an adolescent tone about her, trying to be so adult, but failing at every turn because she was just a girl.

Instead of going inside he lit up another cigarette, sitting on the edge of his parent’s small front deck. How was her mother now? He wondered about her state of mind, knowing that she had to of pulled herself together somewhat since Allison was still left. Left…like there were two girls now, but only one was left. He released a puff of smoke, and thought of how insensitive that sounded. They’re humans not apples or oranges used in mathematical terminology, three apples, take one away and how many are left?

He hoped Allison would visit on Sunday. Oddly enough, he even said a little prayer to God that she’d just come for even the smallest bit of time.

***

Morgan Michaels was supposed to return home at about five-thirty for dinner on Thursday August 23rd…. but never showed. It was around eight that her mother informed the police, her neighbors being informed prior to any law enforcement, of her daughters failed homecoming. The small niche of Maple Street was out searching by eight, the time the police had rolled down into the cul-de-sac and up the Michaels’ driveway where Mr. and Mrs. Michaels met them. Allison was sitting on the porch steps, clinging to something, but she never allowed anyone to see what was in her arms.

Come morning there was still no sign of the girl, and two days later a shoe was found, and her mother identified that it, in fact, was her daughters. The area more than five miles away from the cul-de-sac was searched. Inch by inch was stepped on, searched over, and torn up before it was determined that Morgan was nowhere to be found. It was dead end after dead end. Most everyone figured Morgan to be dead, but no one dared mention it to her mother. No one had the nerve to tell a mother that her child was dead, everyone except the sheriff who had braced the Michaels’ for the worst.

“Hope for the best, but please, expect the worst…Morgan may never come home,” were the words that were said.

It had been ten years and Mrs. Michaels’ remained in the same house all by herself since her daughter had gone way to college. A year or two after Morgan’s disappearance Mr. Michaels left the cul-de-sac for good, and no one, especially Allison had ever seen him again. It was believed a divorce had never been requested.

The remaining Michaels had become the family of pity despite how upright Mrs. Michaels had remained and how outstanding of a daughter Allison truly was. If they achieved something they were overcoming an obstacle and if mother and daughter failed then it was because of the sadness in their past. It would always be that way on Maple Street, but for some reason neither of them requested that it be any other way.

***


Sunday morning came and just as he had anticipated he woke around eleven and went outside to smoke his first cigarette of the day. By one in the afternoon his parents had returned from church. He was standing in the backyard at his father’s grill, cleaning the remainder of the night’s previous dinner, steak kabobs, when he heard voices in the kitchen. Out stepped the prettiest woman he had ever seen. Allison wore a white dress likely worn to church, which she attended with her mother. Her hair was in a ponytail due to the summer’s warm air, and she brought him a plate of cupcakes, which she held up for him to see, saying something about having cake with the ice cream.

Her mother looked older and much harder than he had remembered her to be, and he was unsure if this was because of time or tribulations. His mother still looked the same, but then again she would always remain ageless in his eyes.

Through dinner they all laughed and talked, and even Mrs. Michaels said a few humorous things. Afterwards, after about an hour of talking over lunch he went into the kitchen, Allison following, to get the ice cream and toppings. Everyone that was left removed the condiments and every other little thing that had absolutely nothing to do with ice cream. He laughed and flirted with Allison and she flirted and laughed back. He nudged her arm like they were teenagers in high school, and she mocked and innocently made fun of him.

She ate cake with her ice cream and two big strawberries with chocolate syrup drizzled all over, covering the red fruit. He ate his ice cream with the same enthusiasm as he did when he was as a kid, but not because of the taste. Afterwards, he and his father were volunteered to go over to the Michaels’ house to look over what repairs needed to be made, but Mrs. Michael refused the help. It was clear that she really didn’t want to move out of her home, and he couldn’t blame her. Still, he decided that on Monday he would visit with Mrs. Michaels to once again offer his help with any repairs she wanted done.

***

It was around nine, he woke up early to go over to the Michaels’ house. He pulled a t-shirt over his head and finished his pop tart breakfast before exiting the house. He was tempted to lit his first cigarette of the day, but he felt like doing little of anything else as soon as the house came into view, but getting over to the blue door as soon as possible. Though determination was fierce the sense of reality was too, and he paused just as he was about to knock on the door. Last time he was knocking on this door was to get Morgan for school one morning. She wasn’t at the bus stop, and it wasn’t like her to be late. Ten days later and she was gone. Had tens years really passed between then and the time he had last stood at the Michaels’ doorstep? He turned, looking out over the cul-de-sac, and he felt as if everything was different. It didn’t necessarily look different, but felt different, almost surreal. Everything was quite, and for a moment he felt as if he had been looking in on some small community that was all shut up in its homes.

He finally knocked, and Mrs. Michaels came to the door.

“Oh Keith, I really didn’t need you to come and help me…I was just going to do some minor repairs that’s all…you’re mother…” she protested, but still stepped aside to let him come. “You’re mother is so sweet she really is, but Ally and I will be fine fixing things.”

“I know,” he said though he wasn’t sure what response he was supposed to even have. “It’s alright,” he continued as if to say something more appropriate, more cliché. “I had the time.”

“Just some small things…painting really and Ally wants me to get rid of some old things…and…” She moved further into the house, leading him into the kitchen. “I needed some updating in here.”

“Painting,” he said with a smile, taking full note of the old blue paint and stained white counter tops. The kitchen was well used and outdated. He had some ideas, but he was a male, marketing major not a decorator. “I’ll help…that’s final.”

“I can pay-”

“No, I don’t need anything,” he interjected. “That won’t be necessary.”

She pulled a chair back from the metal Formica dinning table. “Sit…please let me fix you something…you used to like pancakes and lots of syrup.”

He was taken back. “You remembered.”

“How many mornings did you come and get…” She paused taking in a deep breath then she smiled. “How many times did you come get Morgan on pancake breakfast day?”

He smiled a completely guilty smile.

“I think she requested them for you.” She turned away from the table and began taking out things to make pancakes. First she went into the fridge for milk then the cupboards for bowls and pancake mix. “They’re not from scratch any more, but-”

“They’ll be fine…I eat anything,” he said as he sat down. “I’m sure they’ll be just as tempting no matter what source they’re from.”

She didn’t say much as she whipped together the mix and milk then dove down beside the stove for a frying pan. “Thin?” she asked.

“Anyway.”

She poured one pancake then two more before she stopped and handed him a plate of fat cakes. He smiled as she handed him the syrup, and a glass of milk she had poured, foot holding open the fridge, before returning the carton to the cold. She didn’t sit, but began pouring more pancakes. He took a bite then took a drink. They were tasty compared to the boring pot tart he had had before coming over. However, it was her distraction that made him uneasy. She wanted to say something and he could feel it.

He was nearly finished when she turned to him, and he looked up at her, chewing. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“When Morgan…” She fought back something, tears or words. “When Morgan disappeared what did you think?”

“Think? I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re asking? Are you meaning when I was little?”

“Yes.”

He thought back as he pushed his plate away from; he couldn’t eat any more. There was no easy way he could describe what he had felt when Morgan disappeared, and he wasn’t sure that he could give her a detailed explanation without some adult thought getting in the way. They were just kids then, but now, knowing what he knew, the fear and anger that had been because of Morgan’s disappearance. He wasn’t sure what he had really felt. Things were supposed to be uncomplicated back then, and he must have thought some uncomplicated thought about her disappearance. She wasn’t his best friend true, but she was always there and then one day she wasn’t.

“I don’t know if I can answer that.”

She finally sat down, her hand sliding across the table as if she wanted to touch him. “Try…please.”

“Morgan,” he said, realizing that he hadn’t said her name in years. Thinking it was completely different then saying it out loud for everyone to hear. “One day she was there and the next day she was gone…it’s that simple…was that simple for me back then. I felt sad if that’s what you’re asking.”

She didn’t respond.

“I think about it more now than I ever have. I wonder…I feel saddened and think about her more now when-”

“You look at my Ally?”

He didn’t respond, but nodded.

“One day Keith…I’m going to look in her eyes…I’m going to tell Morgan that I still think about her and love her. She might have forgotten us, but I will tell her that I have never forgotten her…never.”

He believed that she believed this was true.

There was a creak in the old floors and he saw Allison, her head down, and then she looked at him, releasing a deep breath. They both turned to stare at Allison as she came into the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a loose, old high school t-shirt with a blue bulldog in the center, and her purse was over her shoulder. She wore sandals that flipped and flapped as she walked.
“I made pancakes dear…are you hungry?” her mother asked as she stood.
“No, thank you though. I wanted to get to the hardware store, so we could get some painting started.”
“You’re so determined to help me before you go.”
“You know it.”
“And Keith is going to help too.”
“Okay,” she said with a smile.
He stood. “I’ll go with you.”
“Okay.”

She drove her mother’s Ford Taurus; a new blue vehicle with power windows that she had put down the very second the car was turned on. The air outside was fairly cool yet, but soon the summer heat would filter into the car, and she would no doubt die for air conditioning. She didn’t say much only backed out of the driveway and made her way out of the cul-de-sac. In fact, she didn’t have much conversation the whole time they were in the hardware store. She looked at paint, attempting to pick the right color that would suit her mother or rather a new buyer of the home. Truth was, he was hoping that she wouldn’t push her mother to sell the home, at least not yet. She could at least wait another summer or two, so she could have a place to return to.

“How about off white?” she asked.
“As opposed to the egg shell blue it is now?”
“Right…but if the house-”
“Is supposed to be sold?”

She retuned the off white pain swab, and said something under her breath, but he didn’t catch it nor did he ask her to repeat it. She didn’t speak again, only searched the colors over and over again before turning to him. “I don’t know…you pick. I don’t want this decision on me.”

He wanted to protest, but she had already walked away, looking at brushes and other supplies they would need. He looked at her then back at the many colors, different shades of the same hue over and over again in his mind. Then he picked up the first piece of paper with the most reasonable color that he saw for the kitchen. He couldn’t really see the home with any other décor than it had already had, and figured that her mother didn’t either, but upon Allison’s insistence that she move altogether and that was why she didn’t want to pick the color. She didn’t want to be responsible for her mother’s unhappiness at the thought of change or a color scheme that Morgan wouldn’t recognize if, by chance of a miracle, she came home.

“This,” he said as he handed her the small piece of paper. “Cream yellow.”

“It will have to do,” she said as she looked down at the piece of paper, staring blankly as if trying to imagine her childhood home any different than it had become ten years earlier.

She bought things on his suggestions and paid with her own Visa card. It was all on her now, the payment of her mother’s change. He tried to put everything in the trunk, but she wouldn’t allow him to, and had grabbed almost everything before he had a chance to even put one bag in the trunk. She had something on her mind that she was refusing to talk about, and he felt it hard in the chest like someone had just punched him. It was like knowing you were in trouble, but just waiting for someone to say something or the punishment to come.

“Keith,” she finally said after turning at the first light.
“Yeah.”
Her hands squeezed the steering wheel tighter. “You know that you really don’t know me right?”
“We grew up together-”
“But you didn’t even come around again after Morgan disappeared.”
He was silent, unknowing of what to say.
“I mean if you…if…damn it!”
“What?”
She shook her head. “I can’t have this right now…not right now.”
“What Allison?”
“Us…this…I know you know?”
“I could play dumb…”
“No.”
“If you would like me to I would-”
“No please don’t, but you gotta tell me honestly…is it because of Morgan?”
“No…I promise…this has nothing to do with Morgan. Does it for you?”
“For me?”

“The timing…I know you’re going away Ally, but that doesn’t mean its bad timing you know. Is it because of Morgan do you think that even after ten years I have some strong connection to her? We were just kids when she disappeared, and I could lie and say that I wish she was here, but I really don’t care when I’m with you. What is, is what’s now, right here, and not what could have been.” He sat silent. “I’m sorry Ally, but her disappearance won’t reverse itself.”

“I know.”

***

It was around noon before everything had been cleared away in the kitchen, and they finally got to painting. The yellow cream color was soothing, but often, as he looked at it, he had a hankering for frosting, a cake with yellowish cream frosting, and because of this he was often thirsty. Allison couldn’t understand his constant need for a drink when the weather wasn’t all that bad, a little humid, but not that bad. All the windows were open, and Mrs. Michaels brought down all the fans that she could find to circulate the air. She, at one time, had them all pointing into the kitchen, but upon Allison’s strong suggestion that the paint would dry too quickly before they were finished, she spent the rest of her time devising the best possible directions for the perfect air flow.

After each wall was covered with primer and one coat of yellow cream Allison reached into the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water, and she handed one to him. There were speckles of paint on all of her body, and he looked down at his hands and arms, finding that he too was equally matched with little yellow and white dots of paint. He twisted open the bottle and followed her outside to the small front porch steps. Just as they sat down her mother made her way between them, her purse on her right arm, and keys in her hand. She turned to look down at them.

“I have a dinner date with a friend of mine, and I thought I would take it as a chance to get out of your guy’s hair. I’ll be back by night, so don’t worry about me.” She leaned down and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Love you sweetie.”
“Love you too mom,” Ally replied as she touched her mom’s shoulder.

They both silently watched her mother back out of the driveway and make her way down to the stop sign that would take her out of the cul-de-sac. On the right side, along the row of houses, a man was mowing his lawn, the scent of the grass mixed with the humidity. It was a strong, fresh cut smell.

“I love the smell of fresh cut grass,” she said then took a drink of water. “It reminds me of life…however oxymoronic that sounds.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Like being alive to mow the grass in the first place like it’s a normal, natural part of life, doing yard work.”
“Yeah.”
“Allison,” he said in the tone of a question.
“Keith.”
He took a drink; the popping sound of his lips releasing the rim of the bottle filled the silence. “I want to see you again you know?”

She looked at him, and for the first time he really took in the depth of her eyes. They were hazel green unlike her mother’s or Morgan’s brown eyes. “I don’t know what to say…I wish that I did.”

“Like I said, your going away doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s a good thing you know.”

“A ‘good thing’…really…just in the time that I really find a great guy, I have to go away to another country.” She took a drink of her water, so she wouldn’t have to say any more. She was using her water bottle as some sort of safety net like she really needed to try and protect herself from him.

“You’ll come home.”

“I know…I just feel like I miss you already.”

He took her hand, and she looked straight at him again, but this time she rested her head on his shoulder. The lawn mower in the distance ran as some sort of soundtrack to the moment; a reminder of what Allison had just said about life and being alive. He kissed her hair where speckles of paint mixed with straight strands of hair.

“Wow,” was all she said as she closed her eyes and squeezed tighter to his hand, but she never explained her exclamation.

***

Through the whole time she was away in England they never lost touch of each other, and she called him or he called her at least once a day just to make sure he or she said I love you. Three months later and she returned, and they were more into each other, more in love than either of them thought possible. On their wedding night Allison again looked at him, and again she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and utter the exclamation of wow, meaning, wow, she couldn’t believe this had happened. She couldn’t believe that Morgan was gone, but had somehow found a way to return. In spirit or in some form of matchmaker or a big sister to guide a little sister on the path to the natural path of life. The light's still on, but this time, it's inside.