The Three Lights of Santa Lucinda
The Three Lights of Santa Lucinda
Come on, you target for faraway laughter
Come on, you stranger, you legend, you martyr
And shine
— Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Pink Floyd
1. The Taxi Driver
The taxi driver seemed to enjoy driving over every bump and pothole on the highway leading away from the airport. He emitted a gleeful little whoo or whee whenever his little sedan would bounce or lurch over one of those pesky little road hazards. He told me his name - Jackson, I told him my name - Claire. He resembled Marlon Brando in On The Waterfront, but he had long, curly hair, and he was in color. His voice was friendly and he had a sparkle in his hazel eyes that I could see in the rear-view mirror whenever he glanced at me. Fortunately, the road smoothed out and I actually had a pleasant ride through the bucolic countryside to the fanciful, little town of Santa Lucinda, population 3,563, according to the sign.
“In town for the show?” Jackson asked after we put the rough patch behind us.
“Oh, no,” I said, “I’m here for a funeral. My boyfriend’s uncle. He’s coming tomorrow.” Paul’s uncle had died a few days prior. He was ninety-two. “Paul had a last minute work situation and had to miss the flight today.”
“Ah, okay. His uncle wouldn’t happen to be old Harry Plumb, would it?”
“If there’s only one Harry Plumb in town, then that’s him,” I said. We were both quiet for a few moments.
“I knew Harry. I was sad to hear about his passing. My condolences.” I nodded to Jackson in his mirror. “I guess I’ll be seeing you Sunday at the funeral.”
“You mentioned a show. What show?” I asked.
“Ah, you have good timing. No offense to the deceased,” Jackson said with another twinkle in his eye. “Happens every year around now. This time it’s this Saturday night, tomorrow.”
“What happens?” I said, more curious now.
“The Three Lights of Santa Lucinda! ” he shouted, then laughed heartily.
2. The Town
After several more miles, we passed a large sign made of wooden planks painted cornflower blue with white lettering:
WELCOME TO SANTA LUCINDA, the sign read. ~ Population 3,563 ~ HOME OF THE THREE LIGHTS OF SANTA LUCINDA!!! Yep, three exclamation points.
Santa Lucinda is shaped like a human eye when viewed from an airplane, which I discovered for myself from my window seat upon approach to my destination. In the center, the pupil if you like, is Town Square, which is actually, you guessed it, a circle. It’s about a mile in diameter with a lush, green park in the center and quaint shops, pubs, a few hotels, and apartments around the perimeter. “Town Square is the best,” Paul had told me. “You’re going to love it.” I did. He thought it would be a wonderful place for my photography. The cobblestone roads and the brick sidewalks all added to the charm.
Beyond the Town Square is a donut-shaped expanse filled with fields, and forests, myriad roads and trails, office buildings, a few factories, and the suburban sprawl of country houses with impossibly green lawns and adorable porticos. This is the iris of the Santa Lucinda “eye” and is where ninety percent of the town’s residents work and call home.
Further still, on the east and west, lie vast farmland and mills which supply nearly all the essential food and textiles for the vibrant community. These corners are the whites of the eye, if you’re still following my analogy. Although not exactly white, they are shaped appropriately and are tree-lined around the outer edges, which some would say constitute the eyelashes. Following the harvest season, when these sections turn pale brown, it must be something to see the eye from above, staring back at you, with a knowing, unblinking intensity.
I arrived at Town Square about eleven-thirty Friday morning. The old plan was for Paul and I to explore Santa Lucinda on Friday and Saturday, attend the funeral on Sunday, then fly out late that afternoon. The new plan was for me to explore the town on my own Friday and Paul would arrive Saturday morning. Jackson was kind enough to bring my two bags into the hotel. I was so awestruck by what I saw of the beautiful, little town it was hard to believe I was still in the States.
I was able to check-in early at El Rayo Grande Hotel. After I washed up, I went down to the lobby again. It was stunning. There were stained glass windows casting luminous colors on the dark oak flooring. The high-ceilinged lobby contained an enormous fireplace and overstuffed furniture and solid wood tables with beautiful antique lamps. The walls had brass sconces with crystal globes, intricate tapestries depicting farm and country life, and a row of ornately framed prints that advertised past Three Lights of Santa Lucinda shows. In the middle of the vast lobby was an immense scale model of the town under glass, meticulously detailed with trees, cars, and even miniature people.
I gazed across the sprawling model of Santa Lucinda as I stood in the center of the actual town itself, and I noticed it really did look like a human eye. I recalled some of the things Paul told me about this wonderful place. He had spent two weeks in summers here, three years in a row as a teenager, while his parents vacationed in Europe. He stayed with his Uncle Harry and his Aunt Margarita. They had full-time jobs during the week, so he was left to explore the town using an old, gas-powered scooter his uncle had in the shed.
Paul had made a few friends and they had fun wandering around Town Square and some of the outer areas. He told me they once found a three-headed snake along Thistle Creek. It was only about a foot long and he wanted to keep it but his friend Frankie insisted they leave it be. Another friend of Paul’s at the time, a sandy-haired girl named Beatrice, told any townsfolk they came upon that the two of them were married. Paul didn’t deny any of this because the reactions she got from the people were too amusing. As I looked upon the model town in front of me, I imagined Paul and his little red scooter (he showed me an old photograph) traversing the winding cobblestone streets.
3. The Concierge
“Wonderful, no?” A gentleman's voice behind me startled me out of my reverie. I turned and saw a very tall man. No, on second glance, he was tall but not exceptionally tall, he was just wearing a long stovepipe hat. He also wore vertically striped pants which made him look even taller. A black jacket, waistcoat, and a teal and orange striped bow tie completed his outfit. He looked to be in his late forties.
“Yes, it’s fascinating,” I said. “The town and the model.”
“Ah, yes, yes, yes. My grandfather did that,” he said, gesturing toward the model. “He was an architect, and my family makes wine. That is us there.” He pointed to a miniature vineyard complete with farmhouse, barns, and even a scaled-down tractor. I looked at where he was indicating.
“You must have to use very tiny bottles,” I said, and he laughed.
“My apologies. Let me please introduce myself. I am the concierge at El Rayo Grande.” He removed his hat revealing his long, graying black hair, parted in the middle. He bowed slightly. “Reynaldo Frye at your service, madam.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Frye,” I said. “I’m Claire.”
“No, no, no, please call me Rey,” he said with a wink as he rolled the R. He put his hat back on his head which made him the tallest thing in the room again. “Let me know if I can assist you in any way, my dear Claire.”
“Well, I would love some good coffee.”
“Ahh, I see. You want to sit outside and relax and enjoy the Square, no?” I nodded. “You want to get a little picture-taking in, no?” I nodded again and couldn’t help smiling at this funny and charming man. “Yes, yes, yes. Go out the main door here, turn to your left, walk fifty paces.” He made a see-saw motion with his hand. “You will see Cafe Marina. Is a Frenchman who owns this place. Very good coffee. You sit outside, drink your coffee, and you can see the lovely mountains. Sound okay?”
“Yes,” I said, “it sounds wonderful. Thank you so much Rey.” Mr. Frye nodded his head with a gentlemanly tilt.
“Good, good, good. Go take pictures now. Beautiful day for a beautiful lady.” I started to walk out but he called after me. “Claire, don’t forget the show tomorrow. Come by my desk, I will set you up.” I waved back and he gave me two thumbs up and an extremely bright grin.
4. The Cafe Marina
I left the hotel smiling because of the wonderful Mr. Frye. I followed his directions and found the Cafe Marina. There were wicker chairs and metal tables, all painted slightly off-white and in immaculate condition. There was a young girl at an off-white podium and she awkwardly motioned for me to sit anywhere.
When I settled at a table she came over and said, “Welcome to The Cafe Marina.” She had braces on her teeth which gleamed in the sun. She was dressed all in white - white pants, white shirt, white shoes, white apron - except for a thin, yellow bandana around her neck.
“Hi,” I said, “I was wondering why this place is called Cafe Marina when there are no boats or water in sight.”
“My father's the owner. He named it after me. I’m Marina.” She smiled and handed me a laminated menu card.
“Oh, that’s so nice. Coffee, please. And let me have a… uh…” I perused the card. Something caught my eye. “A sunshine muffin! That sounds good.”
“Oh, it’s really good,” Marina gushed, her eyes twinkling. She took my menu and went to get my order.
A sunshine muffin, according to the placard which I then just noticed in the cafe window, is a lemon-flavored sponge cake pastry with lemon creme injected into it, topped with an orange liqueur glaze and three slices of strawberry on top. It was so deliciously decadent that I wanted to cry. The coffee was excellent as well. I had to remember to thank Mr. Frye for the recommendation.
I couldn’t wait to tell Paul about this place. Which reminded me to text him. I told him everything was so wondrous here and the people were so enchanting. He texted back and said he was wrapping up everything at work and was excited to join me Saturday morning.
As I let the warm sun soak into my face, Marina came by to ask if I wanted anything else. I told her I didn’t and she placed a folded paper bill on the table. “I noticed your camera,” she said. “If you want a great place to take photos, go straight into the park, follow the main path into the center. You’ll find a bunch of benches, most of them are brown but one of them is red. Sit there.” She smiled at me again, causing me to blink from the glare from her braces, then she turned and left. I finished my coffee, I paid and tipped Marina generously, and set off on my walk. First stop, Center Park.
5. The Center of Center Park
I wasn’t sure why such a delightful and enigmatic community had such simple, almost boring, place names - Town Square, Center Park. I wondered what the suburban areas were called. Neighborhood Three? The Living Area? I took a deep breath and started my walk. Everybody I passed smiled and said Hello or Good day. An elderly gentleman even tipped his hat as I made my way around him. I was starting to really like this place.
Center Park was easy to find; it was just across the street. The main road in Town Square is a large circle with the aptly-named park in the center, so no matter where you are on Santa Lucinda Boulevard, the outer edge of the park is right there. There was an obvious opening and a bricked path that led into the park. The path was adorned with colorful flowers and shrubs and juniper bushes for the first thirty yards or so. On either side were manicured lawns with playgrounds and ponds. After that, the trees began and the park became slightly darker, but the path was wide and clean. I found it odd that there weren’t more people strolling or jogging through this lush natural area. I also noticed no dogs, just squirrels and birds and an occasional deer.
It took me forty-five minutes to reach the small clearing Marina sent me to find. I would have gotten there sooner but I always like to stop and photograph vegetation, wildlife, or anything scenic or interesting. Scattered around the circular clearing were several benches and I headed straight for the red one. As I sat and sipped from my water bottle, I got a feeling of peace and contentment. Maybe it was the fact that I had been walking a while and was burning off the sugar from the Sunshine Muffin, but I’ve never felt that calm and at ease before.
The clearing had four other paths leading out in different directions from the center besides the one from which I had arrived. Directly in front of the red bench was one of those paths and I gazed down it in awe. The trees on either side of it formed a spectacular canopy and the sunlight streaming down through the leaves created stunning shafts of light which flickered and jiggled with the breeze. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the mesmerizing sight and the feeling of sereneness swept through my entire body.
After several minutes in that peaceful state, I forced myself to pick up my camera. I held it to my eye, grateful that I decided to bring my wide angle lens, and composed the shot. The exact second that I pressed the shutter button, I began to hear music. It was a single guitar. At first, I thought it was in my head but then I discerned that it was from behind me, moving to my left and getting closer.
6. The Guitar Man
The man with the guitar looked like a skinny Santa Claus. He didn’t wear a red coat or show up with any reindeer, so it must have been the white hair and beard, and the rosy cheeks. He had on blue jeans that had seen less abrasive days, a patchwork of a cardigan sweater, and a Toronto Blue Jays baseball cap. His guitar was slung around his neck with a length of fraying rope and shoelaces. It was a classical guitar with two of the six strings missing. It too seemingly had a life of mystery and intrigue and resembled Willie Nelson’s guitar Trigger with all its well-worn character.
I was still in a mild dreamlike state, so when he appeared from behind me and placed a foot on the red bench, I was no more alarmed as if an actual blue jay had perched there. His fingers plucked the four available nylon strings and made such a spirited tune that I was able to do nothing but watch and listen. And with a sudden brusk of his fingers forming a resounding chord, he stopped.
“Hey der young lass, the name’s Wayne!” he said, quite loudly. If we weren’t in a vegetation-rich, sound-dampening area but on a rocky cliff, say, I’m sure his name would have reverberated for quite some time. Wayne, wayne, wayne, wayne…
“Hi, Wayne,” I said, groggily returning to real life, “that was a beautiful song.”
“Ahh, thankee,” he said. I detected a Scottish brogue, but I’m not very good at identifying accents so let’s just say he had an interesting twang. “And who might ye be?”
“I’m Claire, nice to meet you.”
“And ye as well, my dear. Ye must be a recent visitor to our luminous city as I hadn’t the erstwhile pleasure of gazin’ upon yer bonny face ‘fore this fine day.”
“That’s correct, sir. I’m in town only for the weekend. Now that I’m here, I wish I could stay longer.”
“Ah, but ye can,” said the guitar man. “It’s really quite simple, see. Ye just have to decide to do what ye wish fer.” He laughed then and I saw a diaphanous glow about him for a fraction of a second. Just as with Mr. Frye, I couldn’t stop smiling at this weird and wonderful man.
“May I ask you a question?” I said.
“Indeed ye may,” he said, fiddling with the tuning knobs of his guitar.
“Where does that path lead to?” I nodded toward the sun dappled path leading straight off the red bench.
“Ah, you’ve picked a good one, lass. Each of these der five paths lead to a different section of Town Square, sure. The one ye came in on gets ye back to the hotel district. Those three der are recreation, services, and shops.” He pointed to each of the three other paths in order. “And this one here, sweet Claire…” he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, “...takes ye to Thistle Creek and Ol’ Santa Lucinda. It’s the best one for pictures, sure it is.” He gave me a thumbs-up and started on his way strumming his guitar.
“Thank you, sir,” I said. “It was very nice meeting you.”
“Ye too, my dear. Bye fer now,” he called over his shoulder. “See ye tomorrow at the show.”
7. April at Thistle Creek
I stood up from the red bench and a warm breeze blew through my hair. I took another photo of the tree-lined path, this time in portrait orientation. Wayne’s guitar was still sounding through the center of Center Park as I headed down the Thistle Creek path. After about ten yards, I stopped, turned around, and took a photo of the red bench. I formed an idea to picnic here with Paul on Saturday.
Thistle Creek was near the end of the wooded area of the park. The creek was wider than I had imagined, about fifteen feet to the other bank. There was a stepping stone crossing that wasn’t as precarious as it sounds. The stones were wide and flat and most of them were dry. Thistle Creek moved along at a pleasing trickle and created the most relaxing sounds.
I decided to walk along the creek before crossing. I spent a long while exploring and taking photos, but unfortunately I found no three-headed snake to photograph. Marina was right, this was a great place to take pictures, and the weather was perfect. I was alone, except for some small animals, but I did hear children playing not too far off. As I rounded the next bend of the meandering creek, I saw them.
There were three young boys splashing in the water and a young girl sitting higher up on the bank. She had a sketchbook and was drawing with a charcoal pencil when she noticed me.
“Hi,” she said as I approached. She looked to be about ten or eleven years of age.
“Hi, there” I said, and knelt down beside her. “My name is Claire, what’s yours?“
“April.”
“What are you drawing?”
“A castle,” she said and tilted her artwork for me to see. It was an extremely detailed and realistic drawing. I told her it was a very good illustration. “It’s okay, I guess, but I want to have light coming out of the window at the top but I don’t have a white pencil.”
“You don’t need a white pencil, your paper is white,” I said. She looked a little confused. “Do you have an eraser?” She nodded and I explained how to lightly erase some of the drawing in the form of light rays coming from the window. She tried it tentatively. “The more you erase the more light there is.”
“That really works!” she exclaimed. The boys stopped their splashing and came over to see. It was agreed by all that it was a wonderful picture and I could tell April was proud of it.
I chatted with the children for a while and April and I even removed our shoes and waded in the water with the boys. The sunlight was filtering through the trees, just as it was on the path, and I felt I was transported into a Maxfield Parrish painting. After my little recess with the kids, I decided it was time to resume my journey. April thanked me for the drawing tip and I said goodbye to them all.
8. Life on Santa Lucinda Boulevard
I headed back up the bank to the stone crossing and made my way across. (Of course, I just had to crouch on a stone in the middle of Thistle Creek to take a few photos.) On the other side, the trees became more sparse. After a short walk the path bisected another green field with rose gardens and park benches and before I knew it, I was walking across the cobblestones of Santa Lucinda Boulevard.
Old Santa Lucinda was just as quaint as the more modern Santa Lucinda on the other side of Center Park, only… well, older. The buildings were smaller, of course, and their outer stucco walls were painted in colorful pastel shades. There were businesses that stood the test of time: a bakery, a deli, a laundrette, a dress shop. There was a five and dime, which in my town would be known as a dollar store. I saw bed sheets hanging from balconies, drying in the afternoon sun.
I didn’t see many people outside except for a couple of shop girls on break, enjoying the sunshine and engaging in some apparently hilarious conversation. They were passing a floppy hat back and forth, each trying it on with a different facial expression that made them double over in laughter. Upon seeing me and my camera, they immediately begged me to take their picture but erupted in a fit of giggling once more. I asked how I would get the photos to them and one of them produced a business card with their contact information.
So, I spent the next several minutes taking photos of Chloe and Zoey (those were their actual names, not making it up) with the hat, without the hat, separately, together, a few selfies with the three of us. It turned out, we were having lots of fun right outside the store in which the two of them worked. It was called Hats and Cats and you can probably guess what they sold there. Four cats roamed around the display racks on the sales floor, two more watching us from the front window.
Our last shot was the three of us scrunching together, Zoey on one side of my face, Chloe on the other, cheek to cheek to cheek. I felt a slight surge of electricity through my face as we huddled together laughing and I was momentarily blinded as I took the shot, my arm outstretched before us holding the camera. The girls laughed the way girls do when they have a secret between them, and Zoey announced that they needed to get back to work. I followed them into the store and bought myself a hat!
Although Old Santa Lucinda was picture-taking heaven, I eventually followed the boulevard around to the other districts. I came upon a large open space with baseball diamonds, soccer fields, running tracks, tennis, basketball, and bocce ball courts, and several open-air pavilions. There were a few people running, a few walking, a father teaching his young daughter how to hit a softball, a lone boy dribbling a soccer ball down the field, a couple playing tennis.
I got the strangest, but most pleasant feeling walking through this recreational district. It was as if the entire day so far, the people, the places of Santa Lucinda enveloped me in a loving bear hug. I had a sense of belonging and a deep desire to be a part of this community. I stopped on the sidewalk and let the warm afternoon sun soak into my skin. I fell in love with Santa Lucinda on my little journey through the quirky town and I was just realizing it. I wanted to stay longer than a weekend. This was where I wanted Paul and I to get married. I think I wanted to live here.
I made my way around Santa Lucinda Boulevard past the service bureaus to the shopping district. There were absolutely adorable shops on the boulevard and an off-street open mall with even more fanciful stores and eateries. This U-shaped retail hub had a large, open courtyard with a grand fountain, bistro tables, metal sculptures, and some playground equipment for the children. There was even an expanse of grass for picnickers. This is where I plopped myself down for a little rest and some people-watching.
I looked across to the two tiers of boutiques that spread around three sides of my little, sunny patch of earth. I realized I didn’t recognize a single brand name or logo on any of the signs above the shops. And furthermore, I couldn’t recall seeing any familiar fast food places or drug store chains or even a gas station I had heard of before. This was definitely a charming place, even if it was just a little “off.” But I liked it.
I spent the next hour perusing the shops and getting lost in the atmosphere of the place. Everyone I met or passed smiled at me or said hello; I felt almost regal. I ended up buying a few things, including a cotton sweater for the “big show” everyone had been talking about. I assumed it would be casual, but I had to remember to ask Mr. Frye. I had snakes in my stomach by that point, so I knew I should be heading back to the hotel to see about making plans for dinner.
9. Dinner With the Fryes
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I headed down to the lobby. Reynaldo Frye was still at his counter and he smiled and waved me over when he caught sight of me. “Claire, my darling,” he half-shouted. “Very good to see you again. Did you have a nice adventure?”
“Hi Mr. …hi, Rey,” I said. “It’s been a wonderful day.” He came around to greet me and held out his hand to shake, so I shook it. He squeezed my hand firmly and patted the back of it with his left hand. A sensation unlike I’ve ever felt shuddered through me. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, just sudden and electric. He led me to a seating area adjacent to his station.
“Please, tell me about this wonderful day,” he said as we sat. “You must have gathered much sunshine. Yes, yes, yes, you’re absolutely glowing.” He winked when he said this and I couldn’t help smiling again at this marvelous man. I told him about the Cafe Marina and the scrumptious Sunshine Muffin and thanked him for the recommendation. The concierge knowingly nodded his head as he plucked a piece of lint from his trousers and discarded it.
“It was really quite delicious,” I said.
“Ha ha, my dear. Everything in Santa Lucinda is delicious,” he shouted and waved his long arms around as if to illustrate the point. “What did you do next, my dear Claire?” I told him about my walk through Center Park and sitting on the red bench. As soon as I uttered this, Mr. Frye’s face broke into a wide smile and he clasped his hands together. “Ah-ha!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. He jumped up with a sudden bounce, much more adroitly than I would have imagined. “I have a gift for you then, Miss Red Bench.” I watched him as he sauntered over behind his counter and produced a colorfully decorated gift bag. I knew at once what it was.
“Your wine!” I cheered. “Such a big bottle too,” I jokingly said, pulling out the regularly-sized bottle to see the Frye Vineyards label.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Rey said. “I hope you like red. To match your…” He scrunched up his face. “I think… Well, I’m getting ahead of myself.” I tilted my head in mild confusion at this uncharacteristic uncertainty from the amazing Mr. Frye.
“Thank you so much, Rey,” I said. “I do like red. I can’t wait to try it. But I wanted to ask for your recommendation for a restaurant tonight. I know it’s short notice for a Friday night.”
“Ah, let me see. You want a quiet place with not much bother, no?” I nodded. “You want to drink some wine and have delicious food, but not too expensive, no?” I nodded and smiled uncontrollably. This seemed to be a game we played - him asking me what I wanted but, at the same time, telling me what I should want, and me nodding in agreement because it sounded much better than what I was imagining.
“Sounds good so far, Rey,” I said, playing along.
“The place I’m thinking of has a fine chef,” he said. “So fine, in fact, I married her.” He displayed a look of mock astonishment, mouth open, eyes wide. I raised an eyebrow at the implication.
“Where can I find this… um, restaurant?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Ha ha ha, you know this already Claire, no?” Mr. Frye sat back down in his chair and crossed his legs, cowboy style. “You come to my home, meet my wife, you have a delicious dinner, I bring you back here. Ten minutes away. You say yes?” How could I not?
And that’s how I came to have dinner with the Fryes - Reynaldo, his wife Elena, and their orange-crested cockatoo Moscato. Well, Moscato didn’t exactly have dinner with us, but he made himself known. Every so often he would shriek something like “Where’s the corkscrew?” or “Mmm, delicioso”. The dinner was as tasty as I knew it would be. We had pasta and chicken with a red sauce, homemade bread, and the freshest asparagus I had ever eaten.
Mr. Frye gave me the grand tour after dinner and I found it so enchanting. Their house was an adorable two-story on a half acre of impeccable lawn. There was a wrap-around porch which was glowing with tiny orange lights strung along the rafters. Each room was lit by subtle accent lamps that gave them such a cozy feeling. I wanted a house just like it and I couldn’t wait to tell Paul…
Holy crap! I had forgotten about Paul all day. I was having such a wonderful time on my outing, then I had left my phone on the charger in my room when going downstairs to meet Reynaldo.
“What is wrong, sweet Claire?” Mr. Frye must have seen the worried look on my face.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, “I forgot to call my boyfriend, Paul.”
“This is not very big problem,” Rey said. “Use the phone in my study. Call Mister Paul. Tell him hola from Mr. Rey. He remember.” He started walking in front of me to show the way.
“Wait, you know Paul?”
“Of course. Is been many years, but I know your Paul. Two summers he was here. No, three.” Mr. Frye held up three long fingers. “He and friends come to my hotel many times. Back in those days, Claire, we had ice cream shop in the lobby. Very delicious ice cream. Many children come.”
He led me to his gorgeous study with dark furniture, Tiffany-style lamps, and paintings of vineyards on the walls. An old rotary telephone was on a small table next to a large, pillowy easy chair. Mr. Frye told me to meet him back in the dining room for dessert.
I called Paul and told him about my wonderful day before he told me the bad news. He was promoted (that was actually good news) but his boss expected him to complete the project that they were working on. That meant another day before he could fly out on Sunday morning. Normally, I would have argued and whined, but I was somehow blissfully okay with the situation. New plan: Another day for me to see more of Santa Lucinda.
Dessert was a mango cobbler creation with vanilla ice cream, again - all homemade. I must have complimented Elena dozens of times on her food that evening. And I must have thanked them both a dozen more.
Reynaldo Frye drove me back to the hotel after the visit to his house and the delightful meal. I thought he was just being a gentleman when he came with me into the lobby. “Before I forget,” he said, “I want to give you the tickets to the show tomorrow night.”
“Thank you again for this evening. Everything was perfect,” I said. “Your wife is amazing too.”
“I know, she never lets me forget this,” he chuckled. After going behind his counter, he came back with two large cards, one a shiny red embossed thing and the other was more plain, thinner, and cream colored. “For you, my dear, and your Mr. Paul.” The red card was thick foil, ornately written and had my name embossed in the center.
A Special Invitation for Claire Porter, the card read. Join Us for a Special Evening for Another Grand Showing of The Three Lights of Santa Lucinda.
The other card was more generic and was not personalized.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Paul won’t make it before Sunday morning,” I said. “I guess I’ll be going by myself.”
“So sorry to hear this news, my dear,” Rey said. “You sit with me and my wife. We all have good time. Say yes, okay?” I don’t think I would have wanted to go to this show, whatever it was, with anyone other than my two new friends. I said yes and I gave him a big hug. He took the plainer card from me and we said our goodnights.
10. Another Day in Paradise
That night, after talking with Paul, I went to bed early without looking at the photos I had taken. I was beat, but satisfyingly so. He was worried I was bored being alone in a strange place but I assured him I was having the time of my life. I told him about having dinner with Mr. Frye and his wife and he was amazed that the concierge still remembered him. I asked him if he had heard of the Three Lights of Santa Lucinda shows and he said he recalled the hubbub about it one year but he had never gone.
The next day, I had breakfast in the hotel’s dining room. Once again, the food exceeded my expectations. I was starting to think that Rey wasn’t joking when he said everything here was delicious. My server was Abbott, a tall, thin, young man who was extremely polite and attentive. I found out later he was dating Marina and thought to myself that they made a cute couple.
The weather on Saturday was warm and breezy, so I decided to explore the outer parts of Santa Lucinda. Feeling adventurous, I rented a motorized scooter and I made my way through town to the more suburban area surrounding Town Square. Paul would get a kick out of knowing I was motoring around, re-enacting his childhood days. I passed Mr. Frye’s neighborhood and made my way through farmland and fields and came upon a small neighborhood with a general store.
I decided to enter the premises, simply named Joseph’s, not really needing anything to purchase, but I wanted to take in the atmosphere of the place. The door jingled as I walked in and I was greeted by an older couple, the man was stocking shelves and the woman was sweeping the floor.
“Well, hello there, miss,” the gentleman said. He was wearing baggy corduroy pants and a dress shirt with a vest. His bald head sparkled under the ceiling lamp directly above him. “Holler if you need anything.” His smile was warm and genuine. His wife smiled at me as well and I got the feeling I’ve met these two somewhere before, but it passed.
“Will do,” I said. I perused the narrow aisles of the store, walking on the creaking, wooden floor boards. Once again, I recognized no brands from, well, from anywhere else on earth, at least the places I’ve been. But everything was normal looking, packaged and labeled impeccably, with professional logos and artwork. I selected a few snacks - a bag of roasted zucchini chips named Zini-Zipps, a sleeve of banana and almond butter cookies called Mason’s Best, and a small bottle of watermelon ginger ale with a dancing otter on the label. (This was all for research and investigative purposes, mind you.)
“Will this be all, dear?” The woman was actually younger than I had initially thought. She had a youthful glow about her when I saw her up close, although she still must have been in her sixties.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “This is such a lovely store. I hope you get more business than just me today.”
“Thank you. We do just fine, don’t worry.” She bagged my snacks and I paid her.
“You need gas for your scoot?” The man, Joseph I presumed, was now next to me.
“Pardon?”
“Your scooter. Need a fill up?” He was restocking a bubble gum display rack next to the cash register as he was speaking to me.
“No, thank you, sir,” I said. “I think I’m good on gas.”
He smiled and said, “I’m sure you are, miss. I’m sure you are.” Then he put his finger to his lips in a don’t-tell-the-Mrs. gesture and surreptitiously put a pack of bubble gum in my bag. He then patted my hand before moving on to another display. I felt a spark of electricity at his touch and the store took on a reddish tint for a split second, however Joseph or his wife didn’t seem to notice.
The three of us chatted for a while. They were as interested in my hometown as I was in theirs. I learned that they lived upstairs from the store and that they have operated Joseph’s for forty-two years. In all those years, they had never left Santa Lucinda. They had everything they needed or wanted right here, they told me. I discovered I felt a deep fondness for the old couple and made it a point to come visit them again in the future, although how I might accomplish that I did not know at the time.
There came a point when I had to leave, so I collected my bag, said goodbye, and headed out. A few minutes later, I was zipping along a two-lane road, corn fields on my right, farm houses on my left. I felt like a kid again as I blew big, pink bubbles against the warm wind of the countryside. And that was how my day went - scootering around, visiting neighborhoods and charming Mom & Pop stores, meeting people that not only made me feel at home, but gave me the eerie impression I’ve known them forever.
Upon returning to Town Square, I returned the scooter to the rental place. I decided to revisit the center of Center Park and have my snacks on the red bench. So, I crossed Santa Lucinda Boulevard and headed into the park, this time taking the trail leading off from the services district. It was a relaxing walk, more curvy than my first hike. It didn’t take long before I was at the large, circular center with the five benches and their corresponding paths through the woods.
I was taken aback when I discovered that there were five benches - five brown benches. Not a red one among the bunch. I sat on the bench with the entrance to the path to Old Santa Lucinda and Thistle Creek. It was a normal bench in every way, just like all the others, just not red. It had the same view of the tree canopy and the swirling sun rays through the leaves and as I sat there I started to get that calm, comforting feeling again. I had my snacks, which were very good although the ginger ale was a bit warm.
I stayed a while, recharging myself on the bench. I found myself wishing Wayne, the guitar man, would show up and we could chat. However, I heard no music and I saw no mischievous, musical scamp.
On my way back to the hotel I was still perplexed about the red bench situation. I remembered that I had taken a photo of it and couldn’t wait to get back to my room to look at it. I didn’t bring my camera on my outing because it might have been awkward on the scooter.
But first, I wanted to pick up a thank-you gift for Mr. Frye and his wife so it was off to the retail section. I knew they liked the color orange because I saw a lot of it in their home. I ended up getting a beautiful orange colored candle in an ornate glass holder. There were embossed flowers in the glass. I thought it was gorgeous. Later, Rey wagged his finger at me, mock scolding me for the gesture, but I could tell that he liked and appreciated it.
The curious concierge told me he and his wife would be busy preparing for the show but to meet him at eight-thirty in the lobby of the theater.
“But where is the theater?” I asked him. He laughed with great gusto.
“Just follow all the people!”
11. Photos
When I got back to my room, I called Paul and told him about my adventures on the scooter. He was thrilled that I was having fun and was amazed that I would even do such a thing by myself. He assured me (again!) that he would be arriving the next morning and that we would fly back together.
So, then it was time to check that photo of the red bench. I took the memory card out of my camera and slid it into my laptop. I had a lot of photos on there already from home so I scrolled down until I saw the one I took from my hotel room window the previous morning. I expanded it and one by one flipped through my morning in Center Park.
When I got to the photos of the bench area I slowed down. Unfortunately, none showed a view of the red bench from my entrance angle. I do remember heading down the path and turning around to take the picture. That one must be coming up. After a few shots taken from the bench looking down the path, there it was. But, unfortunately, it was mostly overexposed. There was a bright white area of the image where the bench should have been. Which was very weird because the surrounding trees and even another bench were perfectly exposed and in focus. I cursed aloud for not taking more photos of the red bench. I usually don’t check the photos in-camera when I shoot casually like that, but I probably will start now.
I kept scrolling and went through the Thistle Creek photos. I got some great shots of April and the boys and also some nice scenic shots along the creek. The Old Santa Lucinda photos came next and I was happy with those, until I got to the ones with Zoey and Chloe. Every single shot of one of them or both of them had the same overexposed white blob where one or both girls should be, just as the red bench photo had. Even the photo of the three of us with our faces smashed together. Almost the entire photo was white, except a sliver of my face in the center, and the image had a red tinge to it as well.
Most of my other photos came out fine but there were a few where I did see a small, white blob in the distance. For instance, the man on the baseball diamond with his daughter was just a white fog but I could see the young girl clearly. I was perturbed about the messed up photos but I had to get some food in me and I realized I was very excited about The Three Lights of Santa Lucinda show.
12. The Theater
I ordered room service, had another wonderful meal, showered, and got dressed. I grabbed my red foil invitation and went downstairs. There were scores of people moving along the sidewalk toward the retail district. I joined the throng and everyone near me smiled and called out Welcome or Nice to see you. I felt so at home with these people I immediately forgot about those silly photos.
We got to the theater and the party atmosphere was electric. Everybody was in a joyous mood. I recognized a few people from the previous two days. I saw Jackson, my taxi driver, and Chloe from the hat store. I didn’t see Zoey but I was sure she was there somewhere. Wayne, without his guitar and slightly better dressed, was telling a story in his inimitable way to a group of onlookers. He recognized me somehow across the crowd, smiled, and gave me a quick wave then went back to his story.
The theater was situated in the services sector and it was beautiful. The old-fashioned box office was underneath the double-paned sign advertising the current show. It was obviously a throwback to the forties or fifties but, of course, that was before my time. I’m sure Paul would know the correct term for that type of architecture.
I made my way inside the lobby with its gorgeous red carpeting and the gleaming concession stands on either side. I looked past the huge chandelier above me to the grand ceiling a hundred feet up and was enthralled by the enormity of the place. And this was just the lobby! I decided to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Frye in a corner near the entrance.
I watched for them as the swarms of people came inside, some heading for the snack vendors, but most heading straight to the theater. I supposed it must be difficult to find a good seat, and I worried that we wouldn't be able to find one. Every so often, someone would see me and wave to me, smiling at me as if I came to these things every year. Some people even called out to me by name. Hey, Claire, good to see you or Have a great show, Claire or something similar. I have never seen these people before. Then, someone I did recognize passed by.
“Hi, Miss Porter. Nice to see you again.” It was Marina from the cafe and she was with Abbott. I smiled and waved at them and they waved back and went on their way. Then I realized that Marina was the one who mentioned the red bench to me the previous morning. I was about to run after her but then I noticed Mr. Frye walking in with his wife. Or I should say, sauntering in as if he owned the place.
He looked spectacular! While almost everyone else, including me, dressed smart casual (however I did notice a few suits), Mr. Frye was in a tuxedo and top hat. A bright orange tuxedo! In fact, everything he wore was orange except for his shiny, black shoes and an iridescent teal bow tie. His wife was dressed in a formal sequined gown in that same iridescent teal. She looked beautiful. Rey seemed to tower over everyone as they strode in, eliciting hoots and oohs from the crowd. They were obviously royalty here.
I was too dumbstruck in awe to wave or call out to them but, luckily, Mrs. Frye caught sight of me and steered her husband my way. I noticed then that the debonair concierge held a walking stick, completing his sophisticated attire. I know these people! I thought to myself with amazement. I was in their home and had dinner with them! I realized I was in a sort of dreamland and there wasn’t anything I could do about it but enjoy it.
“My dear, Claire,” Reynaldo said. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Oh stop,” I said. “You guys look amazing.” They looked at each other in mock surprise at my comment.
“Oh, well, I guess we do,” Rey said, and we all laughed. Someone shouted something unintelligible at the regal couple and Mr. Frye lifted his walking stick into the air and twirled it around in response, which garnered a smattering of applause and some more whoos. “Shall we try to find a seat before it gets too crowded?” he said to me with a guileful wink, and we proceeded through the lobby towards the theater.
There were three sets of double doors leading into the theater. I felt like a princess as we walked toward the middle set. Mr. and Mrs. Frye paused as we first entered and Rey nodded toward a spiffily dressed usher. He looked from the usher to me and back to the usher. I didn’t know what to do so I said, “Hello.”
“Good evening, miss,” he said with a patient smile. “Do you have an invite?”
“Oh! Of course,” I said as I handed him the gleaming red foil card. He scribbled something on the back with a marker and handed it back to me. I then realized I hadn’t seen anyone else carrying an invitation and certainly not one as ornate as mine. I quickly glanced behind me and couldn’t see a single person carrying even the simplest of cards, like the one for Paul.
“Enjoy the show, Ms. Porter,” he said, and his patient smile transformed into one of joy. His eyes gleamed as he waved over another usher. “Charlie, please show the Fryes and Ms. Porter to their seats.” So we walked behind Charlie into the theater. It was filling up rapidly but I did see many empty spaces. I scanned the room and noticed many people looking at us as we headed down the slight incline toward the massive stage.
The place was huge. It was at least three stories tall with balconies on three sides and ridiculously grand chandeliers hanging from sparkling gold chains. There were three seating sections - middle, left, and right. I was certain every resident in town could be seated and then some. The red carpeting was replaced with a multi-hued one. Squares of different colors ran down the length of the two main aisles. Even the seats were upholstered with the different colors in a seemingly random pattern. The stage ran the width of the theater and was beautifully lit from the sides and above. A massive purple and gold curtain was at the rear of the stage.
I started to get nervous as we left the majority of rows behind us. I glanced at Mr. Frye and he gave me one of his trademark winks, his broad smile gleaming like a lit billboard in the fog. And, for a second, I could have sworn I saw the theater lights reflecting off of his suit giving him a bright orange aura. This man held secrets and I wanted to know them.
Finally, Charlie turned, extended his arm with a palm up, like a showroom model, and presented to us our seats. Front row center. There were three in a row - orange, red, and teal, for Rey, myself, and Elena, respectively. “Have a wonderful show,” Charlie stated dutifully, but I hardly heard him. I think my mouth was hanging open as I sat between the esteemed concierge and his opulent wife.
“What’s happening, Rey?” I asked Mr. Frye as he removed his top hat and shook his long hair out. “Why are we in the front row?”
“So we can see better, my dear,” he said. “I have very poor eyesight.” He laughed and his wife patted my hand.
“Don’t listen to him, Claire. He can see just fine.” They looked at each other with a knowing glance and I suspected that Elena knew Mr. Frye’s secrets. I looked around in wonderment as the theater filled. There was an expectant buzz as the people found their seats. It was all so magical, that’s the only way I can describe the experience.
“Oh, my goodness,” I whispered to myself, taking in the entire spectacle, and remembering the strange and wonderful things that happened over the past two days. Mr. Frye was busy chatting to the person sitting on his other side and Mrs. Frye was checking her makeup in a small mirror she produced from her clutch. The theater lights started to slowly dim and the audience started to hush. My heart started to race and I began to get goosebumps even though I was perfectly warm. “Oh, my goodness,” I repeated, not knowing at all what to expect.
13. The Show
Everyone sat still in the darkened theater but I did hear a few murmurings and a couple of infants being fussy. My companions and I sat quietly. Mr. Frye’s orange top hat on his lap, Mrs. Frye’s clasped hands on hers. Their faces held a confident expression of knowing and tradition. Mine was more expectant and quizzical.
I wouldn’t have noticed the older man walking from the rear of the stage towards the audience if it weren’t for the slapping of his shoes on the wooden floorboards. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and the house lights were still low. I was startled when the spotlight came on and illuminated him and the applause began. He squinted as he made his way to the microphone. I recognized him then; it was Joseph from the store I had visited earlier.
“Good evening,” he stated matter-of-factly, seemingly to test the amplification system rather than to convey a warm greeting. He stepped back and cleared his throat as the applause died down.
Mr. Frye leaned over and whispered to me, “You know Joseph Grewson, don’t you Claire?” He sat back, not waiting for my response, but turned his head and smiled at me. I couldn’t recall telling Mr. Frye about my visit with the elderly couple or their store.
“It is my distinct honor and privilege to announce the opening of this year’s Three Lights of Santa Lucinda celebration,” Joseph announced. All at once the crowd rose to its feet and commenced a thunderous and enthusiastic cheer complete with raucous shouting and whistling. I watched as Mr. Frye donned his top hat, turned to face the crowd, and waved his walking stick with an encouraging twirl which only added fuel to the already ear-splitting clamor. The stage lights came on at Joseph’s proclamation and the heavy curtain parted behind him. It revealed a forty-piece orchestra which began playing a jubilant overture. Deep blue spotlights, mounted on rotating spheres in the ceiling rafters, shone their swirling indigo columns over the entire audience, adding another layer of exuberance to the celebratory affair.
To put it mildly, I was completely blown away by the entire production at this point. I was giddy with excitement and couldn’t imagine what the rest of the show would entail. Eventually, after several minutes, the audience calmed somewhat and took their seats again, the lights normalized to a subdued display, and my heart slowed to a more relaxed pattern. I had been jumping up and down, clapping and waving with the rest of the people, caught up in the fervor. Once again, I had felt a sense of belonging with the residents of this town.
I had noticed that during the ovation Joseph had quietly exited the stage. And now, another man slipped onstage and made his way to the microphone. When the spotlight hit him there was another round of robust applause. He was a short, plump man, much younger than Joseph, much more casually dressed in a colorful, flower-print shirt, plain pants, and tennis shoes. He had a coiffure of swept-back, reddish-brown hair that must have had a pound of product in it. I had never met this person, but he looked just as friendly and congenial as all the other residents I had interacted with.
“Ladies and gents, thank you for coming out tonight,” he said with a game show host's flair. “If you’ve been here before, and I know all of you have, you know you’re going to see something special again. Hey, is there anyone who hasn’t been to the show before?” I looked behind me and scanned the sea of people, not a single hand went up. I turned back around and tentatively half-raised my hand. I didn’t think he noticed so I put my hand down, somewhat relieved. Mr. Frye laughed his hearty laugh, which startled me, and stood up.
“Ha ha, right here Sammy,” he exclaimed, extending an open palm in my direction, and I’m sure the people in the back row could have heard him. “Miss Claire Porter. She’s brand new.” An uncomfortable feeling came over me. I felt like I was acting in a movie and I had the wrong part. Was I the only one in this entire theater who had never been here before? Surely there must have been visitors to this sleepy, little town - the hotel was wonderful, the people amazing, the food incredibly delicious. How was I the sole stranger?
“Well, hello Claire,” Sammy said. “Why don’t you stand up and let everyone see you shine.” I felt somewhat embarrassed but I stood up, turned, and waved to the crowd. Suddenly, there was a spotlight on me and I was temporarily blinded by it. A blood-red haze throttled my vision and I thought I might fall. Luckily, my new friend, Mr. Frye, put his arm around my shoulder in support. Or maybe he just wanted to grab some of the spotlight for himself. Either way, the people cheered and clapped and I slowly regained my vision. The applause was dying down when Mr. Frye placed his top hat on my head momentarily and everyone cheered once more.
When I took my seat again, I turned to Mrs. Frye and whispered, “I think something’s going on that I don’t know about.” She smiled and patted my knee.
“Why don’t we just enjoy the show? Maybe afterward you’ll begin to understand.”
Sammy turned out to be the host for the entire show. He was actually quite funny and started everything off with about fifteen minutes of jokes. Some of them I didn’t get because they had local references. For instance, he commented on Mr. Frye and his tall hats and alluded to an old lighthouse on an island which everyone could see but no one could get to.
After his comedy routine, Sammy introduced a singing duo, and the orchestra played them onto the stage. I was thrilled to see it was Marina and Abbott! They had wonderful singing voices and their harmonies were breathtaking. They sang three songs with the orchestra and one a cappella.
The next three acts included people that I hadn’t met. There was a magician, a rock band that performed three songs, and an animal trainer who used cats, chickens, and a goat to perform tricks. The entertainment value of everything happening on stage was excellent. I had forgotten my previous confusion and thoroughly enjoyed the show. Mr. and Mrs. Frye and I applauded and cheered as did everyone else. I knew then why everyone was so excited about seeing the show.
When Sammy introduced Zoey next, my heart skipped a beat with unexpected surprise. She looked dazzling in a long, shimmering, pink gown. The theater lighting became a subdued, pink glow, which suited her torch songs perfectly. She performed three of them with the full orchestra. Her voice was so beautiful that by the end of her second number, my face was wet with tears. I hadn’t even realized this until Mrs. Frye handed me a tissue. She was crying herself. Zoey received a standing ovation at the end of her set. It lasted several minutes and I was so happy for her. I thought of the ruined photos and I didn’t look forward to telling her and Chloe about them, but for some weird reason, I believed that they already knew.
14. Intermission
The producers must have known putting a short intermission after Zoey’s performance was a good idea. Everyone needed a break from the emotional roller coaster of the past several acts. We all got up, stretched our legs, and discussed the highlights of the show so far. I briefly considered checking out the snack selection in the lobby but quickly nixed the idea.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave the two of you pretty ladies for a while,” Rey said to me, quite out of the blue. I turned to Elena and then back to her husband, my mouth agape in disbelief.
“Are you in the show, Rey?” I asked excitedly. I imagined he must be the closing act, that’s why everyone treated him with such admiration and respect. My thoughts were in a whirl. Saving the best for last, that’s the old saying. He must be a wonderful performer. How could he not be? Oh, how I wished Paul was here to see.
“Well, I suppose I am,” he said with a sarcastic look of surprise. I was flustered with intense avidity for my friend and quickly formed several follow up questions: What will your act be? Do you play an instrument? Do you sing? Or dance? All of which I rejected because Rey seemed to be in a reserved state at that moment. He kissed his wife, patted me on my shoulder, placed his preternaturally orange top hat on his seat, and walked off toward the backstage entrance.
Mrs. Frye and I returned to our own color-coded seats. We chatted for the remainder of the intermission and I tried to glean more information about Rey’s act but all I got was a wait-and-see attitude and a wry smile. When the house lights blinked and then lowered, people scurried back to their seats. Mrs. Frye leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Pay close attention to Reynaldo and his companions. Maybe you’ll learn something.” As she said this, she ran her forefinger in tiny circles on my thigh, and I experienced a frisson of frenetic anticipation. She sat back and I was as confused as ever.
15. The Three Lights of Santa Lucinda
Sammy was back onstage, looking as undapper as ever, but still charming nevertheless. He introduced another three acts - a marvelous solo singer with a raspy voice a la Joe Cocker, an amazing comedy-juggling trio (all brothers), and an astounding string quartet that thrilled everyone with their complex renditions of sixties and seventies pop songs.
After the applause died down for the last group, I was still very excited to see Mr. Frye and discover what type of entertainer he was. But Sammy never returned to the stage to announce another act and the house lights remained low and the stage was very dark. I turned to Mrs. Frye but she sat there patiently with a gentle smile on her face.
“What about Rey?” I whispered to her.
“Be patient, my dear,” she said. “The show’s not over.”
I looked behind me and the people that I could see were seemingly content to sit and wait. One woman was bouncing her baby on her lap, making silly faces at the child. A few others were whispering to their neighbors. I saw a boy pointing to the stage with an excited grin so I turned back around. The long, heavy, purple and gold curtain was closed now and began shimmering with flickering points of light. The lights were stationary at first but then began to move in rapturous patterns. Then they started changing colors while the patterns alternated from geometric to chaotic.
I was fascinated by the lights. They were obviously embedded in the fabric of the dark curtain and seemed to glide and swirl on their own even though I knew each light must be stationary. It was almost hypnotic watching the circulating and spiraling colored lights, and I began to get that calm, serene feeling again like I had on the red bench, but this time I was indoors on a red theater seat. I had an electric warmth surge through my body and I think I lost track of time. I may have been watching those lights for a few minutes or a half an hour.
Eventually, the whirling lights slowed their seductive dance, the color shifting became less pronounced, the brightness faded until, one by one, the lights became stationary again and each returned to a faint amber glow making the vast curtain look like a starfield on a clear, summer night. The rest of the theater became as dark as midnight and I knew I was about to see the grand highlight of the show. My body was in a completely restful state but still rippled with excitement and anticipation. I was certain the entire audience felt the same as we sat there in expectant repose. Several more minutes passed before I heard the announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the disembodied voice boomed through the speaker system. “It is with distinct honor and reverence that I introduce to you the final presentation for this evening.” The voice paused. The crowd was silent.
Mrs. Frye took my hand and I felt her warmth as our fingers interlocked. I looked over at her and she was smiling. Oh, and she was also glowing. There was a very faint teal light emanating from her skin. I thought there was a weak spotlight on her but I looked down at our hands and my fingers were their usual flesh-colored tone. Nice trick, I thought, and imagined she must have some kind of lighting paraphernalia hidden in the fabric of that sequined gown of hers, as the curtain had.
Something caught my eye and I turned to see scores of faint glows scattered across the theater, all in different colors. Many of the colors I had never before seen and all were breathtakingly beautiful. I tried to make sense of it - I have never seen these colors before! How can that be? Mrs. Frye kissed my hand and left a teal imprint on my skin that lasted for about three seconds and was gone. What is going on? The announcer’s voice returned which brought me around to face the stage again.
“Ladies and gentlemen. May I present this year’s Lights: Vincent Thornton - Tunisian Violet, Maria Hamer - Quiescent Bisque, and Reynaldo Frye - Sunset Orange.” I quite expected the entire place to erupt in cheering and applause but oddly everybody remained silent. In retrospect, I now realized the reason Mrs. Frye held my hand. The stage was eerily dark, except for the dim pinpoints of light on the curtain. The rest of the theater seemed to have gotten darker as well, the scattered, colorful, faintly glowing people notwithstanding.
Some time passed, but then I saw them. Three silhouettes slowly making their way on stage. They were dark figures, walking in unison, with maybe three or four feet between them. I could see the outlines of their forms because they blotted out the tiny curtain lights behind them, but I couldn’t see any features on the blackness of the shadowy shapes. However, I could tell the middle figure was Mr. Reynaldo Frye by his statuesque shape. My heart leaped at this recognition and my excitement doubled. Tripled!
I turned to Mrs. Frye and saw that her glow was gone except for a small tinge of it in her eyes. The same was true for the spectators behind me whose skin had been colorfully luminescent. I felt a squeeze on my hand and I turned back around. Several more minutes passed and then I witnessed a sight I will never forget.
The three figures on stage began to glow, similarly to Mrs. Frye but with much more intensity, but not blindingly so. I could see them now distinctly because of the light they emitted - Rey was in the center, and the others on either side of him, Vincent on the right, Maria on the left. They were naked except for the briefest of briefs, covering their lower private areas, but not leaving much to suggest any measure of concealment. Their bareness had purpose, for every square inch of their skin was alive with color and light of such beauty that to cover any more than necessary would have been shameful.
I didn’t meet Maria Hamer on my short, introductory tour of Santa Lucinda, but there she was, on a stage before thousands of her fellow townsfolk, bare-breasted, emanating a soft, cream-colored aura that gave me goosebumps. She was a pretty woman, in her early to mid thirties, I guessed, with auburn hair and a slightly plump frame. Her arms were at forty-five degree angles from her body, pointing downward, fingers splayed. Her pearly, oatmeal colored aura was mesmerizing to watch. A calmness wafted over me as I watched it change in intensity and saturation.
Victor Thornton was a younger man, maybe nineteen or twenty years old. His body was thin but toned, a product of physical labor. His skin put forth a vivid purple emanation consisting of a hue that I don’t think I’ve seen anywhere else. With one arm up and the other down and away from his body, he looked like he was practicing flag semaphore, or imitating one of the Beatles on the Help! album cover. The richness of his aura was intoxicatingly beautiful to see. I can’t even begin to describe its complexity as it swirled around him like a billowing specter.
And, in the center, arms spread out horizontally, as if he was telling a whopper of a fish tale, was Mr. Frye, in all of his orange glory. He was the brightest and most magnificent of the three on stage. Intermixed in the swells of orange waves were tiny specks of gold shimmering in the light that itself created. His undulating aura swelled in every direction with such intensity that I could hardly make out his features. But… I did see, while the other two displayed looks of stoic concentration, Rey was crying. Tears of liquid gold were streaming down his face. I couldn’t tell if he was in pain or if he was deeply sorrowful or if he was in a state of ecstasy.
The sight of Rey crying made me tear up as well. When a few drops escaped and ran down my face Mrs. Frye squeezed my hand. She leaned over to me and whispered, “He’s fine, Claire. It’s his last time performing and he gets so emotional.” This calmed me down a great deal and I was able to enjoy the grand display of the three people on stage and their very peculiar talent.
“Why are they glowing like that?” I whispered back. “How are they doing it?”
Elena was quiet for a moment. “No one really knows, actually,” she said with a little shrug.
“Have they seen a doctor?” She almost laughed out loud at that.
“There are no doctors in Santa Lucinda.” This perplexed me but I decided to worry about that later and watch the show. I leaned back and drank in the colors and the light and relaxed in serene absorption. I was still very confused about what was going on - the whys and the hows - but I let it go and became synchronous with the spectacle before me. It’s probably more correct to say the “Lights” on stage that evening were pulsating their colors and brilliance outward. I cannot put into words what exactly I was witnessing. All I knew at the time was that it was unique and exhilarating.
After what seemed like quite a while, the Lights began to fade to a dim glow and they stepped back a few paces. After a minute, Maria stepped forward and took center stage. Her aura was not quite as bright as it had been but it was still a twirling of pearlescent creaminess. Quiescent Bisque - that’s what Sammy had called it. She stood unmoving for a while, as if she was deep in thought. I thought I saw a look of uncertainty in her face.
Then, in a decisive thrust, Maria swung her hands up into the air, like a cheerleader in a moment of team pride. Her light brightened and shafts of it rose past her extended fingers, slowly extending into the darkness above her. Two fat columns of light pushed out from her main aura about six feet from her fingertips and swirled there tornado-like.
Maria seemed unhappy with this and brought her arms down triggering a dimming of her light. She concentrated for a moment and thrust her hands up again sending those columns up again, this time even higher, maybe fifteen feet. Her aura was bright now, shimmering with her color, sparkling with minute variations and striations. She seemed happier with this outcome and moved her outstretched arms around in circles, forcing the light columns to stretch and illuminate the dark surroundings. It was quite spectacular. I was mesmerized as I watched her wave those bright columns around in patterns of pearly radiance. Her “solo” lasted about twenty minutes and, as her aura faded, she moved back in line with the others. There was no applause and I knew not to clap, even though Mrs. Frye had released my hand at some point.
Vincent moved to the front of the stage, his violet aura rippled from his skin like a bioluminescent fish in dark, shallow waters. He looked more confident than Maria had and I presumed that it had been her first time here and that Vincent had done this before. Almost immediately, he thrust both hands forward and a single shaft of purple and indigo light burst forth about fifty feet over several rows of the audience. He kept it there, arms straight, hands with palms facing each other, seemingly holding the light in place.
There were several uncontrolled gasps from the respectively quiet crowd. Apparently, this did not phase Vincent as he began to slowly separate his arms. The shaft of light became wider without breaking into columns as Maria’s had done. After several minutes, his arms formed a ninety degree angle and the bright, violet mass held in suspension over much of the audience. I was in the center of the front row, directly across from Vincent, some fifteen feet away.
As I looked up, I became mesmerized by the sheer beauty of his light. There were darker striations and waves of separate hues and small formations swimming around. I could see shapes in the light, much like you would see in clouds, but it might just as well have been my imagination. Vincent widened and squeezed the illuminated display, sometimes one arm up and the other down, sometimes in unison. He was like a conductor, but the music was light that he created himself!
16. Mr. Frye’s Final Performance
After Vincent’s incredible display, he moved back in line with the others, his aura dimmed, his “ceiling of light” gone. The crowd was dead quiet and I remained in a state of disbelief. I had entertained the idea that somebody drugged me and I had hallucinated the entire evening. There was no way the explosions of light and color coming from these people were real. And yet, it somehow felt real and those around me have seen these shows in the past and they had no look of bewilderment. Still, I was excited to see what I felt was the last act of the night - Mr. Reynaldo Hey-Look-I’m-Orange Frye!
And he was orange. No, he was emitting orange. Sunset Orange. He was surrounded by that orange glow as he slowly walked to center stage. He looked calm now. Relaxed. I could certainly tell he had done this before, even without Elena’s comment. He stood there, arms at his side, for many minutes, during which his aura rose in brightness and intensity, from a candle’s flicker to an opening night’s searchlight. Rey walked right up to the edge of the stage. His light was now extremely bright, like a miniature sun, and it was swirling around him. Different tints of gold and yellow and orange combined into a tornadic emanation.
I was awestruck. He was the brightest thing I had ever seen without hurting my eyesight. He was beautiful in his expanding, spiraling light. Then he looked down at me and I lost my breath. I cannot describe how intense and otherworldly his light was. I felt like he was putting on a show just for me. My peripheral vision was gone and all I could see was the shining Mr. Frye, gazing at me with a look of… solidarity.
He closed his eyes and raised his arms to a horizontal position, stretched out on either side, hands balled up. His aura swirled around his body and his arms with more ferocity. Several moments passed, and then he brought his hands to his chest and then shot them back out, this time with fingers extended. Many more people gasped, me being one of them, when we saw the laser-like emanations shooting out of each fingertip consisting of the deepest, glowing orange you could imagine. He cast perfectly straight pencil-width beams of colored light, ten in all, out of both hands, scorching through the darkness to each wing of the stage.
If I was a bit confused before, I was dumbfounded at that point. How is this happening, I thought to myself. I knew this man and had dinner with him and his wife. He was the most charming person to me and now he had become some kind of amazing pyrotechnic magician. I turned to Mrs. Frye to observe her reaction. She seemed calmer than most, her eyes glistening with reflections of the orange beams. I think I noticed a bit of surprise in her face. It was quite possible that even she didn’t know her own husband’s abilities.
Mr. Frye started moving his hand toward the audience and his finger beams extended in length until they were stopped by some obstacle, like the sides of the theater. He started manipulating his fingers in such a way that the beams swerved and angled and sometimes crossed over another. At these intersections, a bright yellow ball of energy appeared, causing another surprised reaction from the crowd.
He then splayed his fingers causing the colorful light beams to split from each other and traverse across the entire audience, each light traveling above our heads and hitting either the sides or the back of the theater. Every head in the place was lifting and turning to see the spectacle, many with mouths agape but the majority with smiles of delight. I could tell that this was a very special edition of the annual show.
Mr. Frye began moving his arms up and down, effectively generating waves in the beams, like a weightlifter manipulating an exercise rope. The beams of light were moving back and forth and up and down creating moving patterns so intricate and lace-like it was almost too much for a reality-based mind to accept. I gave up trying to figure out how this was done and got lost in the beauty of my friend’s performance. I looked up at him and he was smiling, undoubtedly pleased with his accomplishment. He caught my eye and gave me one of his suggestive winks and I realized he had something even more grand to offer.
His act went on for quite a while and I wondered how he was creating all of this energy. Isn’t light energy? I thought to myself as the orange beams swirled above me. At one point Mr. Frye consolidated all of his beams from his left hand and intersected them with the consolidation from his right hand. The meeting of these two thicker beams created a huge fireball with an audible bang. This got another surprised reaction from the crowd and he repeated the feat over different parts of the audience.
This is how it went for a good long time. Mr Frye created brilliant patterns and lines and waves and spheres of light too incredible to describe with words. People reacted with uncontrolled exclamations of joy and incredulity. I was thrilled beyond belief, my heart bursting with pride and admiration.
Then it was dark. The only thing visible was the subtle glow of Mr. Frye’s aura. He took a couple of steps back and stood with his hands at his side. He stood without a sound for a minute. The theater was so silent I could hear my heart beating. I knew, I just knew, Mr. Frye was going to do something spectacular. His wink told me so. I just didn’t know what it was going to be.
Mr. Frye slowly brought his hands up to his chest. Then, with such quickness that I almost missed it, he shot his hands back down at his side, fingers pointing downward. The thin columns of light were back, this time all ten shooting straight down onto the wooden floorboards of the stage. With an intense concentration on his face, Mr. Frye focused the five beams on his left and the ones on his right into two points near his feet. I thought I saw smoke as the balls of energy formed but it could have been the brightness and movement of the colors.
My mouth probably hung open as I watched Mr. Frye as he discharged fire and brimstone (whatever that is) out of his fingers, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tight and straining. He looked like one of those gymnasts on the parallel bars, except he was almost totally naked. And, ah yes, all of that orange light!
Then, probably the craziest, most unusual thing I witnessed on that weekend so many years ago, happened then and I will never forget it. Mr. Frye lifted off of the stage! A few inches at first, powered only by the light he was emitting. He was sweating profusely, his arms seemingly bearing the weight of his entire body. I instinctively reached for Elena’s hand and held it as my eyes were locked on her husband who rose another two inches.
“That’s just not possible,” I said aloud, to no one in particular.
“Shhh,” Mrs. Fry admonished me, squeezing my hand. Rey was hovering over the stage now at a height of about a foot, propelled there by what looked like boiling light. It sounds insane, doesn’t it? Boiling light - I don’t know how else to describe it. I didn’t know how long he would last like that; he looked in such physical distress. But he did go on for another fifteen minutes or so, reaching an incredible three feet above the stage before slowly lowering himself down.
At the end, he stood on the stage motionless. I could see rivulets of sweat running down his face and body, dripping from his long hair, even though I didn’t think the light itself was hot. I had no reason to justify this belief, I just knew it. Mr. Frey’s aura had dimmed but still had a deep orange glow analogous to its name. He stood there fading and I felt a deep sadness knowing, if Elena’s words were true, that this was his last performance.
The crowd was silent as we watched him decompress from his exertion. Something caught my eye and when I noticed it I made a breathy sound as I took a sharp intake of air. Mr. Frye's right hand was no longer glowing. It was as dull as a river stone in a bowl of diamonds. He had heard me and tuned his eyes on me and knew immediately what I had seen. He looked down at his hand and his face broke, then he took a long bow, his back as straight as a diving plank. When he straightened, the tears were back.
17. After the Show
Rey slowly turned and walked toward the rear of the stage. Maria and Vincent had apparently exited at some point. A small triangle of light appeared as someone behind the curtain opened a gap for him. The theater’s house lights faded up slowly from black to a low level so that people could see without being blinded. And that’s when the audience erupted in cheers and applause so sudden it startled me. Then we were all on our feet clapping and whooping and whistling. I was still a little dumbfounded from what I had seen for the past hour but I was right there with them, cheering.
The ovation went on for quite some time but eventually started to wane. The house lights were fully bright by the time Sammy came back on stage. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he shouted into his microphone. “Please keep it going for the Three Lights!” The rear curtains opened and Maria, Vincent, and Rey walked on stage. Maria and Vincent were now dressed in party attire - a flowery dress for her and a purple suit for him. Rey was cloaked in a long, orange robe, his hair still damp. The applause and cheering was threefold.
Eventually, the three performers, satisfied with their acclamations, turned and exited the stage, smiling and waving. Mrs. Frye took my hand and swiftly led me toward a backstage door. I barely had enough time to grab Mr. Frye’s top hat.
There were more people than I would have imagined roaming around, mostly orchestra members and theater crew. I saw people from the show - Sammy, the orchestra conductor, Marina and Abbott, the magician. I saw Zoey in her pink gown and we hugged and I told her she was an amazing singer. I attempted to introduce her to Mrs. Frye but they already knew each other and greeted one another like old friends.
Zoey was holding a flute of champagne and Mrs. Frye gushed, “Ooh, that looks good!” Zoey motioned to the elaborate bar and hors d'oeuvres set-up before she was kidnapped by a strikingly handsome man. She waved as she was whirled away in the large man’s arms. “Her betrothed,” Mrs. Frye said as she handed me a champagne.
“I don’t see Rey,” I said.
“He’s most likely washing up,” she said indifferently. “He’s a very clean man.” She took what looked like a stuffed mushroom from one of the many trays of food and bit into it. Her eyes widened and she nodded to me in approval. I tried one myself and agreed with her assessment - delicioso.
We ate, drank, and chatted with people for a while. At one point, when Elena went to the restroom, I had a nice conversation with Joseph and his wife, Ruth. They are such nice people and they told me something that I didn’t know I would take advantage of until the next day.
Mr. Frye finally showed up, sparkling clean back in his orange tuxedo. I handed him his top hat and we embraced. He swayed me back and forth as I babbled about how amazing I thought his performance was and how he did it and why this and why that. He laughed and said he would answer all my questions later. “You will need to know this information,” he said. And yes, I was again confused by that statement.
It was pure celebration after that. Everyone was in good spirits, laughing and smiling, even the theater staff. I felt like I didn’t fully belong there, but everyone treated me as if I did. Mr. Frye was so gracious, introducing me to people that I haven’t met before. All in all, except for the nagging bewilderment of how the Lights worked, it was the most enjoyable evening I’ve ever had.
The Fryes and I left the theater in good spirits. Rey showed no signs of the distress he had displayed onstage. I was so happy that he was happy. We made it back to the hotel and sat in front of the massive fireplace in those overstuffed chairs. The two of them in a cozy loveseat; they looked so cute as they held hands. I sat on a large, velvet wingback chair next to them. Rey had procured more champagne from somewhere and we laughed and drank as we talked about the show before the Lights took the stage and which of the acts was our favorite.
After a while, I just had to ask. “Rey, how…”
“I don’t know,” he interrupted me with an almost doleful smile. The concierge looked at his wife and I saw the slightest of nods from her to him. He looked back at me and said, “Is a gift. I know you want answers, my dear Claire, but there are no answers, there is just… the light.” He kissed his wife’s hand, still clutched in his.
“But surely you know how to make it happen - the light,” I said.
He frowned, and then said, “You just think about it. You think of what you want it to do and it happens.”
“It’s mostly controlled by emotion,” Elena said.
“Is very hard to explain but you will understand,” Rey said.
“What do you mean, I will understand?” This conversation did not answer my questions, it created more of them.
I suddenly remembered something that I wanted to check on and I jumped from my chair and walked across the grand lobby, past the glass-enclosed model of Santa Lucinda, to the wall where several framed illustrations hung. There were about a dozen of them, creatively done in vintage circus poster style, ranging in date from 1949 to the present. My hunch was right - there was Mr. Frye in two of them. There he was, small but unmistakably him, expertly drawn and colored in his orange tux and top hat.
“You’re in these!” I yelled excitedly from across the room. I heard the couple chuckle at that.
“Keep looking,” Elena called back. It took a bit longer but I found her in a poster further down the wall. She was wearing a different teal gown and she looked quite a bit younger but the resemblance was certainly there.
“Are you a Light too?” I asked excitedly as I returned to my chair.
“I was,” she said. Then she must have seen the perplexed look on my face. “It doesn’t last forever, dear.”
“Oh.”
“I was a Light for two years. This is Rey’s seventh year. But it’s different for everybody.”
“Everybody?” I said. “How many Lights are there?” I knew that these questions could keep piling up the more we talked.
“Three a year,” Rey said. “Someone can be a Light for one year, sometimes two or three. Who knows?” He shrugged and frowned sarcastically when he said this but then smiled and pointed at me. “How long will you be a Light, Claire?”
“Me? I have no idea how to do what you do.”
“Ah, but you have to start sometime,” Rey said, “and you were given the gift on this little trip of yours. Maybe if your friend, Paul, had joined you, you would not have received such a gift.” I stared at him as if I didn’t know what he was talking about, because I didn’t.
“Um… I don’t remember receiving a gift,” I said. We were all quiet for a few moments while Mr. Frye decided the best way to explain it to me.
“Claire, you know Maria, yes? Is her first time this year and she will be back next year, nobody take her place. You know Vincent? Okay. He has been a Light for two years. He is very good but someone will take his place next year. Two years, see?” I nodded in all the appropriate places, pretending I knew where he was going with all of this.
“One or two years is average,” Mrs. Frey added. “Normal. But Rey has been a Light for seven years. Longer than anyone, ever. He’s like a celebrity around here.”
“Yes, but this is not important,” Rey continued modestly. “My time is over because you, my dear, will be replacing me next year. This is how it is to be.”
“What are you talking about?” I was incredulous. “I don’t have that sort of… thing to shoot out light like you?”
“I am just telling you what is happening,” Rey said. “The town has chosen you, yes? Everybody knows, you will be a Light. Do you see?”
“No, I don’t see,” I said. “Elena, please tell him I am not a Light.” I desperately wanted her to bring some sense into the conversation. She looked at me for quite a long time before speaking.
“Claire, did you sit on the bench when it was red?” What a random question that was. I was still confused but at least I knew the answer.
“Yes, I sat on a red bench in Center Park on Friday.”
“Okay, one of the benches will become a colored bench only on the day before the show. If you sit on the colored bench, whatever color it is, that’s your color.”
“On Saturday, there was no red bench, which I found very odd,” I mentioned, hoping it wouldn’t complicate things further.
“Never mind that, it’s normal,” Mrs. Frye continued. “Did you also touch three current or former Lights on Friday or Saturday?” This one I didn’t know the answer to; I didn’t know who was or had been a Light.
“I don’t know,” I said. I tried to think of the people that I had contact with. “There was Rey, um… Chloe and Zoey… Joseph I think… maybe one or two more people. What does this…”
“You are a Light!” the Fryes both cried in unison. Rey held up his champagne and congratulated me with a big smile. I looked at my hands, flipping them over.
“Ha ha, okay Claire,” Rey said. “It will take some time to get used to this gift. You know, you are the only non-resident to become a Light.”
“Rey, I am not a Light. Please.”
“Claire, come here, please,” Rey said. “Sit with us.” He put his champagne flute down and held his hand out for me. I got up and he positioned me on the love seat between himself and his wife. It was a tight fit but we managed. “Close your eyes.” Both he and Elena each took one of my hands. I closed my eyes and that warm, ultra-relaxed feeling swept over me, like it had done on the park bench.
“What do you see?” Elena asked softly.
“I see red,” I said.
18. Sunday’s Sorrows
Paul arrived Sunday morning. I hired Jackson and rode with him to the airport; I was so excited to tell Paul about my weekend and the wonderfully strange things that had happened. Unfortunately his plane was late, which made us scramble to get to Uncle Harry’s service in time. Jackson was already dressed in his Sunday attire and planned to drive us to the observance in the middle section of town.
In the car, Paul was going on and on about his new position and what he had accomplished over the last few days that I hardly had time to tell him anything. I did manage to describe the dream I had the previous night. Mr. Frye was in it and he was at the entrance to Center Park beckoning me over. He was wearing orange jeans shorts, of all things, an orange tee shirt with a black vest, and the tallest top hat I had ever seen. Oh, and he was standing on stilts!
“You will follow me, yes?” he said, arm extended toward me. I was on the other side of Santa Lucinda Boulevard with Paul, but he was stuffing his mouth with two Sunshine Muffins, one in each hand, making mildly disgusting grunting noises. I crossed the street alone, and noticed the cobblestones glowed red as I stepped on them.
When I got to the other side, Mr. Frye jumped down from his wooden stilts, which fell to the ground, transformed into three-headed snakes and slithered away. I took his hand and we walked into Center Park together. When we arrived in the center bench area, Joseph was there and he handed me a pewter key. I thanked him and then noticed that my peasant dress, which had been white, changed to a deep crimson.
All of the benches were brightly lit as if they had electric lights inside of them, flashing different colors at a rapid pace, making the entire scene look as if it was a spinning carnival ride. Wayne, the guitar man, was in the center sitting on a floating cloud playing his partially-stringed instrument. He laughed when he noticed us and I shouted to him, “Play me a song!” He played such a beautiful tune that I began crying, and even Joseph and Mr. Frye had tears in their eyes.
“Claire, you must choose a bench now,” Mr. Frye told me when the song was over, blotting the tears from my face with an orange handkerchief. I suddenly had the most frightening feeling and I was frozen in place.
“Make it a good one,” Joseph said with fatherly encouragement, which did not help matters. My mind was spinning in sync with the colorful benches and I had no idea what to do.
“I’m not a Light,” I managed to say, but all three men were gone. “What do I do?” The spinning and flashing benches slowed and eventually stopped, each bench now glowing the same red as my dress.
“What do I do,” I repeated, but this time I was awake in bed when I said it out loud.
“That’s some weird dream, Claire,” Paul said, laughing. “What did you have to drink last night?” I saw Jackson’s smiling eyes in the rear-view mirror. I thought the dream was not that weird or puzzling, and it wasn’t even very symbolic. Just then, we passed the cornflower blue sign with the white lettering.
There was no indication that the Three Lights of Santa Lucinda part had ever been there - or the exclamation points. “I have so much to tell you, Paul,” I said, but as the words came out of my mouth I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to tell him. I felt as if the puzzle pieces were snapping into place and a complete image was being formed, but it was a very private and personal depiction.
When we arrived at the hotel, Mr. Frye was not at his station. His day off, I presumed. We didn’t have much time anyway; Jackson was kind enough to wait for us while we changed. I tried telling Paul some of my experiences as we dressed but they all sounded a bit delusional as I rehearsed them in my head. I did mention the fantastic Sunshine Muffin, the most mundane occurrence of my weekend. “Sounds good, gotta try it,” he said halfheartedly, fumbling with his tie.
We made it on time, thanks to Jackson and his shortcuts. I was surprised to find that the venue was a park and not a church or funeral home. In fact, it wasn’t a funeral at all since Harry Crumb had been cremated. It was more of a celebration of remembrance than a somber vigil. There were about a hundred people present and two large, white canopy tents were installed on the grass in a green, manicured field. One tent was for the service and the other for food and drinks.
Several people spoke about Harry and their experiences with him and most of the stories were humorous and created quite a portrayal of the man whom I had never met. Harry sounded like quite a character. I couldn’t help wondering which of the people in attendance were former Lights. Once, between eulogists, I closed my eyes and tried to recreate the red, swirling pattern I had seen on the loveseat the previous night. It didn’t happen and Paul nudged my arm, thinking I was asleep. I apologized but didn’t even attempt to explain what I was doing.
The service lasted about an hour and the reception was about the same. I met and chatted with many people, all of whom treated me with such respect and approval that Paul, who had actually known Harry, was hardly noticed, although I did introduce him to the majority of our acquaintances. The warm sentiments being thrown my way caused me to recall Mr. Frye’s words - The town has chosen you - and I wonder if he meant the town itself eerily selecting me, or the individual people.
When we got back to the hotel we didn’t have much time before our flight back home. I wanted so much for Paul to meet Mr. Frye but it didn’t look like that would happen. The concierge was gracious enough to extend our check-out time. We had a quick bite and headed back to our room and packed our things. My head reeled with the events of the past few days and I still couldn’t forget the dream I had. But the one recollection I will always remember was the Fryes gleefully shouting “You are a Light!”
If I was a Light, why was I selected? Why don’t I have any special light-emitting powers? On the other hand, why did the Fryes pay so much attention to me, allowing me to sit in the front row with them, giving me the special invitation, telling me in no uncertain terms that I was one of them? The questions flooded my brain as I prepared my things and I wanted so desperately for them to be answered before I traveled back home. Paul received a work related text and called in to discuss the matter. He sat on the bed and I went into the bathroom to sort out my thoughts.
I leaned on the edge of the marble sink looking at my reflection in the mirror, my thoughts now a maelstrom of wonderings and what-ifs. I felt so alive in this town, so happy. I longed to spend some more time with the people who lived in this weird, magical place. Something caught my eye and I looked down to investigate. My right forefinger was glowing red. It was faint but it was there. I switched off the light and there was clearly a deep red aura around most of my index finger. I stared at it for the longest time. It was shimmering with tiny, crimson crystals creating streaks of glowing luminosity.
“This is my color,” I whispered to myself, and I became aware that I was crying. I couldn’t take my eyes off of my aura. My aura! I laughed through my tears at the thought. I tried to will it to do something different - propel it off of my finger, move it to another finger - but it remained constant. I waved my color in front of my eyes in the darkness of the hotel bathroom, becoming intoxicated with the gleaming pattern it made.
“Claire?” Paul shouted from the bed, obviously finished with his call. “You about ready?” I was aware of him but I barely heard him. I continued to watch the faint aura around my finger. This would be incredibly difficult for me to explain to him. “Claire?” Closer now, outside the door. He rapped twice. That broke the spell and my light dimmed to near nothing. “Claire?” Lower now, with a touch of concern. I switched the light on and rinsed my face with water, being silly and trying not to get that finger wet.
“Coming,” I said.
“Okay, we’re going to be late.” When I exited the bathroom, Paul was zipping up his suitcase. “Oh, good,” he said when he noticed me. “Everything okay?” I stood there looking at him for several moments, my hands in my sweater pockets, hoping I wouldn’t start crying again. I thought of the amazing Mr. Frye - Rey. I thought of Elena and how wonderfully nice she was. I remembered all of the people on stage at the show and the Three Lights. I saw myself blowing bubbles on my scooter, zipping around the countryside. Then I thought of Joseph and remembered him offering me a pewter key in my dream.
“Paul?” I said softly.
“Yeah,” he said, glancing at his phone.
“I think I’m going to stay.”
Epilogue
I stayed and Paul left that day seventeen years ago. I became a resident of Santa Lucinda and I couldn’t be happier. There was an argument, yes. A big one. But Paul had work to get back to and needed to catch his flight. I did feel bad for a little while, but the more time went on, the more I knew I had made the right decision.
I stayed at Joseph's cottage before I found a place of my own. There was this cute, little, three-room flat behind the store. “Our daughter got a scholarship and is at university back east,” Joseph had told me. “She moved into our guest cottage when she was in high school for some independence.” He chuckled at that. He said I could use it until I found a permanent place, if I decided to stay. He had offered the place to me during the aftershow, but I was so lost in confusion about what I had just witnessed that I almost didn’t register what he was proposing. That strange dream brought it all back to me. The key he gave me wasn’t pewter, but it was a perfect fit.
I gave Rey the news, back at the hotel the following day, that I had decided to stay. “But, of course,” he said calmly, with no more surprise than if I had told him I had scrambled eggs that morning for breakfast. But then he smiled his showman’s smile and gave me a big hug, and believe me, when that man gives you a hug, it’s a big one. We both cried happy tears, even though he knew he wouldn’t be performing again, but I knew he was very pleased to pass the proverbial torch to me.
I secured a teaching job at an elementary school almost immediately, and I love it. I met a fellow teacher, Owen Rett, soon after. We married ten years ago and we had our daughter, Dawn, six years ago. We were lucky to find a house near Mr. Frye’s neighborhood and we see them frequently. Dinner with Rey and Elena is not an uncommon occurrence.
A year after that day in the hotel bathroom when I discovered my color I was on stage with Maria and Brooke, Vincent’s replacement. Sammy was the host again and he said it was the first time all of the Lights were women. I was very nervous for obvious reasons, but I got through it. My light wasn’t very expansive that first year, but people told me later that they thought my color was very pure and beautiful.
Over the last seventeen years, my light has become more grand, more luminous, more spectacular. I broke Rey’s record almost ten years ago but he’s a good sport about it. I have tricks that he couldn’t even imagine doing. I still consider it a gift and I feel very fortunate to be living here with my family and friends. So, If you would like to see a pretty, red light that will blow your socks off, you will have to come to Santa Lucinda and see the show.
©2023 John Cardamone. All rights reserved.
Cover image by the author.
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