Storymania - Flicker Of Light by Jeffrey Williams

Flicker Of Light
Jeffrey Williams

“Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light.”

Plato (427 BC - 347 BC), The Republic

1.

“That infernal light,” became a nightly and shouted phrase, almost poetically by Randall Barker as he retired to his bedroom that overlooked a golden orange street light. For nearly two years, there had been a street light that shone directly into the bedroom of his Manhattan Beach area Brooklyn home. Randall, a retired Republican strategist, has reached his wits end with the orange menace that taunted him every night.
After several letters to many members of the press and representatives of the city, Randall drastically decided to take matters into his own hand. He had a deadline for the problematic streetlight to be repaired and if that deadline wasn’t met, he was said to have the light destroyed through any means necessary.
Randall made one final call to the media and the city about his threat on a brisk fall morning while watching “The Today Show” and enjoying his morning coffee. He wanted to hold a press conference to discuss his “threat to the city.” No one took the eighty-one year old seriously. There was mediocre interest in the story of the light at best and it was only covered locally. The coverage by a local newspaper like the Manhattan Beach Press wasn’t sufficient enough to satisfy the ego of Mr. Barker but he did realize that he had to take what he could get.

The lackluster interest notwithstanding, Randall accepted the coverage of the only paper willing to dedicate his problem to the front page of their publication. The paper continued to run the story, even though no one seemed to care. Readers even began to write the editor-in-chief to demand that they cover something of some more interest to the wide readership.
The first day into his “threat” came and went without a word from anyone he contacted. Because of that fact, Randall contacted the reporter from the Manhattan Beach Press, Thomas McLain. Thomas has agreed to call Randall every day at noon and six to inquire about any changes. It was very obvious that it was a slow news week for the struggling publication.
The first day, Thomas made good on his promise and called both times, Randall was surprisingly calm and giving his extreme frustration with the situation. Thomas assumed that Randall was just enthused to have a reporter on the case. There were no changes that first day. After the final call of the day from the reporter, Randall called his daughter in Baltimore and told her that they were one day closer to what he continued to call “the drastic change of events” that were to occur.
Dorothy, his only daughter, and only child, wrote the whole thing off as nothing more than a publicity stunt by her often over the top father. She thought, even though in his early eighties, that her father was contemplating a run for office. Maybe, she thought, he’s make himself a cause and represent himself as a part of the struggle of the common man taking a stand against an indifferent government. Dorothy had her father had a rocky relationship their entire lives. In adulthood, Dorothy did her best to distance herself from her father. His views on abortion, gay and women’s rights, and the “sissy liberals” as he liked to refer to the as, were so extreme that any broaching of the subject would cause a major argument of drastic proportions.
Simply put, Dorothy just didn’t care anymore. The morning of the second day of his threat was a good one. Randall woke up, feeling good. He felt so good that he decided to take a ride on his bike. His birthday present and one of his most prized possessions (along with a Pulitzer Prize winning article he helped a former client write back in 1969) was that bike. Even though he in his early eighties, he was an avid bike rider and prided himself in his athletic abilities in his old age.

2.

Randall quickly grabbed his cell phone and keys and started on his ride. During his trail, his cell phone rang. Randall pulled to the side, hurried to his backpack to retrieve the phone anxious that it may be a representative from the city taking his threat seriously and offering to fix the problematic street light. Sadly, but not surprisingly, that was not the phone call he received. Humorously, it was just a wrong number. Rather than ruin his day, he decided to laugh the call off and continue his exercise.
When he returned home, Randall took a shower and turned on the morning news while he ate his breakfast. There was no mention of Randall or his problem, not that anyone, other than Randall was surprised. What angered Randall the most, and served as a knife in the back, was the fact that they ran a story on Gloria Chambers. Gloria was a bookkeeper who worked for the New York City Transit system.

Gloria lived just six blocks away from Randall and her story was much less serious, according to Randall and to throw salt on the wound, was being carried by NBC, FOX and CBS. Directly in front of the driveway of the Chambers home, there was a seven inch wide, six inch deep hole that was unavoidable as she pulled into her driveway. The fact that this story was covered at all was enough to send the already frustrated eighty-one year old into a tailspin of resentment. He was convinced that there was a conspiracy against him for his political views and affiliation. He knew in his heart of hearts that this was a liberal media conspiracy dedicated to making his final years a miserable as possible. It appeared that his sanity was taking a leave of absence.
The pothole story was covered on Tuesday morning, and repaired by Wednesday afternoon. Randall was obviously livid when he saw on the morning news that the pothole was fixed. It was also day three of his threat. The first call from Thomas came on Wednesday afternoon, but was a short one. Knowing that it was Thomas from the caller ID, he quickly answered the phone, replied that there were no changes to “his” problem, noting that Gloria’s problems had been solved, and he hung up. His increased agitation began to show even more. By six o’clock, Randall was done playing around. When Thomas made the final call of the day, he was nearly deafened by the roaring sound of the screaming eighty year old. He told Thomas in an over the top boisterous voice that Gloria Chambers was nothing more than a media obsessed, attention grabbing liberal bitch that was in someway conspiring to keep him miserable.
The allegations of an alleged conspiracy and liberal bias seemed more interesting to Thomas than the fading fast story of the streetlight. Thomas gave strong consideration to the fact that no one was interested in the story because of the ramblings of a nutty over the top old man who wasn’t even sensationalistic enough to garner any interest above a mediocre level. Randall wouldn’t hear of it.

3.

Thomas thought that publicity isn’t what he needed but a reality check would be fitting. Thursday morning, day four of the threat, was tormenting. Randall received a call from a reporter from the New York Post. Michael Peele, the reporter, promised to run the story of Randall and told him that he was going to send a photographer over to his home for pictures. Randall was so thrilled that he ran into the kitchen to throw water on his face to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming. Finally, after all this time, his story was going to be covered by a paper with some clout, and most of all, readers. Finally someone had thrown the old man from Brooklyn a bone.
The doorbell rang at fifteen minutes to eleven, just thirty minutes after the call. Randall welcomed the photographers in and offered them refreshments. The crew took pictures of the house and its distance to the streetlight. They also pictured Randall in his favorite suit outside his home pointing at the light. Randall was thrilled and felt a bit victorious. By the time the session was over, Randall was all smiles. The crew jumped in their van after thanking Randall for his time and backed out of the driveway, but before they reached the corner, the van stopped, ran back to the van and asked Randall to sign the release form. Randall happily obliged.
When he handed the form back to the men, without reading it, the men laughed, apologized for the mistake and drove off but not before leaving a little note with Randall which read: “You have just been had by the Eric and Dale morning show.” The look on Randall’s face was simply priceless. The city he called home seemed to have turned its back on him. He was a laughing stock. Embarrassed as the van drove off, with three of his neighbors watching Randall threw his clinched fist in the air and proclaimed “one day you will hear me! I will not be ignored. You will pay attention and take me seriously. The media will follow my story whether they like it or not.”
Randall called Thomas and demanded to know if he or any of his cohorts had taken part in the humiliating prank. Being innocent, they denied any wrongdoing. Randall had finally had it by that afternoon. He told Thomas to be at his house on Friday afternoon at three sharp. Thomas agreed and two ended the call.
Randall was hell bent on ridding himself of the nuisance of that infernal orange light. Throughout his career in politics, was known for getting his way and didn’t want that to be forgotten. He told Thomas just before hanging up that Thursday night was going to be the last night that he would be taunted by that light, barely able to sleep. Everything was quiet the night before at the Randall household. He didn’t make nor receive any calls after that call to Thomas. His lights were out all night and he never left the house. The neighbors had assumed, like many other people that he was waiting until the morning when the cameras were at his house to make a statement by finally bursting the light himself and accepting the punishment for damaging city property.
Given his political background, however, people were convinced that he still had some stroke and wouldn’t face any jail time. Perhaps authorities would just see it as a sick old man tired and wanting to make some noise. On Friday afternoon, the media truck pulled up to his house.

4.

On Friday afternoon, the media truck pulled up to his house. They couldn’t help but realize that the house was under an investigation of some sort. It had been sealed off with yellow police tape. The media was baffled. Thomas ran out of his van swiftly heading straight for the nearest officer. Her name was Detective Marks and she was happy to answer his questions. Everyone wanted to know what happened. Officer Marks explained the situation: “Mr. Barker was rushed to the hospital early this morning after suffering sever burns to his face and chest area.” A large gasp came over the neighbors, onlookers and media. “What happened?” someone shouted from afar. Well, the officer continued, in the interest of taking matters into his own hand, Mr. Barker decided to mix some deadly chemicals to blow the streetlight into pieces. Not realizing that many of the substances, when combined, can produce deadly combustion, Mr. Barker mixed and began to shake the tube leading to the explosion.” He is now being treated at Beth Israel. It was all over the evening news. Even news outlets outside of the tri-state area covered the story. Randall had finally achieved the exposure he wanted. Too bad he would never bask in the glow.
The very next morning, after the story had been seen all over the country, the streetlight that prevented Randall from a restful sleep had been repaired. Randall’s final comment to the press was: “Karma is a merciless bitch!”

End