Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

14 | Shifting Gears (Part One)

MARTES
9:33 PM

Dahlia Gray

I'm doing homework at my desk and I normally use my lamp that runs on LED lights. I didn't touch anything—other than three taps to turn it on—and as I was scribbling the answers to one of the math problems, the lights went off.

There was no storm. There was no power shortage.

The lights just went off.

Estupendo.

At first, I thought the light bulb had died or something and I just needed to change it—but I remember, I just changed it two weeks ago with a brand new bulb. If one was a defect, the other one would've still been shining.

But it wasn't.

Then, as I was searching for the source of my problems—turning the lamp upside down, searching through the power sockets—I realized that my house phone wasn't charging either. The phone itself was fine, and it was positioned on the charger but it just wasn't charging.

That's when I knew it wasn't me.

I went to the outlet and found that both my lamp and my house phone were plugged on the same outlet. I pull out their power box and drop it on the floor beside me, cautiously examining the source of the problem.

My outlet has a power adapter that allows for more outlets. Instead of being a simple two, it had a total of six and two additional plugins at the top. My father installed it when I was fourteen.

And it was loose.

I never liked the look of it and I didn't need six outlets in the first place, so I tried to rip it off. To see the internal problem and possibly fix the issue myself.

But it wouldn't come out.

It clings to the wall like hot glue and with each pull I made, I could feel it ripping the wall plate behind it. I could also see the wires and the hollows of the wall coming through, the core outlet bared down to scrap metal. But no progression. I know I'm messing up.

Then, I heard a snap and it still didn't come out.

I gave up after that.

Now, sitting on the floor with defeat, and looking at the outlet, it looks quite noticeable and loosen beyond repair. Not only will it bother me in the future, but the initial problem of mine is still not solved.

My mother knows nothing about electricity and mechanics.

My father, on the other hand, knows a little more.

I'm sitting on the floor, staring at the jacked-up outlet, debating my next plan of action. I can't exactly continue working without a functioning power source and I haven't used the light in my room for ages. It's been collecting dust and I've been dependent on this lamp since I was eleven.

I really don't want to ask him.

But I have to.

I suck up my pride and rise from my spot, turning on my heel as I exit out into the hallway and descend down the stairs. I went to the living room—the second most common place my father could be found in, besides the guest bedroom—and saw that he wasn't there. The TV was on, playing some sports commentator channel, but he wasn't there.

So, I went to his third favorite place: the front porch. The light was turned on and I saw a shadow of a body moving in front of the window. I open the door and it was unlocked, and the moment I stepped out, I could smell the heavy scent of nicotine.