David moved into our apartment four years ago last month. He scouted it, he previewed it, he told me not to make a decision from the outside alone (the icky screens on the porch have since been removed). I remained downstate for a few more months having finally defended and deposited what my mother called "that paper you have to write" (read, dissertation) and then wrapped up a visiting lecturer position. I moved in full-time, officially, name on the mailbox and everything in August.
We figured it out our first night while trying to get comfortable on the mattress on the floor. (The mattress that remained on the floor until August when I moved in full-time even though the plan was to buy a platform bed pronto because surely we wouldn't be able to sleep on the floor for long!) There is a streetlamp outside our bedroom window that illuminates the alley. Directly outside our window. David put up with it every night. I put up with it on the weekends.
I am all for public safety and the enlightenment of dark spaces, but holy crap. This streetlamp could light a stadium. This streetlamp competes with the huge Burger King sign at the opposite end of the alley. Though it is directly outside our bedroom window, it sufficiently lights the dining room and living room as well. You could sit on our bed and read a book at midnight. (The bed? A trip to IKEA on hot day in August; awkward, slow drive home with the trunk lid flapping up and down; assembly of bed on hottest freaking day of the year by two people who both need to be in charge and aren't good at sharing one allen wrench. I may have stated already that the best marriage preparation is putting together a bed with your Intended on a sweltering day with insufficient tools and directions that have no words but attempt to guide the builders with smiley faces and sad faces.) Yes, this streetlamp has a light of a thousand suns.
My wonderful fiancé took action before we had suffered too long. (I'm sorry. Did I mention that our apartment does not have air conditioning? Okay, so you can stop wondering why we didn't pull the shades and/or install some sort of aluminum foil sun guard.) David called the city's new information number and voila, someone showed up and removed the domed lens from the light surprisingly dimming the street lamp to maybe a half sun. The naked bulb still lit the alley to a safe level and we could sleep in peace.
That lasted for four years.
On some mornings I like to lie across the bed -- near the foot -- while David gets dressed for work (mine is life of late mornings to work in the summer). We chat. I stealthily hide his socks from him. He follows the same exact get-dressed protocol every morning. This particular recent morning was different. I heard something outside the window. It wasn't the usual garbage trucks. It wasn't the usual pain-in-the-butt-condo neighbors slamming their gate and then their dumpster lid. No, this sound was different. It was close. I glanced out the window and saw a man wearing a yellow hard hat glancing back at me.
I casually slid myself across the bed, behind David, and safely off the bed to the floor. "David, there is a man outside our window."
David laughed -- perhaps because he had clothes on. I was trying to calculate how much Mr. Hardhat could have seen. I don't sleep in the nude, but I'm not exactly public-appropriate either.
He was gone as quickly as he appeared. He left a calling card. In a few brief moments he managed to re-install the lens on the street lamp. We were amazed. That night we were sitting on the couch and noticed a warm, orange glow coming from the alley. We noticed it through the living room porch door. We noticed how it sliced through the bedroom to sufficiently light the hallway and the bathroom. We thought we could handle it. We were sure our memories had become exaggerated over time.
We were naïve. We were plain wrong.
The second night was particularly bad. I was sure that the light was intensified by reflecting off the white paint on the bedroom door. It was warm. Maybe I could throw our dark comforter over the door and dampen the light…
My dear husband moved into action after the second night. He called the city's informational number again. Within 48 hours of the phone call, the lens was removed and a sleek, flat panel was installed. The bulb was no longer naked, and we are no longer sleeping with stadium lighting.
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