Change the Lightbulb, Please

(Signs of the Times is a work of fiction based on true events. Views expressed are the characters’ own. Viewer discretion is advised.)

There is a strip mall just outside of town. Maybe you’ve driven past it. It’s the one with the bagel place that closes at 1:00 a.m. and the salon that hasn’t opened since last Christmas.

There’s a back parking lot, too. A couple of dumpsters and the warm, orange glow of a streetlamp. There’s also a storefront back there.

It has an awning. It’s sun-bleached green. There’s a railing. It’s ADA accessible. The windows to the storefront are tinted black.

There are men and women who go in and out. Sometimes couples. Sometimes not.

One time there was a woman near the storefront. She had a floppy poster that had bloody images of fetuses. One of the fetuses looked equestrian or feline. Certainly not human.

She stood near the storefront for the better part of a morning. She didn’t block the entrance. She stood just off to the side. She held her poster so it covered her midsection — proudly displaying fetuses of various animals.

She came prepared to yell. There was a megaphone standing horn-side down. She had a thermos full of chamomile tea. The teabag tag spun at the slightest hint of a breeze.

No one came to the storefront that day. It was just the woman with the bloody sign, rearing for a fight. She stood under the gray sky all day.

She finally left around 2:00 p.m. She folded the poster into a tight scroll. The megaphone dangled by a wrist-leash, bouncing against her knee as she walked to the bus stop.

When the bus arrived, she boarded. She scanned her pass and sat in the back. She looked at the strip mall and the parking lot out the bus window.

The bagel place closed early that day. The salon still hasn’t opened since last Christmas. The lightbulb in the back parking lot is flickering on and off. Someone should do something about that.