The Lampost

Mr. Smith was inside, with all the curtains drawn and the appliances still. His wife was asleep; she had a social event at the club tomorrow. He thought about going to bed as well, but something wasn’t right. There was a humming sound, very faint, drifting in from outside the padlocked door.

He knew he shouldn’t worry about it. It was probably nothing. The Night Watch would take care of it, as it was their job to keep the night silent. And they wouldn’t appreciate him doing their job. He should stay inside and go to sleep. Yes, that’s what he would do.

But even in bed, he could hear the humming. Where was the Night Watch to keep things quiet? So incompetent, these days. Everyone was talking about it.

Grumbling, he slipped shoes onto his feet and bundled into a jacket. The three locks on the front door made clicks that reminded him of burglaries and prison cells. He stepped outside and shut the door behind him with a rattling sound that echoed along the empty street.

Once the echo subsided, he could hear the hum. It was more of a buzz, really, like a bee spoiling a summer picnic. The source he easily located. One of the lampposts, normally dark, was lighting up the corner of the block.

He cursed under his breath and shoved his hands inside the deep pockets of his coat. Shoulders stiff, he shuffled towards the glow. His breath was a foggy vapor around his head.

Upon reaching the streetlight, Mr. Smith reared back to deliver a mighty kick. Before making contact, he heard another noise.

“Hello.”

Mr. Smith, with only one foot supporting him, fell backwards out of shock. From a lower vantage point, he could clearly see a young girl peering at him. The streetlamp’s orange light created a golden halo over her head.

“Were you going to kick the lamppost to turn it off?”

Mr. Smith didn’t answer. If he had, the answer would have been yes.

“That won’t work, you know. I’ve tried.”

Mr. Smith remained silent and astonished.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you.. My mother, she says I shouldn’t be out this late. I suppose she’s right; all sorts of bad things could happen. But it’s so quiet out here, and pretty. I’m sorry, again. I didn’t catch your name. Mine’s Liza.”

The girl blinked expectantly at Mr. Smith, still on the ground. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Oh. Mr. Smith.”

“You and half the city. What’s your real name?”

What was his real name? “Mr. Smith is my real name. My first name is John, if that’s what you mean. John Smith. Financial Advisor.” What a peculiar girl.

“That’s an interesting occupation. I know a lot of financial advisors, although I must say you’re the first I’ve met this late into the night. My mother, she says I’m not allowed to talk to strangers, or tell them my name, but I don’t see anything wrong with it. You’re not going to do anything dumb are you, Mr. John Smith?”

With her hands on her hips, and her head tipped like that, all he could was shake his head.

“Would you like help getting up? You’ve spent an awful long time on the ground. Here,” and she stuck out her hand. All her fingers fit inside his palm and he had to take great care not to crush any. Standing up, the girl came only to his elbow.

“How old are you?” asked Mr. Smith with fascination.

“Eight. How old are you?”

Never had a child asked Mr. Smith how old he was. “Oh, I’m…I’m thirty, I think.”

“You think?” Liza giggled into her arm. “You’re silly, is what you are. What are you doing out at a time like this, in your pajamas and slippers?”

Mr. Smith blushed and pulled his coat tighter. “I came out to turn off the buzzing light. The Night Watch…”

“Incompetent, yes, I know. My mother, she always says that. You know, for all the nights I’ve been out here, I’ve never seen them once. Not once. But perhaps they just patrol other parts of town?”

Mr. Smith shrugged and leaned against the lamppost.

“So you are trying to turn off the light, is that it?”

“I suppose, unless you need it. I must admit, I don’t know the first thing about these streetlamps.”

The two looked up at the light, both standing in its cone of illumination. Liza spoke. “I’m not sure I prefer it on either. You’re right, it does sort of buzz, a bit like neon signs down in the city. But when it’s off, like all the others, you can see the stars.” Liza's eyes widened, like she was revealing a magnificent secret. “Do you know what stars are?”

“Of course I know what stars are!” replied an indignant Mr. Smith.

“You’re lucky. Some people don’t. Some people say they’re bits of space rock and gas and fire floating around in the galaxy. They just don’t know how wrong they are.” Liza sighed a little girl’s sigh and stepped away from the lamppost.

“Well then…well, what do you think they are?”

“I’m not sure yet. I just know they can’t be what people say they are. I’ve theorized some possibilities, but my mother, she says I’ve gone loopy. I tell her it’s okay but she gives me funny looks.”

Silence fell between them. No cars passed on the streets. No doors opened from the many homes on either side of the boulevard. Nothing stirred except their breath, as it was absorbed into dark night.

Suddenly the streetlight flickered and the humming abruptly stopped. Everything was tossed into blackness, but still Liza didn’t speak.

It took time for their eyes to adjust to the dark, and Mr. Smith shivered, wondering if he should go back inside his house. But he couldn’t just leave this little girl out alone on the streets, could he? Who was she?

“See them?” Liza's voice was an excited whisper.

“See what?”

“The stars. Do you see them? There, and there! They’re everywhere!” Liza spread her arms and threw back her head, drinking in the heavens. Then out of nowhere, she quickly snapped her eyes towards Mr. Smith. “Where do you think stars come from?”

He was forced to gaze at the navy sky. “Another world, most likely,” he heard himself say.

“You must be right.” she answered.

I must be right? How would she know, Mr. Smith thought. She was the one who was right, walking outside this late to take everything in., to drink it like a beverage and then offer him a glass. It truly was breathtaking, the stars. The whole atmosphere of night, really.

When Mr. Smith tore his eyes from the starry scene, the little girl was no longer at his side. He looked around, twisting both ways, until he spotted her halfway down the opposite block.

“Where are you going?” Mr. Smith called out.

“I don’t know,” came her reply. “Home, maybe."

“Home?”

“My mother, she says I shouldn’t stay out so late. Did I say that already? I’ve seen the stars, so I can go home now. It was nice meeting you.”

There were so many more questions bubbling inside his head. But he only nodded after glancing again at the stars.

“Goodnight, Mr. Smith.”

“Goodnight...what’s your name again?”

But she was too far away to hear him. The only sounds left were her shoes slapping against the sidewalk and his heart beating in his ears.