Our front steps were where Mr. Bell sat after dark, and where I found the porch light covered with paper.<\/p>\n
I live in the same apartment building as Mr. Bell and Mrs. Adams. I\u2019m not family to either one, though I\u2019ve known Mr. Bell long enough to call him Stan when we\u2019re alone. He\u2019s the sort of neighbor who brings your mail in when it\u2019s raining and then says he was already by the door anyway. I\u2019d gotten used to seeing him on the steps. I hadn\u2019t asked why he sat there so often.<\/p>\n
The paper was taped over the light when I came home from work.<\/span> It was a square cut from a grocery bag, folded once and stuck across the fixture. I thought maybe the bulb had drawn bugs, or someone had been trying to keep the light from shining through the glass. I noticed it, but I didn\u2019t take it down. That was my first mistake.<\/span><\/p>\n At supper, Mrs. Adams told me she\u2019d asked the landlord to cover it. The light came right through her bedroom window, she said, and she\u2019d been waking up at night. I didn\u2019t know her window faced the entry. I\u2019d never thought much about where her bedroom was.<\/p>\n \u201cI just need to sleep,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/p>\n I said I understood. I did understand, at least in the simple way you understand when somebody tells you they\u2019re tired. I didn\u2019t tell her that Stan sat under the light. I thought she knew.<\/p>\n She didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n The next evening, I found Stan at the bottom of the steps with his hands in his coat pockets. He had a paper cup from the gas station, though he wasn\u2019t drinking from it. The porch light was still covered, and the entry had gone dim enough that I had to feel for the rail.<\/p>\n \u201cDid they break the light?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n I told him Mrs. Adams had asked the landlord to cover it because it bothered her at night. Stan nodded, like that was a fair reason. Then he looked toward the paper.<\/p>\n \u201cI liked knowing it was on,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n He didn\u2019t say anything more. I could have asked what he meant, but instead I asked if he wanted me to call the landlord. He said no. So I went upstairs, and he stayed on the steps.<\/p>\n That part bothered me more than I expected. I\u2019d known Stan\u2019s wife, Ruth, a little. She used to bring a tin of oatmeal cookies down at Christmas and say she\u2019d made too many, which was not true. Stan had been sitting out front most evenings since she died. I hadn\u2019t put the two things together until he told me he liked knowing the light was on.<\/p>\n I felt bad for him, and then I felt bad for Mrs. Adams, and then I got irritated with myself for having to be told what was happening right in front of me. I\u2019d lived there long enough to know who took the stairs slowly and who forgot their grocery bags by the mailboxes. I\u2019d never bothered to learn why Stan sat outside.<\/p>\n The landlord, Dale, came by two days later to check the paper. I walked him over to Mrs. Adams\u2019s side of the building so he could see where the light landed. Her bedroom window was closer than I\u2019d thought. The glow hit the curtain at an angle and left a bright patch on the wall inside.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t sleep with that in my eyes,\u201d she said from the doorway.<\/p>\n Dale looked at the fixture, then at the paper. \u201cI can get a shield,\u201d he said. \u201cShould point the light down at the steps.\u201d<\/p>\n Mrs. Adams didn\u2019t answer right away. She was holding a dish towel, twisting one corner around her fingers. I should have told her then that Stan sat outside.<\/span> I nearly did, but I worried she\u2019d hear it as an accusation, like I was asking her to live with bad sleep because he was lonely. So I kept quiet.<\/p>\n Dale said he\u2019d see what he could find. The paper stayed up.<\/p>\n The next few nights, Stan didn\u2019t sit outside as long. I told myself he was probably cold, though it wasn\u2019t that cold yet. One evening I heard his chair scrape across the concrete, then stop. I was halfway down the stairs with a bag of trash when he looked up.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have to come down,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cI was taking this out.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n I knew he didn\u2019t believe me. I was embarrassed that I\u2019d waited until he looked lonely to come say hello. I tossed the bag and stayed with him a minute. He talked about Ruth\u2019s old habit of leaving the kitchen radio on when she went to bed. Not loud. Just enough to hear if he woke up.<\/p>\n \u201cSome houses are too quiet,\u201d he said.<\/span><\/p>\n I said I knew what he meant. I didn\u2019t, not really. My own house had never been quiet in that way.<\/p>\n Dale came back the following week with a small metal shield for the porch light. He took the paper down and adjusted the fixture so it pointed toward the steps instead of the windows. It was a plain fix. No big meeting, no argument. He turned it on, stepped back, and asked us to check it after dark.<\/p>\n Mrs. Adams came down in her slippers. Stan was there too, standing by the railing. I stayed near the door, mostly because I didn\u2019t want to make the whole thing feel like a show.<\/p>\n The light fell on the steps. It didn\u2019t hit Mrs. Adams\u2019s window.<\/p>\n Dale asked if it looked all right. She said she couldn\u2019t tell in the daylight, and he said he\u2019d leave it for the evening. She went back inside. Stan thanked him, but he didn\u2019t sit down. He just touched the rail and looked at the lit steps.<\/p>\n I thought the hard part was over. I was wrong about that.<\/p>\n That night, I saw Mrs. Adams standing by the mailboxes after ten. She had a cardigan over her nightgown and her bedroom curtains still open behind her. I was going to ask if the shield worked, but then I saw her looking toward the steps.<\/p>\n Stan was sitting where he usually sat. The light landed across his shoes and the first few steps. He had one hand resting on the railing, and he was watching the empty sidewalk. Mrs. Adams stood there for a while. She didn\u2019t wave. Neither did he.<\/p>\n I almost went over, but I didn\u2019t want either one of them to feel watched. So I went upstairs and left them to it.<\/p>\n The next morning, Dale texted me to ask whether anyone had complained. I told him I hadn\u2019t heard anything. I could have asked Mrs. Adams directly, but I figured she\u2019d tell me if it wasn\u2019t working. That was convenient for me. It meant I didn\u2019t have to bring up how I\u2019d stayed quiet before.<\/p>\n A couple nights passed. The shield stayed in place. Stan sat outside again, though not as late. Mrs. Adams didn\u2019t mention the light. I assumed that meant it was fine.<\/p>\n Then, on Saturday, I found a new square of paper taped to the inside of the entry door. It was a note in Mrs. Adams\u2019s handwriting, with a message for Dale. She\u2019d written that the light was no longer shining into her room and asked him not to remove the shield.<\/p>\n At the bottom, in smaller writing, she\u2019d added that she\u2019d checked it from her bedroom window after Stan came down.<\/span><\/p>\n I read it twice. I don\u2019t know why I expected a bigger gesture. She hadn\u2019t brought him cookies or told him she understood. She\u2019d just checked from her own bed, in the place where the light had been keeping her awake, and asked for the fix to stay.<\/span><\/p>\n I took the note upstairs and handed it to Dale when I saw him in the hall. I didn\u2019t tell him it made me feel relieved. I also didn\u2019t tell him I was sorry I\u2019d let both of them think they had to manage the problem alone.<\/p>\n That evening, Stan sat under the light. Mrs. Adams\u2019s curtains were drawn, and the steps were bright enough to see. He didn\u2019t look up at her window. She didn\u2019t come outside.<\/p>\n I sat beside him for a few minutes anyway. The light was on. Neither of us had to explain why.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n