A Light in the Window
by: k. e. fields

"Get out, Cindy," Derek said firmly, cool eyes staring icily ahead at the road and his nails digging into the steering wheel.

"Bu -" she began to protest.

"Out, Cindy," he repeated. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. With a peel of rubber on pavement, Derek's Honda Civic tore away from Cindy. She stood in the middle of the suburban street, confused and alone and hurt. She kicked off her black pumps and stripped off her hose before setting off down the road to hopefully find a payphone somewhere.

Derek. He had seemed so funny and sweet at the dance. Why had driving around after dark in his car suddenly turned him into some hormonal, sex-crazed jackass? She didn't know and she didn't understand. Just because she wouldn't give it to him, in the back of a car no less, didn't give him a reason to kick her out on the street to walk home after dark all by herself.

As she walked, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, careful not to get any makeup on the sleeve of her dress. The streets here were only lit by the moon and the occasional porch light. It was then that she rapidly came to a rigid halt. Her hands trembled so fiercely that she struggled to keep her shoes in her hands. She knew where she was.

Far up ahead, she could see barely see the stop sign. Beside it was a smaller, darker sign. On it, the white letters were not legible. But she knew what they read. Acorn Drive; this was her old neighborhood. She looked up and down the familiar drive - the houses spaced far apart on a large hill. She recognized the slope of the sidewalk beneath her, and the cool feel of the pavement against her bare feet. The huge oak trees that towered over her head, and cast eerie shadows onto the street, sidewalk, and lawns. The green expanse of one yard melting into another - fences that graced sporadically-spaced backyards.

Childhood memories welled up in her like tears, and came rushing forth with intensity and warmth much the same. She felt dizzy, and forced herself to sit down on the sidewalk before her knees collapsed. From the ground, she could now see more clearly the homes that were pushed as far back from the street as possible without being engulfed by the dark woods beyond them. The cool summery smell of trees and grass and fresh air tingled inside her nose. Inside, she could remember other summertime smells like Kool-Aid and watermelon and chlorinated pools and even the wild-onion flowers that grew on the banks of the nearby creek. She could feel the hot, sweltering air pressing against her cheeks and arms and legs and chest, as though maybe somehow she'd been transported back in time.

Tears had begun to leak from her eyes again, as she recalled the good with the bad. It had been a regular day. Any old day. She had been sitting out on the sidewalk with him, rollerblades on their feet, drinking the sodas they had bought at Gray's, the neighborhood convenient store. His hair had been flapping in the breeze like a golden flag, his eyes dancing happily. He was all gangly, bronze arms and legs. His cheeks were sunburned.

Once they'd finished there sodas, they walked to the nearest trash can (which was sitting beside some friendly neighbor's driveway), and threw the cans away. They were about a block from their homes, which were at the base of the hill. The two had raced up and down the hills all the time. Once or twice, it had brought them to some bad ends. Nonetheless, he made the dare. "Race ya down the hill. First one to the stop sign is the winner. Loser has to by the winner a package of M&Ms."

"On the count of three," she had said, raring back and preparing to propel herself forward. "One…two…three!"

The two were off like bolts of lightning. She was in the lead by a longshot. Then, she remembered that they would have to cross the road to get to the stop sign. She slowed down as she began to plan her crossing, checking for cars. A small car was approaching. She paused to wait for it to go by. Suddenly, he had rolled up beside her - then past her. With shocked horror a wave of realization hit her. He's going to get hit.

"TAYLOR!" she'd shrieked. He'd turned back to look at her, a smile still on his face. He heard the engine a split-second later and his head snapped back to see what was behind him. A scream of panic and fright ripped through her throat. The car stopped, and the driver was getting out, eyes wide and hysterical. That's all she remembered before she had blacked out.

The rest had been a nightmare. When she'd woken up, several of the neighbors had now come out to see what the commotion was about. In the distance, she could hear the mournful wail of sirens. Across the street, Mrs. Hanson was standing, her face pale. Zac, Taylor's brother, was standing beside her, aghast. Taylor still lay face-down on the pavement, nobody daring to move him and him unable to move on his own. Someone was standing over her, trying to calm her down. She tore free from their grasp, thought, and burst out onto the street. She dropped down next to Taylor, crying and screaming, but afraid to touch him. She begged him over and over to come back. She said she'd by him the M&Ms, anything, if he'd just come back and say he was fine. Laugh and tell her that he was just joking. She'd have to punch him in the nose, but she didn't care. Just as long as he woke up…

Strong arms wrapped around her shaking body, and hugged her comfortingly. She sobbed helplessly and allowed them to take her away. The ambulance had arrived, the person told her. Taylor was going to the hospital. She recognized the voice as being that of her older brother's. He told her that he would drive her to the hospital, and they would find out what happened. First, though, she had to answer some questions.

Everyone seemed to want to know what had happened. The police officers said they needed a report, journalists needed the story for their newspaper, the neighbors wanted to know just because they were worried. Cindy answered the police because she had to, blew off the journalists, and told the neighbors she would explain later. Then her brother drove her to the hospital.

Hours upon hours of silence in the cold waiting room ensued. She alternated between sleep, hysterical crying, and dazed staring into space. She was vaguely aware that the Hanson family had gathered, and that her own family had begun to collect in the waiting room as well. She could only concentrate on how miserable the whole experience was - that maybe in a few minutes she'd blink and the whole nightmare would have gone and that morning sunshine would have replaced it. But the nightmare didn't end, and Cindy had to face the reality.

Late that evening, a doctor came in and explained that Taylor was in a coma. They didn't know if he'd wake up. If he did, he had probably sustained major brain damage - he'd been without oxygen for over 6 minutes. However, he was alive and things were looking up. All things were possible, the doctor reminded them, then said that family could begin to come in to see him. At that time, Cindy's family saw it best if they leave. As they drove back through the neighborhood, which was now quiet and pristine, Cindy looked up at the Hanson house. She remembered Taylor telling her once, "If you need anything ever, just look up at my window. If the light is on, I'm home, and you can come in." It had become a ritual. He'd even gotten an electric candle, which was supposed to be a Christmas decoration, and kept it glowing in his bedroom window at night. Now, though, the window was dark.

Over the next several weeks, she kept an eye on the window at night, hoping that maybe Taylor would come. She didn't hear much from the Hanson's. Her mother told her that she shouldn't worry; they were probably so wrapped up in their grief that they didn't even realize there was a world outside of the hospital.

At last, one night when she looked across the road at the Hanson house, she saw the candle's golden-orange glow in the second-story window. Excitedly, she'd run out of her home and across the road, checking both ways before she did. Her finger had connected with the Hansons' doorbell before she could think twice. Mr. Hanson appeared, looking weary and exhausted. "Cindy," he said, mustering all of the enthusiasm he had left. "Nice to see you."

"Is Taylor home yet?" she asked.

"Yes, he is," Mr. Hanson said. She began to push her way around him, but his firm hand rested on her shoulder. "But, Cindy, I think you're in for a surprise, sweetie. Taylor isn't the same boy he used to be. You know that, right?"

Her face crumpled. "What's wrong with him?"

He shook his head sadly, tears threatening his dark eyes. "He's comatose. We don't know if he'll ever wake up…"

Cindy sniffled, but shrugged defiantly. "I still want to see him. Please."

Mr. Hanson sighed, but let her pass. She sprinted up the familiar stairs and to his room. She knocked quietly. A soft, muffled, "Come in," replied her. She gently pushed the door open, and peeked inside. The room, which had once been filled with Isaac's and Zachary's things, were gone. The bunk beds has disappeared, as had many of the familiar posters of rock bands. Mrs. Hanson looked up, her blue eyes bleary with tears. "Oh, hi. Cindy, come in. You won't wave to worry about Isaac or Zac. They're not here. They…they moved down to the basement."

"Oh," the other said in baffled response.

Cindy stepped in, and Mrs. Hanson stood up. The older woman nodded, and tucked her blond hair behind her ears. "I'll leave you two alone." Then she left, and Cindy was alone with Taylor. She walked over and sat on the bed beside him. His eyes were closed, and his cheeks sallow. His mouth was slightly open, and his chest rose up and down with each shallow breath he took. For a long time she watched him, still half-expecting him to open his eyes and grin at her. "Surprise!" he'd shout. "I fooled you so bad, Cindy! You should've seen the look on your face…"

When he didn't, she found herself crying. She took one last heartbroken look at Taylor, then fled from his room. Fled from the house and into the safety of her own bedroom. Her mother came up an hour later to check on her, and Cindy told her how much she wished she could just have Taylor back and how it had made her sick to her stomach to see him just laying there. 2 weeks later, her mother had announced that they were moving across town. "You've got to get past him," her mother had explained. "We've all got to move on with our lives. I don't think that living across the road from him is going to help us any."

Cindy remembered the move. It still left a bitter taste in her mouth when she thought about it. That had been 3 years ago, though, and she hadn't been back. Why? she wondered to herself as she sat there alone on the sidewalk. Her eyes had drifted to the Hanson house quite by accident. It still stood there, it's rock walls rising out of the hill. In a second story window, an electric candle burned. It's false, golden-orange flame blurred against the dusty glass. It looked as though the window hadn't been washed in a while.

She hoped that it wasn't too late to pay a visit, and got to her feet. She dusted herself off, tucked her pantyhose into her purse, and slipped her shoes back onto her feet. Ignoring the presence of her own childhood home that loomed behind her, she strode proudly up to the front door of the Hanson's house. She pressed the doorbell confidently. Not too long after, the door opened. A young man with dark brown eyes stood, his blond hair brushing his ear lobes. He peered curiously at her. "Do I know you?" he asked, nervously fidgeting in his t-shirt and boxer shorts. It looked like he was just about to go to bed.

"Um, yes, I'm Cindy Murdock. I used to live across the road," she said, pointing at the house on the opposite side of the street. She looked at him pleadingly. "I used to be a friend of Taylor's. I saw the light on in the window, and…"

His eyes were wide. "Cindy? That's you?"

A smile spread across her face. "I can't believe you remember me."

"Of course I can," he said. "It's me. Zac."

"Zac?!" she exclaimed. She peered close. "Of course. You look so different."

"So do you," he replied. His voice suddenly got softer, and his eyes averted to the floor. He seemed docile. "Are…are you here to see Taylor?"

"Yeah," she said. "I know it's been a long time, but…"

"He-" Zac began, but quickly stopped himself. "I'll take you upstairs."

She followed him, feeling the tug of nostalgia at her heart. So much had happened in this very house. Everything had seemed so happy here. It felt odd to be back, knowing that things here probably were much more desolate and much less cheerful than she had remembered. Zac stopped at a door. It was dark heavy wood, and on it hung a wooden cutout that said plainly "TAYLOR". Zac's knuckles lightly rapped against the door.

There was no response, so Zac turned the doorknob slowly, and pushed inward. Air rushed out, and with it a scent that Cindy would always remember. The distinct smell of Taylor. In all of her years, he was the only one who constantly smelled like he was torn between taking a bath 12 times a day and never washing his clothes again. Zac murmured something, and then he looked back at Cindy. "You can go inside now," he told her. He stepped out of her way, and let her pass. After she'd gotten a few steps inside the door, it closed behind her, which caused her to jump.

She went inside. The room was dark, except for the amber glow that the candle in the window emanated. A familiar face peeked out above the covers of the bed. His eyes were closed, and his golden hair hung in greasy tangles onto his pillow. She sat down next to him. He was perfectly still. His cheeks and jaw were more defined and his forehead more creased than she remembered. Strange how even though he had seemed to have barely even changed positions at all in the three years since she had last been here, he had still managed to attain a face that was more adult.

She watched him for a while, studied him. She saw now that he wasn't going to wake up and yell "Surprise!". She saw now that he wasn't going to someday spring to life and giggle with her and race her to the stop sign ever again. She glanced at the candle "burning" in the windowsill. Calling out to her. Telling her that she could come in and everything would be all right. Hot tears stung the backs of her eyes. She reached down and touched Taylor's cheek. It felt warm and soft against her palm. Taylor's eyes would never open again to her, laughing and smiling and glittering. He would never smile at her. He would never pinch her in the arm playfully or tug on her ponytail. He would never give her the M&Ms he probably would have owed her if it hadn't been for that stupid car. He would never say her name, or call his mom to tell her he'd be late getting home, or hug one of his younger siblings when they fell and scraped their knee.

Although that candle burned steadfast in the window, she also knew that she would never be able to come up here and have Taylor make everything all right. Even though it pained her and even though she wished it could be any other way, the candle would never stand for anything more than a pledge of friendship that had been snuffed out much too early. She leant down and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "I guess I'm not the one who needs to run to you anymore, huh?"

She stood up, and pulled an old notebook from the drawer in the nightstand. The pages on it hadn't been turned in ages. She took a pencil out as well, and scribbled on the paper, 'If Taylor ever wakes up, tell him that I will always be here for him. All he needs to look for is the light in my window. Love, Cindy.' She ripped out the sheet of paper, placed the notebook and pencil back inside the drawer, then went to the window. She found the electric outlet, and pulled the only cord that was there free. The candle went out suddenly, leaving the room pitch black. She fumbled to find the candle, and wrapped the cord around it. She carefully tucked it into her purse. Cindy folded the piece of paper into a square, then slipped it into the crevice between the windowpane and the windowsill.

Pausing one last time by his bed, she left.

Downstairs, she found Zac and asked him if she could borrow their phone to call her mom. After she had placed her call, she sat and watched a movie marathon on TNT with Zac until her mother's headlights washed over the front window. She left, thanking him for everything he had done for her. That night, in the comfort and safety of her room, she plugged in the candle and sat it in her window. She thought that the golden-orange glow that it cast might keep her awake, but instead it put her almost instantly to sleep.

A young man stood in front of the house. He glanced back down at the crumpled sheet of paper in his hand. At the top, Cindy's rounded handwriting could still be read. Below, in his own scrawling, thin writing, was an address. At the age of 23, he didn't really know what he would do or what he would say. Could she still be waiting for him after 10 years? As his eyes roved over the house, he knew he could, for there was the light of an electric candle glowing in an upstairs window.