Porch Lights
Big snowflakes are falling on a landscape already full of snow. The winter sun is setting and it is getting progressively darker. Not a sound is heard, it is a silent February evening. The street lamps are lit up, as they resemble scattered lonely stars. Nothing seems to be moving, it is a dead February evening.
There is light in a neighboring kitchen. An old woman sits quietly looking out the windowsill. Her porch light goes on and rapidly, she moves away from the window. Another porch light comes on and her face returns to the window, this time in a less conspicuous way. She dims her light and goes back to her window, watching. This neighborhood was filled with gossip and secrecy, and as much as everyone acted civil towards one another, the judging was done with glances and hushed talking.
Her name was Soledad, and she lived in her house by herself. Ironically fitting for the bearer of such a name. The kids that lived along her street loved disfiguring and demonizing her when telling untruthful stories about her. When passing by a group of neighboring children, a few summers ago, I heard them share one particular story.
“I have to go potty, Monica!” explained a little 4 year old boy to his older sister.
“Not now, Damien, I want to hear what Helen has to say about the witch.” Damien sat down on the curb, joining his older sister and her best friend as they continued their daily gossip; an exact replica of what the adults would do when they would get together.
“My dad once told me about the old lady who lives on her own by that house” Helen pointed to and old grey house. It wasn’t anything spectacular, nor did it look remotely terrifying. The front lawn had yellow patches and nothing but dandelions seemed to enjoy the mounts of dry dirt. A hushed murmur came from the siblings. Helen continued her story:
“Apparently, she used to be a secret spy and she would always catch the bad guys and make them go to jail. But one day, when she was just outside her garden, a white van with the logo ‘Cleaning Bros. & CO.’ came around her house. She immediately dropped her watering can and tried to run to her door. Three guys came out of the vehicle and chased her. They got a hold of her, took her inside the van, and left as fast as they could.”
“And nobody saw what had happened to her?” asked an incredulous Monica.
The snow stopped falling and her porch light just went on again. Soledad quickly leaves from the window until the light turns off.
“I don’t know maybe some kids saw it but didn’t say anything; my dad told me that he was really young, like our age.” Helen sat upright, looked around to make sure they were free to talk without any interruptions and kept on going with her story.
“So as I was saying, the lady got taken away by that van and she didn’t come back for a long long time. A good month later, she came back and was the center of gossip for a good amount of time. She was in the worst shape anyone had seen her, not that she had any friends in the neighborhood, but she had looked much better before. Some people tried asking her what happened but she wouldn’t talk. Everyone made their own assumptions. My dad thought she got kidnapped by aliens and came back brainwashed and my mom thought that she was taken away by the police for being a spy. No one really knew what happened to her.”
“Monica, I’m tired, I want to go home.” Damien whined while tugging at his sister’s elbow.
“Damien stop it! We’re not going home until Helen finishes her story and if you keep interrupting, you’ll only make it last longer.” Pouting, Damien made himself more comfortable on the narrow street curb and listened to Helen’s gossip.
The kitchen window was dimly lit and Soledad sat still, just peering from her window. Nothing, but absolutely nothing mildly interesting was happening outside, yet she watched.
“As the time went by, the woman got in a worse condition. She wouldn’t smile anymore, and she would barely go out. Her lawn, which used to be the prettiest around here, started to look as bad as she did. And still, nobody knew what happened.”
The porch light turns on, the same scenario goes on in Soledad’s kitchen. It was rather peculiar to watch. Another porch light goes on, Soledad dims the lights even more and waits. Her porch light turns off. She waits a little longer, a few minutes pass by. The second porch light is still on. Again, the painful waiting continues. Finally, the porch light turns off and Soledad sighs and resumes her watching post.
“My dad and his friends, Horacio and Violeta, wanted to find out what had happened so badly that they decided to dish out the secret on their own. They went to her house when she left to shop for groceries. They looked through the windows and saw a mess.The grey house was burdened with boxes, as though it had just gotten new owners, but this clearly wasn’t the case. With his vision goggles, my dad looked for more details. The boxes all said ‘Cleaning Bros. & CO.’ He and his friends went around to the kitchen window and they saw a dull empty kitchen. There was a small round table, with a yellowed tablecloth. The room looked dirty and old, but mainly because it was decorated in off-white tones. On the table, they saw a little notebook but my dad couldn’t see what was written on it. Something was off; there was something strange about the boxes. But he and his friends had barely enough time to figure it out when they heard her came coming in. They all ran for cover behind a row of bushes. Barely breathing, terrified to be caught, they decided to act impulsively; they stashed all they “spying” materials in Horacio’s bag and went into the street. Innocently, they asked the woman if she needed help with her grocery bags. Caught off guard, she said yes, but corrected herself by saying that her house was too messy and they could get hurt. The three of them convinced her that they would try as best they could not to trip or anything and that they just wanted to help her. She gave in to their pleas, and my dad, Violeta and Horacio alleviated her of her bags and brought them in. Violeta told the other two to stall the woman for five minutes, just enough for her to take a good look at the notebook sitting on the kitchen table. As they went to distract the lady, Violeta went into the kitchen. Not only did that room look tremendously dirty, but it was also in real need of repairs. Violeta refocused her search, which she found it a little disappointing; this mysterious notebook had nothing but numbers written down. So much for spells or stories of alien encounters like so many of the adults had insisted were the only credible stories. Violeta made a mental note the last journal entry: 0217 and went back into the living room just in time to pretend to unload a grocery bag as she heard hurried footsteps coming her way.
‘There you are! Quickly, come outside your friend has injured himself on the steps of the house.’ Said the mysterious woman as she reached into her pantry for a first aid kit. Violeta followed her out into her front lawn where Horacio was holding his knee. He had suddenly slipped as the woman was about to go back into the house and cut his knee on the sharp edge of the stair.
‘Horacio, are you alright? Maybe I should take you home. So sorry about that Ms, at least he didn’t trip on the boxes.’ Violeta said to ease the situation. Her and my dad hoisted Horacio on their shoulders and left the woman's property. They walked out of her sight and sat down at a nearby park.
“Monica, I’m hungry, I really wanna go home. Please, pretty please!”
“Damien, stop whining. I brought you a granola bar,” said Monica, pulling it out of her pocket. “Now eat it in silence.” Damien, satisfied, chewed away at his granola bar. Monica gestured to Helen to continue with her story.
“Violeta told the boys everything she had seen and the mental note she had made. None of them could figure out what the numbers were. Could it be a lock combination? Those required more numbers. Perhaps it was an address. They all doubted that an address number started with a zero. After Horacio assured them his knee was fine and that he could walk, they headed to the library to do some research. What could those numbers be? Two hours later and they still couldn't figure out anything that was relevant. They couldn’t tell anyone else, because as they knew it, news traveled fast around here. My dad, Violeta and Horacio made a pact not to tell anyone but I guess he broke that by telling me... It's been years and they still have no idea what 0217 could mean.”
“Weird. Well, what about those boxes? What was inside of them?” Monica asked eagerly.
“Hmm, I don’t know exactly, they never found out anything about them, except that the name of the company didn’t exist. It was a fake.”
“That’s really strange, what about the rest of the notes written in her journal? Did those ever make any sense?”
“Maybe to her they did, but not for anybody else, it was all numbers, at least that's what Violeta told my dad she saw.”
“Can we go home now? I’ve been patient enough.” complained Damien.
“Clearly, you don’t know what being patient means. C’mon let’s go, I’ve had enough of your whining. Bye Helen, I’ll call you tonight.” The siblings left and Helen went home.
That summer night was engraved into my memory for good. That story was particular; it wasn’t as improbable as other ones with aliens and witchcraft but it was still missing a lot of details. Ever since then, I have also done my own research and of course, I couldn’t find anything that would narrow it down. 0217 - perhaps these were the last digits of a phone number? Perhaps a bank account number? Unless I went directly to the source, all that was left to do was to speculate.
Soledad's porch light turns on again and minutes later the second porch light turns on. Snowflakes are falling; the snow is shining with the reflections of the lonely street lamps. She dims her light yet again, but this time stays at the window. The sound of an engine is heard and her eyes flicker with panic. Suddenly, her light turns off and as I go to my window, I see a white van with the ‘Cleaning Bros. & CO.’ logo. Three people come out, usher her into the van and drive away. The first light turns off, the second porch light as well. It is then I realize it - it was a dead February night. 02/17
There is light in a neighboring kitchen. An old woman sits quietly looking out the windowsill. Her porch light goes on and rapidly, she moves away from the window. Another porch light comes on and her face returns to the window, this time in a less conspicuous way. She dims her light and goes back to her window, watching. This neighborhood was filled with gossip and secrecy, and as much as everyone acted civil towards one another, the judging was done with glances and hushed talking.
Her name was Soledad, and she lived in her house by herself. Ironically fitting for the bearer of such a name. The kids that lived along her street loved disfiguring and demonizing her when telling untruthful stories about her. When passing by a group of neighboring children, a few summers ago, I heard them share one particular story.
“I have to go potty, Monica!” explained a little 4 year old boy to his older sister.
“Not now, Damien, I want to hear what Helen has to say about the witch.” Damien sat down on the curb, joining his older sister and her best friend as they continued their daily gossip; an exact replica of what the adults would do when they would get together.
“My dad once told me about the old lady who lives on her own by that house” Helen pointed to and old grey house. It wasn’t anything spectacular, nor did it look remotely terrifying. The front lawn had yellow patches and nothing but dandelions seemed to enjoy the mounts of dry dirt. A hushed murmur came from the siblings. Helen continued her story:
“Apparently, she used to be a secret spy and she would always catch the bad guys and make them go to jail. But one day, when she was just outside her garden, a white van with the logo ‘Cleaning Bros. & CO.’ came around her house. She immediately dropped her watering can and tried to run to her door. Three guys came out of the vehicle and chased her. They got a hold of her, took her inside the van, and left as fast as they could.”
“And nobody saw what had happened to her?” asked an incredulous Monica.
The snow stopped falling and her porch light just went on again. Soledad quickly leaves from the window until the light turns off.
“I don’t know maybe some kids saw it but didn’t say anything; my dad told me that he was really young, like our age.” Helen sat upright, looked around to make sure they were free to talk without any interruptions and kept on going with her story.
“So as I was saying, the lady got taken away by that van and she didn’t come back for a long long time. A good month later, she came back and was the center of gossip for a good amount of time. She was in the worst shape anyone had seen her, not that she had any friends in the neighborhood, but she had looked much better before. Some people tried asking her what happened but she wouldn’t talk. Everyone made their own assumptions. My dad thought she got kidnapped by aliens and came back brainwashed and my mom thought that she was taken away by the police for being a spy. No one really knew what happened to her.”
“Monica, I’m tired, I want to go home.” Damien whined while tugging at his sister’s elbow.
“Damien stop it! We’re not going home until Helen finishes her story and if you keep interrupting, you’ll only make it last longer.” Pouting, Damien made himself more comfortable on the narrow street curb and listened to Helen’s gossip.
The kitchen window was dimly lit and Soledad sat still, just peering from her window. Nothing, but absolutely nothing mildly interesting was happening outside, yet she watched.
“As the time went by, the woman got in a worse condition. She wouldn’t smile anymore, and she would barely go out. Her lawn, which used to be the prettiest around here, started to look as bad as she did. And still, nobody knew what happened.”
The porch light turns on, the same scenario goes on in Soledad’s kitchen. It was rather peculiar to watch. Another porch light goes on, Soledad dims the lights even more and waits. Her porch light turns off. She waits a little longer, a few minutes pass by. The second porch light is still on. Again, the painful waiting continues. Finally, the porch light turns off and Soledad sighs and resumes her watching post.
“My dad and his friends, Horacio and Violeta, wanted to find out what had happened so badly that they decided to dish out the secret on their own. They went to her house when she left to shop for groceries. They looked through the windows and saw a mess.The grey house was burdened with boxes, as though it had just gotten new owners, but this clearly wasn’t the case. With his vision goggles, my dad looked for more details. The boxes all said ‘Cleaning Bros. & CO.’ He and his friends went around to the kitchen window and they saw a dull empty kitchen. There was a small round table, with a yellowed tablecloth. The room looked dirty and old, but mainly because it was decorated in off-white tones. On the table, they saw a little notebook but my dad couldn’t see what was written on it. Something was off; there was something strange about the boxes. But he and his friends had barely enough time to figure it out when they heard her came coming in. They all ran for cover behind a row of bushes. Barely breathing, terrified to be caught, they decided to act impulsively; they stashed all they “spying” materials in Horacio’s bag and went into the street. Innocently, they asked the woman if she needed help with her grocery bags. Caught off guard, she said yes, but corrected herself by saying that her house was too messy and they could get hurt. The three of them convinced her that they would try as best they could not to trip or anything and that they just wanted to help her. She gave in to their pleas, and my dad, Violeta and Horacio alleviated her of her bags and brought them in. Violeta told the other two to stall the woman for five minutes, just enough for her to take a good look at the notebook sitting on the kitchen table. As they went to distract the lady, Violeta went into the kitchen. Not only did that room look tremendously dirty, but it was also in real need of repairs. Violeta refocused her search, which she found it a little disappointing; this mysterious notebook had nothing but numbers written down. So much for spells or stories of alien encounters like so many of the adults had insisted were the only credible stories. Violeta made a mental note the last journal entry: 0217 and went back into the living room just in time to pretend to unload a grocery bag as she heard hurried footsteps coming her way.
‘There you are! Quickly, come outside your friend has injured himself on the steps of the house.’ Said the mysterious woman as she reached into her pantry for a first aid kit. Violeta followed her out into her front lawn where Horacio was holding his knee. He had suddenly slipped as the woman was about to go back into the house and cut his knee on the sharp edge of the stair.
‘Horacio, are you alright? Maybe I should take you home. So sorry about that Ms, at least he didn’t trip on the boxes.’ Violeta said to ease the situation. Her and my dad hoisted Horacio on their shoulders and left the woman's property. They walked out of her sight and sat down at a nearby park.
“Monica, I’m hungry, I really wanna go home. Please, pretty please!”
“Damien, stop whining. I brought you a granola bar,” said Monica, pulling it out of her pocket. “Now eat it in silence.” Damien, satisfied, chewed away at his granola bar. Monica gestured to Helen to continue with her story.
“Violeta told the boys everything she had seen and the mental note she had made. None of them could figure out what the numbers were. Could it be a lock combination? Those required more numbers. Perhaps it was an address. They all doubted that an address number started with a zero. After Horacio assured them his knee was fine and that he could walk, they headed to the library to do some research. What could those numbers be? Two hours later and they still couldn't figure out anything that was relevant. They couldn’t tell anyone else, because as they knew it, news traveled fast around here. My dad, Violeta and Horacio made a pact not to tell anyone but I guess he broke that by telling me... It's been years and they still have no idea what 0217 could mean.”
“Weird. Well, what about those boxes? What was inside of them?” Monica asked eagerly.
“Hmm, I don’t know exactly, they never found out anything about them, except that the name of the company didn’t exist. It was a fake.”
“That’s really strange, what about the rest of the notes written in her journal? Did those ever make any sense?”
“Maybe to her they did, but not for anybody else, it was all numbers, at least that's what Violeta told my dad she saw.”
“Can we go home now? I’ve been patient enough.” complained Damien.
“Clearly, you don’t know what being patient means. C’mon let’s go, I’ve had enough of your whining. Bye Helen, I’ll call you tonight.” The siblings left and Helen went home.
That summer night was engraved into my memory for good. That story was particular; it wasn’t as improbable as other ones with aliens and witchcraft but it was still missing a lot of details. Ever since then, I have also done my own research and of course, I couldn’t find anything that would narrow it down. 0217 - perhaps these were the last digits of a phone number? Perhaps a bank account number? Unless I went directly to the source, all that was left to do was to speculate.
Soledad's porch light turns on again and minutes later the second porch light turns on. Snowflakes are falling; the snow is shining with the reflections of the lonely street lamps. She dims her light yet again, but this time stays at the window. The sound of an engine is heard and her eyes flicker with panic. Suddenly, her light turns off and as I go to my window, I see a white van with the ‘Cleaning Bros. & CO.’ logo. Three people come out, usher her into the van and drive away. The first light turns off, the second porch light as well. It is then I realize it - it was a dead February night. 02/17