The Light in the Cabin on the Hill
Glancing outside, she noticed the windows were frosted. Listening close, she could hear the snow fall hard and crisp outside. She was cold; she had been cold for a long time, she thought.
She dreamed of warm, sweet coffee. She couldn’t sleep and she was beyond wondering why. The last time she slept wasâÂ?¦she couldn’t remember. Other memories came and swept her into dreams.
From her early college days, she had been a rising star in broadcast reporting. From live spots in Vancouver to the major networks in New York, she had that spark that network execs passionately refer to as “the juice.” Nothing could more easily save a station than the introduction of a heroine to adore, especially when the package came complete – looks, brains and wit.
Five years in network news had seemed like five minutes. She was on top of the world, rollicking in a world where she was queen and it seemed little would taint the luster of her crown.
But network royalty often find themselves lacking something, even sitting atop overflowing coffers and the adoration of millions of virtual subjects. In girlish fantasies, princes come riding in clad in shimmering armor astride a glowing white stallion. That was her empty spot – no prince had ever arrived to sweep her away to his castle. All that would change, though her prince would come swinging not a sword, but a camera boom.
As she turned the corner one day at the station – WHAM! – she came face to face – or rather, face to lens – with a video camera that nearly knocked her senseless. Her vision blurred, face bleeding, she struggled to bring things into focus. As the shadows around her materialized, her gaze locked on a single figure. He was speaking, but she could not make out the words. He looked angelic, curly brown hair ringed with a glowing halo from the bright fluorescent lights.
He stood over her, hands extended, pulling her to her feet. He was tall, much taller than her 5-foot-4 frame and he looked muscled, though not overly so. The look on his face struck her as funny.
“It’s nothing, I promise. I just smacked my nose really hard on thatâÂ?¦what was that? A low-flying plane?”
“My camera,” he said.
“Great, now we’ve both damaged studio property,” she quipped. He softened and smiled.
Over the next months, they were inseparable. No one had ever treated her with the respect and compassion he did. Where they went, he paid, even though his salary was far below hers. She couldn’t approach a door without his hand pulling it open. To him, she was an object to be worshipped. His admiration was pure. It was for her, not her status or station.
She was in love.
They often went on remotes together. The car time gave them ample opportunities to share the odds and ends of their lives. They spoke of dreams, of children, of families and of a life together.
During a trip for a local story in upstate New York, they had been caught in one of the decade’s roughest snowstorms. The roads had iced early and the van spun off the slick highway. The crash sounded like a million cymbals going off in her head, suddenly muffled by a great blanket of frost. He left her that day amid sirens and the eerie sparkle of flashing red lights on a carpet of snow.
She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she had seen him or why he had never tried to contact her.
Painfully, slowly, she adapted to life without him. One day, however, her past found its way into being her present.
As she stood in the kitchen, her subconscious locked onto a familiar voice from the set in the other room. As she peered around the corner, she stopped, immobilized by what she saw. There he was, looking older and no longer behind the camera but sitting in the anchor’s chair. His presence was powerful and strong. She thought he looked a little like a lion.
“And those are our top stories for tonight. On a personal note, I wanted to dedicate this show to a dear friend – no – more than that. She was truly the love of my life. Ten years ago, we were in a vicious automobile accident which claimed her life and nearly took mine as well. In fact, if she hadn’t draped her body over mine, I would have lost my life to the frost as well as my injuries.
“Tonight, wherever you are, this show is for you. I will never forget you.”
Her vision darted about the room, looking over the dust-laden furniture. In fact, dust littered the house like the snowfall blanketing the ground outside. A week’s worth of coffee cups lay in the sink, the decayed grounds permanently etched into the porcelain.
Just inside the front door, weathered and torn mail was piled through the slot and lay scattered on the floor. The wind whistled sharply through a broken window.
For nearly three years, she had searched for him in this world. Crying incorporeal tears, she now understood why she had never succeeded. She was no longer a part of this world. In this one moment, in a single frame of tape on a television, they were reunited and separated all over again.
She began to fade, her ghostly body dissapating into the ether. The television sparked and crackled, its image fading and finally disappearing altogether.
That day, the power finally went out in the old cabin on the hill.
