The Light Stays On

Vic likes beer, his fridge might be posessed... on a hot day they dance over who's got the bottle.

The day was hot:  a heat that holds you down and smothers you.  Vic wanted a beer, but the fridge, while less than ten feet away, seemed out of reach... besides, the fridge wasn’t making its usual hum….

It was groaning.

            “You and me both,” Vic muttered, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve for the twentieth time that hour. Sweat had begun to pool in every crevice a human body has. 

The fridge continued to groan. 

Vic wanted to unplug it, save it the agony of keeping that twelve pack of beer cold, but damn-it he wanted that beer.  He shifted uneasily on the vinyl sofa; its slick surface clung to him in a sickening manner.  What Vic really feared wasn't the schlep to the fridge, but the process of peeling himself off this couch.

            The noise from the fridge was worsening; Vic thought it sounded like a bad starter in an old car.

            “Yeah, I know,” Vic said as he slowly leaned forward, grimacing at the sensation of the hot vinyl slowly releasing its grip on his back… the sudden rush of air to his sweaty skin.  He took a second to catch his breath.  It was a long second... ok, more like a couple of minutes.  The fridge continued to protest its labors. 

Vic felt sorry for the ancient machine; the only thing in the damn cooler was the beer.

            He made his way to the fridge, or rather he made his way to the wall, and leaned there for another minute.  From here he could see the time/temp sign on the bank across the street.  It was five past five and 105 degrees. 

            “That’s quittin’ time,” he muttered, “for someone... anyway.”  This was the only part of this crummy apartment that had any kind of view.  The ad for the joint had read: “great views of the downtown and environs”.  Vic had to dig out a dictionary to figure the "environs" part out.  The meaning had since been cooked out of his head.  His only view, apart from the time and temp, was the "Harvey’s Shoes" neon sign.

            “Blinking insomnia…” Vic muttered, turning back to the fridge.

            He worked his way across the narrow kitchen and reached for the fridge.  It shuttered.  Vic snatched his hand back, as if bitten.  The fridge began to make a loud thunking noise, hopping up and down, shifting in place, moving imperceptibly towards Vic.

            "I’m not much of a dancer," Vic muttered, rubbing the stiff hairs of his chin.         

He wanted the beer held captive in its cavernous belly, but Vic was growing afraid of the fridge.  Maybe it didn’t want to give up its prized possessions.  “I’ll split the half-rack with you,” Vic whispered.

            In the apartment below, Mr. Chin began to bang on the ceiling. Vic gripped the counter, and began to cast about for a suitable weapon to work against the fridge with.  All he came up with was a bottle opener and that was no good; the bottles were twist tops.

            “Damn, damn,” Vic stuttered, “I mean, damn,” he wanted to say something more forceful to the fridge, but it was just too hot to argue with appliances.

            The fridge had shuffled half way across the greasy kitchen floor, blocking Vic's only exit, unless he climbed over the counter, but the way was blocked with other possibly rebellious appliances…. He was trapped. 

In a brief moment of clarity Vic out-flanked the fridge and danced around to its now exposed back side.   The now exposed refrigerant coils were covered in a thick mat of dust and cooking grease.  No amount of shaking and gyrating could dislodge five years of neglect. He lunged towards the cord and unplugged the fridge....

            Then two things happened:

            The fridge stopped dancing... and the floor opened up.

            For a flickering moment Vic saw the whole world in a frozen, sweaty tableua: Mr. Chin wielding his broom against the noisy ceiling and twelve bottles of off-brand beer suspended as though in mid-flight as he plunged through the floor and into the blackness of noise, shrapnel and chaos.

                                  

***

 

            White calm and silence encompassed him.    

He slowly became aware that he was not dead; indeed he was very comfortable and relaxed… which was odd considering what had just happened.  Needless to say this was not his apartment.  He knew that because his apartment had never (ever) been that clean, and he had never had a nurse in his apartment before (and boy, had he tried!)  Now here he was with an honest-to-goodness Florence Nightingale straight out of the pages of Playboy! 

Vic was afraid to look around too much… all he knew was that the view had changed for the better.  He was in a bed, clean and fresh, like the way sheets are advertised as being in commercials, that alone proved he was not at home. 

It had been so damn hot, and now….           

It was cool, the kind of cool that makes the air feel medicinal.  Vic pulled the soft white sheet up to his chin.  The nurse was taking his temp, or doing some other nursey type thing.  She was a knockout.  

            “Looks like you had quite a spill,” she said, in a sort of sing-song way.  Vic really liked the look of her.

            “Yeah, you should see the other guy,” Vic chuckled.

            “Oh, I did,” she said, nodding her head.  “It was on all the stations.  You were really crushed by that old Frigidaire.  But he didn’t get the best of you by any means, no sir.”

            Vic was suddenly not so sure of anything.

            “That mean old fridge was taken to the dump, and we saved these just for you,” and with that she wheeled in a galvanized tub full of beer, sitting in ice.  She wiggled her ample frame, giggled and pulled back the sheets.  Now she wanted to dance.  Vic pulled the plug… again.

 

Author's Note

re-written and revised many times since first draft in 2005

Reviews

[Forget Me Not]

I'm very confused by this. I can't keep up. It's well written but the topic is just so.. strange. I don't quite get it. Was he having an illusion? Or what?

[Blotter]

short answer: his 'fridges failure caused the floor to weaken, killing him; the rest is what his version of the afterlife must look like. (also, i think you meant "delusion").