Later that night, I lie in bed with the Maglite next to me, staring at the ceiling.
I can’t sleep. I’ve got too much on my mind.
The Maglite helps. I always have a flashlight in bed with me. If I wake up in the middle of the night, a night-light doesn’t feel like enough. I need some powerful illumination. With a Mag, I can turn it on and it makes me feel safe. Police officers use Mags, too. Not only do the batteries last a long time, but the beam is bright and the flashlight itself is really heavy. You can blind a suspect, then whack him on the head. Perfect. You can even focus the lens by turning the head of the light.
That’s what I do now. I point the beam up at the ceiling, make it fuzz out then focus back to a bright point.
I aim it at the closet. I think about the cardboard box way up on the top shelf there, the one I haven’t touched in a long time.
Dad’s box.
It’s brown cardboard, sealed with tape.
I remember sealing it and putting it up there.
I don’t like to think about what’s in it.
I take the light off the closet and move it back and forth on the wall, watch the beam shifting from place to place.
I hold it steady and look at the bright circle.
A spot.
The flashlight is like my own personal follow spot.
The idea is kind of funny.
I imagine how Josh would work a spot in the theater, swinging the light from girl to girl, laughing and waving when they looked up. And if Derek called for him, he would jog over to the ladder and slide down with a hand on either rail like a fireman going down a pole.
I wonder if I could work a spot like that.
I think about Derek’s idea of using a follow spot. What if I were his op?
Spot op. That’s what we call the job. Op is short for operator, the technician who runs the spotlight.
If I were spot op, the fairy girl would see me. Mr. Apple would know I could handle myself. And Derek?
He wouldn’t be the only one who looked good.
I put the flashlight next to my head, feel the warmth of the beam on my cheek.
I imagine the fairy girl is next to me in bed. Maybe she’s dressed, or maybe she’s just wearing panties. I point the light at her, lift the sheet, and look at her body. Then I hand it to her and she points it back at me. We trade off like that, looking at each other in the light.
Looking and touching.
The room suddenly feels hot, and I kick off my blanket.
I take one last look at the fairy girl, then I turn out the light.
Just before I fall asleep, I think of the spotlight. Before it was just a nice idea. Now it seems like the answer to everything.