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episode eight: power outage. | |
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christine sat in darkness, back against the wall, legs covered by the star-covered quilt. her hair was pulled back in pigtails, and her T-shirt read, "less anger, more smile," with the beaming face of a cartoon asian girl. it was 11 p.m. she was on the phone. she was in the throes of what seemed to be good conversation -- her voice rose and fell, tumbled into giggles and then paused, only to do it all over again. she was smiling. music, they were talking about music, when, abruptly, she stopped talking. "hello?" she looked confused. "what's going on?" she squinted at the cordless phone's green glowing buttons and clicked Talk, twice (once Off, once On). "what the-- hello?!" she fumbled for the light switch, but it would not turn on. she stumbled across the room and reached into the army green messenger bag that sat at the foot of the white desk. from it, she pulled a set of keys. attached to them, a mini-flashlight. with the quarter-sized ray of light as her guide, she stepped out of her room and wandered through the apartment: first the bathroom, then the living room, then the dining room, trying all the light switches and peering out the windows. there was no light anywhere. she glanced at her indiglo watch that had been sitting on the dresser. it was 11:30 p.m. after circling her bedroom for a couple more minutes like a lost child, she sat back on her bed. restless. she stared at the phone, as if she expected it to look back at her, or maybe even talk to her, but it didn't. she pulled the covers over her body and eventually closed her eyes. on the bed beside her: a set of keys (and a flashlight's glare hitting the wall), a black phone and a watch.
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