Phil Richardson
7010 Cornell Rd.
Athens, Ohio 45701
Thomas’s wife stood with him at the entrance to the crumbling lighthouse, but she would not go in. “I don’t think you should climb up there, Thomas,” she said. “What do you think you’ll find?”
Thomas ignored her and opened the heavy wooden door, which moaned on its rusty hinges like a lost soul. It was dark inside and he entered with some trepidation and looked up- ward.
The spiral stairs, like a giant corkscrew, led to an opening of bright sky he very much wanted to reach. Thomas was sure that he could view sights not visible from the ground.
After a few minutes of climbing, however, the round-and-roundness of the stairs caused him to stumble and fall, so he sat, waiting for the vertigo to leave. Then he resumed his climb and finally reached a landing where a large wooden chair awaited. Next to it was a small table on which rested an open book, as if placed there by the last reader. He sat down in the chair and picked up the book, but the letters made no sense; they were like so many ants crawling around on the pages after being disturbed by some unwitting soul.
He put down the useless book and resumed his climb. Now that the vertigo had left, he made better progress. Once he glanced up and thought he had not climbed very high. Should he
not have been at the top already? His legs felt heavy, and every step was an effort; he wished he had spent more time in the chair. His wife often told him he was too impatient, wanting every- thing from life, but not willing to wait.
When he reached the next landing, there was a small brass bed where a woman who looked to be of middle age reclined. She wore her hair in pigtails and her pink dress was of a de- sign you might find on a much younger and thinner woman. The dress was short and he could see her plump legs where varicose veins made patterns that shifted and turned each time she moved. The odor of vinegar hung in the air as though the area had been scrubbed.
“What took you so long?” Her lips pushed out sounds as though she were blowing bub- bles. “I heard your footsteps on the stairs hours ago. I’ve been waiting for you.” She gestured for him to sit on the bed beside her.
“But…but, I only started up the stairs a few minutes ago.”
“Perhaps, but then why is your hair so gray now? Why are you bent over like an old man? Do you think you will reach the top in your lifetime?”
He touched his hair and felt the brittle texture of aging, so he knew she was right. “Since you have so many questions,” Thomas said, “maybe I could ask you some. Why
are you dressed in such an outfit? Do you think you can seduce me? That would be ridiculous.” She smiled, stood up on the bed, turned, moved her hips in a seductive manner, and said,
“I have lured many men in my lifetime, but I do not wish to interrupt your journey. Go now. Climb the stairs. See what your future holds.”
Shaking his head, he grasped the splintered railing and pulled himself upward. Each stair step seemed like a mountain, yet the view of the blue sky seemed no closer. He stopped to wipe sweat from his eyes and almost screamed because his sweat was the color of blood.
He lurched upwards, convinced he had to escape these endless stairs and reach the light beckoning him. Now he was approaching another landing, and he feared what he might find.
The landing was, unaccountably, dark and he could barely see a shadowy figure standing there clutching a book.
“Thomas Mindrel?” the figure seemed to be checking something in his book. “Are you Thomas Mindrel?”
“Yes I am, but how do you know my name?”
“No matter. Would you like a drink to invigorate you for your climb?” He offered a flask made of silver and ruby-colored glass, which radiated a faint pulsing light.
“Thank you,” Thomas said, because his mouth was very dry. He swallowed some of the liquid, which pulsed like something alive as it ran down his throat.
“I must get on with my climb,” Thomas said. “My wife is waiting for me.” “Very well. You may go.”
“Perhaps I’ll see you on my way back down,” Thomas said. “It’s doubtful. Yes, doubtful.”
Thomas, feeling somewhat rested, quickened his pace. Now it seemed the bright sky above could almost be touched.
His legs ached and they seemed on the verge of cramping so he would not be able to pro- ceed. More and more, he used his arms to pull himself up the railing, but he knew he could not climb much longer.
“Why am I doing this? What will I see when I arrive at the top? Is there so much more to be viewed from a height?”
The final landing before the top of the tower was empty. No tables or chairs and no inha- bitant. On the floor, written in chalk, were the words “Caring is better than aspiring.”
Richardson/ Keepers of the LIght/4
He paused to ponder the inscription and, after an arduous ten steps, he arrived at the top of the tower. Oh! How spectacular! Dolphins cavorted between the waves and seagulls circled in an airborne ballet. Leaning over the railing he looked below for his wife, but could not see her. As he leaned further, the rusty railing snapped and he fell toward the water below. Somehow he felt no pain when he plunged into the black coldness of the sea, and as he descended deeper and deeper, his dolphin self came forward and he rolled over and over. The bubbles of water caressed his skin, and his fins and his tail thrust against the black water as he headed upward; once more toward the light.