Candlepower- intensity expressed in candles
Time passes differently in this reading room, I think to myself. Minutes turn into hours like the wax of the candle turns from a solid into a liquid, running quickly together and building up. I barely noticed when the sunset, and am only just now aware that I had lit the candle at all, let alone that it was my sole source of illumination. I lean over it carefully to blow out the flame that sits on a short nub of wax.
Two things happen in that instant. The light in the room blinks out, of course, as the flame is extinguished. Also, as I stand there in the dark with my face above the candle, the last tendrils of smoke drift upward and into my nostrils. Instantly, decades of birthdays flash through my mind, a blur.
I’m a child, standing up on a chair at the kitchen table, eyeing the cake my mom has decorated to look like a clown. I’ve just blown out the candles and everyone around the table- all family- is clapping.
I’m slightly older, this time my friends surround the table, watching me and the cake. This cake isn’t decorated by my mother; it was bought from the grocery store and is covered in cartoon characters. I’ve just blown out the candles again, but I’m not thinking about the cake- I’m thinking about presents.
I’m a teenager, and I’m angry that I’m forced to spend my birthday with my family. I refused to blow out the candles and am relieved when my little cousin jumps up and blows them out for me. Everyone around the table is laughing now, and I didn’t have to make myself look like an idiot, I’m thinking. Win-win.
“I know we said we weren’t going to do anything special for your birthday. And you’re right,” says Annie, “we can’t afford it.” She has her back to me, but I know that she’s smiling and it’s the brightest thing in our drab first apartment. “But I picked up these on the way home from work. Happy birthday!”
She turns around with a cheap bottle of wine in one hand and a cupcake with a lit candle in the other. I blow it out, letting that familiar scent fill my nostrils. I notice that the cupcake has a picture of a clown in the frosting and I decide, inexplicably, that it’s been too long since I last spoke to my parents.
More candles, but this time they’re not mine. I’m holding my little boy up to the table and he’s just blown out five candles, spitting all over the cake in the process. Annie’s laughing hysterically, turning the lights back on. I set him down and suggest that, since it’s his birthday and all, he should have some extra frosting. I wink at him as I scrape the top bit of frosting off the cake and put it on his piece.
And I’m standing over the endtable next to the sofa in the reading room. How long have I been standing here in the dark? Why is my face wet?
Man, I think to myself, time passes differently in this reading room.
Time passes differently in this reading room, I think to myself. Minutes turn into hours like the wax of the candle turns from a solid into a liquid, running quickly together and building up. I barely noticed when the sunset, and am only just now aware that I had lit the candle at all, let alone that it was my sole source of illumination. I lean over it carefully to blow out the flame that sits on a short nub of wax.
Two things happen in that instant. The light in the room blinks out, of course, as the flame is extinguished. Also, as I stand there in the dark with my face above the candle, the last tendrils of smoke drift upward and into my nostrils. Instantly, decades of birthdays flash through my mind, a blur.
I’m a child, standing up on a chair at the kitchen table, eyeing the cake my mom has decorated to look like a clown. I’ve just blown out the candles and everyone around the table- all family- is clapping.
I’m slightly older, this time my friends surround the table, watching me and the cake. This cake isn’t decorated by my mother; it was bought from the grocery store and is covered in cartoon characters. I’ve just blown out the candles again, but I’m not thinking about the cake- I’m thinking about presents.
I’m a teenager, and I’m angry that I’m forced to spend my birthday with my family. I refused to blow out the candles and am relieved when my little cousin jumps up and blows them out for me. Everyone around the table is laughing now, and I didn’t have to make myself look like an idiot, I’m thinking. Win-win.
“I know we said we weren’t going to do anything special for your birthday. And you’re right,” says Annie, “we can’t afford it.” She has her back to me, but I know that she’s smiling and it’s the brightest thing in our drab first apartment. “But I picked up these on the way home from work. Happy birthday!”
She turns around with a cheap bottle of wine in one hand and a cupcake with a lit candle in the other. I blow it out, letting that familiar scent fill my nostrils. I notice that the cupcake has a picture of a clown in the frosting and I decide, inexplicably, that it’s been too long since I last spoke to my parents.
More candles, but this time they’re not mine. I’m holding my little boy up to the table and he’s just blown out five candles, spitting all over the cake in the process. Annie’s laughing hysterically, turning the lights back on. I set him down and suggest that, since it’s his birthday and all, he should have some extra frosting. I wink at him as I scrape the top bit of frosting off the cake and put it on his piece.
And I’m standing over the endtable next to the sofa in the reading room. How long have I been standing here in the dark? Why is my face wet?
Man, I think to myself, time passes differently in this reading room.
Comments
Nice piece, Brandon. We can really see where your thoughts are lately...a strong theme of time and memory is emerging.
I owe you for sending me the link to your blog; it's added to my daily check list.
I relate strongly to so many of your thoughts...reminds me of the 'big picture' stuff.
It also reminded me of two other things:
1) The great skill that you have always had with words. I knew it in high school. Then, I forgot. Now I know again.
2) How it always seemed like we had a unique (in a good way) relationship. Can't quite describe it clearly right now. But I know that I was always able to connect with you differently than others. Don't worry..this is NOT leading to asking about being "more than friends," even though it sounds like that. Ha :-)
I think a coffee is in order next time our paths cross.