It went on like that for 14 minutes... we both stood opposite each other and took turns flicking on and off the light switch.
"It's 2pm, why do you want the lights off," I screamed at him. It felt like I was calling down a long tunnel, on the other end of which he was standing.
Every couple of switches I punched him in the chest for good measure. An 18 wheeler cascading down the tunnel. I didn't want to hurt him but I had run out of ways to show him that I care. If a fist to the breast plate was the only way to revive his crashed web pages then so be it.
Every time I turned them on another memory of us came to light in my head: the kayak in the Appalachians, badminton in the backyard over a torn net, tutoring me in math late, late at night. All burning up with the bulb filaments. If only he could direct his anger at his fear of success, instead of at me. My biggest fear was that he would mistake my anger for the fact that I didn't care about him anymore.
Eventually I just took the bulbs out of the overhead lights and hid them under my bed with the rest of my inhibitions.
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