Streetlight Deliberations

She started when someone whispered in her right ear.

“Whatcha staring at?”

It was just Dean, leaning forward from behind her, angling his head in the way hers was angled, as if trying to figure out the answer to his question without her direct involvement.

She pointed, “See how the light of that streetlamp makes the branches of the tree in front of it look a little warped, or rather curved? As if they are framing the oval shape of the lamp itself? And it looks as if the entire tree reshaped itself in order to curve around the streetlight. But if you look at it from a different angle, the branches aren’t actually curved - it’s just the way the light reflects off of them that makes them look that way. The light of that streetlight changes the appearance of other things around it, or maybe that light has such a presence that it commands the rest of the space to adapt accordingly. Here, I took a photo of this phenomenon just a block away from here as well.”

With those words, she pulled out her phone and showed the photo, all while continuing to rattle away, “I mean I know, there’s a whole bunch of things at play - from the physics of light to the psychology of the human brain, or rather its tendency to look for and see patterns or ‘phenomena’ where there are none, or maybe it’s that we’re partial to circular shapes, I don’t remember exactly, but something along those lines.”

She looked up at the streetlamp again, “I mean it’s just such a perfect metaphor for presence, isn’t it? Some people live in such a state of embodiment of their truest self that the world around them reveals itself too and even sort of curves itself into a more fitting shape for those people. It’s like the observer effect in a split-screen experiment but taken to a more anthropocentric level - attention paid changes the outcome, but what if the degree of that change could vary depending on the degree of the attention?”

Dean cleared his throat. “How often do you notice things like that?”

The question caught her off guard, “Hmm?”

“This isn’t unusual for you, is it? To spot these kinds of interesting things? To stop in your tracks and observe and deliberate?”

“Mmm, I guess not really? I just wish I took photos of them more often so I could remember them better. Sometimes it just feels wrong to take photos - like it’s only meant for the eyes of whoever got to catch it, which probably sounds a little selfish or self-aggrandizing even, no?”

“Self-aggrandizing?” He chuckled, “Right, and selfish too.” He shook his head then looked at her, “I do wonder at the ways your mind seems to work, you know?”

She shrugged, “Anyways, gotta go.”

“Walk with you?” He cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly.

She shrugged again, “The road is wide enough for both of us I guess.”

“So noncommittal!” He gave her an eye roll.

“It’s not like you were ever going to come on to me.”

“Whatever do you mean!”

“Oh come on, it’s fine, I’m over it now - it was a fun thought to entertain. I enjoyed entertaining it for the few weeks it lasted.”

She looked at her phone before putting it back in the pocket of her coat and started to walk. “Honestly, I think I just miss having someone to share all these random observations with who would actually be interested in hearing them. There was a time when I had a person like that in my life - I’d take photos and send them with a wall of accompanying text to highlight the curious thing I noticed.”

She sighed the tiniest of sighs and lifted her chin in what seemed like self-defiance. “I guess it’s been years now, oh well.”

“What happened?”

“Ah, he went and got himself happy and married.”

“That’s… an interesting way to put it. And you?”

“I? I’m not meant for that it seems.”

“Happiness or marriage?”

She stopped, a tiny wrinkle between her brows betraying the amount of thought the question seemed to be getting. Finally, she inhaled sharply and started walking again, “I don’t want to swear off happiness, but I haven’t exactly decided if I could see myself happy without a family of my own, which is the true promise of marriage, isn’t it? And since marriage is only attractive in its promise of happiness, I guess both? Love is just not something I see myself in. Or maybe I don’t believe in it for myself.”

“But you do believe in these things, right? Happiness, marriage, love? Or I guess, you don’t have to believe in marriage - the question of belief there truly is a strange one. But you also make it sound like you don’t believe in love, and I’m not just talking about today’s conversation.”

She narrowed her eyes at him in a quiet challenge.

He stopped, and she came to an unwilling stop too. Another streetlight was ‘curving’ a tree near them.

“Well, do you believe in love?”

“You already said yourself that it’s not a question of belief - it’s like asking if you believe in this tree or, I don’t know, in pain? You not believing in that tree isn’t going to affect its existence, and you not believing in pain isn’t going to prevent you from ever encountering it. I don’t need to believe in love - I know it, I’ve experienced it, I still feel it - I know I am loved and I have people I love, and love dearly. But what you’re asking is romantic love, isn’t it? And that’s a whole other story. A stupid, feeble story where trust and reliance don’t belong… not long-term anyways.”

“Cynical much?”

She shrugged again and walked past him. He caught up in a second.

“When was your last interaction with him?”

“Mmm, define interaction?”

“Okay, when was the last amicable exchange you two had as significant people in each other’s lives?”

“August 2022.”

“And when was the actual last exchange of anything between you two?”

“June 2024.”

“So, you stayed in touch for a bit?”

Her face got distorted for a moment by what could only be defined as extinguishment of sharp pain by a bucketload of disgust, “I would not call it that.”

He backpedaled, taken aback by her reaction, “Sorry.”

She sighed. Her eyelids fluttered in habitual contrariness and reflected the glow of a streetlamp back at it, as if refusing to surrender their true nature to the whimsy of the distorting light.

“I miss something that never was. Someone who never existed. You know, one of the worst things one can do to herself is to long for made-up realities.”

“Hmm. To be honest, I don’t know what to say to that.”

“I don’t expect you to say anything.”

“Right. Anyways. Why do you believe so adamantly that you could never have happiness in love, I mean, romantic love?”

“Because I’d need to be someone else entirely. I’d need to change into someone who isn’t this.” She turned around and spread her hands in a self-encompassing gesture before continuing to walk backwards. “And I haven’t found willingness to do that just yet. I guess I want happiness less than I fear killing off this person that I am in order to replace her with someone who could actually be happy.” She stopped, looking past him.

“Is that the curse of knowing exactly what you want or the cost of not having a single clue about it?” Dan looked like he didn’t intend to ask that out loud.

She shrugged. “Does it matter if the outcome is the same regardless? I am slowly coming to terms with the lonely prospects for my future. Or at least, I’m working on it, okay? I’ll just try to make others’ lives better.” She looked him in the eye. “Anyways, thanks for walking with me this far - I think I’ll proceed on my own now, if you don’t mind.”

Dean shook his head and watched her defiant figure grow smaller with distance.