Page 91 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“Trial and error, mostly,” he said. “I’d try something, fuck it up, then try not to fuck it up the next time. Oh, and when in doubt,” he added, “there’s a video for just about everything on YouTube.”
I find our old stepladder in the basement, and after sitting through a fifteen-second ad for batteries, I start watching a video on my phone about the ins and outs of light socketry. A man named Herb tells me to start by checking the circuit breaker. Even I know that’s a fool’s errand because Cal would’ve done that, but I hit Pause and do it anyway. Next, Herb tells me to make sure the bulb isn’t bad, because changing light bulbs is “a heck of a lot easier than fixing whole darn sockets.” I hit Pause again and climb the stepladder. Once I figure out how the screws work, the light fixture comes away easily, and maybe this is a turning point for me. Maybe I’ll do the second half of my life as a guy who fixes things. I set the fixture on the floor just as I hear the scene downstairs, where dumb Ralphie finally shoots himself in the face.
“You deserve it, you little shit.”
Back on the stepladder now, I tap the bulb. Nothing happens, so I give it a gentle twist. “Righty tighty, lefty loosey,” I whisper. There’s a gritty sound as it turns, but then it starts to break apart at the base, and now half the bulb is in my hand and the other half is stuck in the goddamn socket.
“Shit,” I say again.
I’m not giving up, though. The base of the bulb made a few rotations before the glass broke. If I can get a grip on it from the inside with my fingers, I bet I ca—
I had my wisdom teethremoved the summer before art school. I was nervous as I sat in that weird pleather torture chair because, a.) I’d heard horror stories about the recovery, and b.) I’d never been under anesthesia before.
The oral surgeon, an older guy with a framed photo of Keith Richards on the ceiling, told me not to worry. “It’s like a little Sunday nap,” he said before telling me to count backward from one hundred. The lights went out somewhere around ninety-seven, then, what felt like a split second later, a nurse was shaking me and everything tasted like pennies.
Henry?
This feels like that: like no time has passed at all. I was on the stepladder reaching into the socket, now I’m on the floor. I’m pretty sure I’m bleeding, but it doesn’t seem like that much, as far as blood goes, which is good.
Henry?
Brynn is on the floor with me, her legs crisscrossed. She’s wearing the outfit she wore on her trip.
There you are.
She smiles.Hey.
I wonder if I’m dead. That wouldn’t be so bad. Brynn is finally here. We’re in our house together again. I’m hurt, I think, but nothing hurts.
Don’t worry, you’re not dead.
What am I then?
Somewhere in between. That means we don’t have much time.
God, look at you. You’re beautiful.
She smiles again, and it aches to see.
Sorry. It’s just that I’ve kind of forgotten exactly what you look like. Now here you are.
She touches my head, and her hand is so warm.You’re gonna need stitches. And you probably have a concussion.
What happened?
You electrocuted yourself. Then you hit your head on the banister. You really should’ve called Cal.
I’ve missed you.
I know.
I’ve tried talking to you. A lot.
I know that, too. But that’s not how this works.
But Grace said—
I know what Grace said, Henry.
