The Candle

#71

‘The lights will go out,’ mom warns every time it rains.

Last night, we were plunged into darkness as heavy rain battered the guesthouse. We sat around a lit candle, waiting for Energisa to reconnect us.

‘When I was little, there was no electricity in town,’ mom continued. ‘We gathered around a kerosene lamp after sunset in my grandmother’s dining room. My uncles terrified us with ghost stories. I miss those times.’

I then asked about my great-grandfathers. One was called Angelo, but they liked calling him Grandpa Angel. Just then, the candle’s flame fluttered as if it were laughing.