I’ve decided to start adding something most weekends — a story of some kind. These posts will be longer than my usual ones, and I’m going to experiment with audio as well, though this particular story will be a bit of a challenge to record.
This piece began as a response to a friend’s prompt: “write a story about a lighthouse.” This is what emerged, and I think it fits naturally with how my own path has been unfolding. While my story isn’t Hank’s, in our own ways, we’re both learning to open up and believe.
The audio runs about twenty‑five minutes, so if you’d like to listen, find a quiet moment to settle in and be present. If you’d rather read, please continue below.
Hank and the Lighthouse
The absolute last thing Hank wanted to do was walk up those stairs again. There were 172 of them. He had counted them so many times that he knew what number he was on without counting anymore. It was a strange thing to know what stair he was on without counting but it was what it was. And 172 is a lot of stairs, particularly when you reach a certain age. But Hank had a job and he was going to do it and doing the job required walking up 172 stairs once a day if he was lucky and more than that if he was not, at least these days.
Not that there was nothing good about Hank’s job. The view, most days could be something once you finished climbing the stairs. Could be being the operative words. It also could be no view at all, literally none.
You see, Hank’s job was to tend a lighthouse. And to be honest, tending a lighthouse didn’t require a huge amount of work most of the time. Most of the time, you threw a few switches and sat back and watched the lighthouse do its thing. And just waited for the time to pass.
And while some days were pretty uninteresting, the days when the clouds were so low that he was pretty much in the middle of them by the time he reached the top step, some days, like today, were truly something. The sky was blue, the winds were light and there was a little bit of warmth in the air.
Now your might think that those days were the days that Hank loved the most and when he had started the job, some 20 years ago, they were. He could get lost in the joy of simply looking out on the water and seeing all the activity, the boats, the airplanes that flew by, and he would sit in the sun and simply soak it all in.
But the truth is that over time, Hank had soured on those days. He now preferred the days when it was cloudy or foggy or rainy. Sure, he didn’t get to go outside but there were two big benefits to those days. The first was he knew he was doing something useful even if it wasn’t really that hard. On those days, he played a role in seeing people safely to their destination and it was a worthy thing to do, again even if it wasn’t that hard. But, more importantly, he was alone in his own world. He didn’t have to watch people leave the area, leave him. Of course he knew that most of the people didn’t even know he existed. Some of them knew the lighthouse but none of them knew Hank. And so Hank was happiest when he did the most and confronted his loneliness the least.
And today was another one of the days he really hated. Bright and sunny with lots of boats on the water, lots of people going from place to place while Hank sat around and wished he didn’t have to watch. But, what was he supposed to do, sit inside while the sun was shining. I mean he could but that didn’t really make any sense either. So Hank sat outside and watched the world go by and wondered why he was simply sitting around and what he was waiting for
Because in addition to being solitary on his job, Hank led a solitary life. he told himself he didn’t mind but of course he did. Manning a lighthouse meant he worked odd hours and sometimes was gone all night. And it’s not like the pay was great or there were a lot of people in town looking for relationships. So Hank sat around and wondered how he had gotten to this place. But, the truth of the matter was, and he knew this, that for a while at least, Hank had wanted a solitary life. But he wasn’t sure he did anymore and yet he was so far down this path, where was he to go?
On this day, like many, Hank left the lighthouse at the end of his shift, a little bit after dark. He had made sure that everything was working normally, set the alarms that would let him know if anything was amiss, and wandered into the small town he called home. They didn’t get a ton of tourists here, they mostly went further up the bay but the few they did get would have called the village quaint, or perhaps ramshackle if they weren’t feeling charitable. But to Hank it was home. Similar to the steps in his lighthouse, he knew everything by instinct and could go from place to place by simply following his feet. And so, like many days, Hank hit the bar to grab himself a drink and maybe a bit of food if the mood struck him.
As it often was, the bar was not packed, there were a few locals and a few tourists around. You could tell the tourists mostly by their shoes, too clean, too new, and often times, inappropriate for an old town with old roads and a fair bit of mud. But the mood was lively as he walked in and headed to the bar. he greeted Joe, who tended bar most nights. Rusty owned the place but he only tended bar on the rare occasions when Joe had the night off…one night a week and 2 weeks a year vacation.
“The usual Hank?,” asked Joe as he sat down.
“Sure,” replied Hank and sighed as a beer was pulled and placed down in front of him. Hank then took a sip, closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think about what he was going to do with the rest of the day. He didn’t have any plans, didn’t have a ton of hobbies, beyond doing the daily crossword, and so he mostly just sat and watched whatever happened to be on the one beat up television in the place. Some game show or something. Hank wasn’t interested but it was something to do. But after an hour or so, he decided he wasn’t hungry, wandered back to his place, read a book for a few minutes and went to sleep. Another day in the books.
Hank woke up with the sun as he normally did this time of year. Summer was coming to an end but it still got light pretty early and Hank truly did enjoy the sunrise. Sometimes he’d head to the lighthouse to see it but, come to think of it, he hadn’t really done that in a while. He wasn’t really sure why. He just hadn’t.
He had a quick breakfast, grabbed the paper for the crossword and wandered off to climb the 172 steps again. But, as he approached the lighthouse, something was odd. There was a car in the parking lot. Hank didn’t own a car, no need really. He didn’t really have anywhere to go. And yet, there was a car there. Hank thought about it as he walked up the hill. They’d had an inspection a few months ago so it couldn’t be that. Other than the inspector, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a car in the lot.
Well, it was nothing to him really. So he walked by the car and headed for the door to take the 172 steps again. As he was unlocking the door, he heard the car door open. And turning, he saw a woman coming toward him. At least he thought it was a woman. Either that or a really short man. As she came closer, he registered long hair peaking out around a ball cap and so he knew it was a woman.
“Good morning,” she called across the lot.
“Mornin’,” answered Hank cautiously.
“Can I ask you a question?”, she continued.
“I suppose,” replied Hank. “Ain’t no harm in questions.”
“Well you see. I’m practicing painting and I want to do a seascape but I want to get a perspective that is unique. So I was driving down the coast and I saw the lighthouse. Any chance I could come up to the top and do my painting from there?”
That was about the last thing Hank was expecting to hear. “It’s more than a few steps,” he replied. “And it ain’t no kind of pretty up there at all, there being only me who ever goes up there.”
“I don’t mind that. And it would only take a couple of days probably for me to paint what I want.”
Days? thought Hank. A couple of days. While he wasn’t sure he like being alone, he also wasn’t sure he wanted somebody in his way for a couple of days. And what if it was more than a couple? At the same time, she looked like a nice enough sort and it wasn’t like she was going to get in his way.
“All right,” he said. “I suppose that would be fine.”
“Thank you so much. I will be back tomorrow with my paints. Is there anyway we could start a bit earlier. You see the light right after dawn is what I’m really trying to get…”
Hank thought and it’s already started. I mean now I have to walk over in the dark. He thought about pushing back a bit. “Well you see ma’am I walk over from my place and I’d rather not walk in the dark…”
“Oh I’d be happy to pick you up. Say 6:15?”
Hank did not want anyone to pick him up. “That’s not necessary ma’am. I’ll see you here at 6:30 tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you so much. I will see you then…I’m so sorry. I don’t even know your name.”
“The name’s Hank,” he replied.
“See you then Hank. Mine’s Cheryl.”
“Enjoy your day ma’am.”
And with that, Hank opened the door and closed it and took the 172 stairs to the top.
It was another beautiful day and so Hank had a lot of time to stare out and think. Mostly, he wondered about Cheryl. Why, of all the places someone could go to do a painting, why would she ever come here? Heck, he could show her a bunch of places that were prettier to look at than the view from the top of the lighthouse. Maybe he should have told her that. But, although he wasn’t sure he wanted company, he wasn’t going to be rude. She’d probably figure out soon enough that she was in the wrong place and she’d move on and do her painting somewhere better. But either way, he’d said he’d be there so he would.
After another day, Hank again locked up and left. That night, he skipped the pub and just went home, made himself some soup and went to bed. He didn’t love waking up before the sun got up but I guess tomorrow was the day for it.
That next morning, Hank carried the small flashlight he used in the winter when he had to get up before the sun. The good news was it was right where he had left it. The bad news was the batteries were dead and it had taken a quick walk back into the drugstore to get new ones. Guess it was smart he’d skipped the pub. The drug store would have been closed if he had spent an hour or two there.
As he walked up the hill, he could see the lights of her car were already there. Eager she was he thought. Well, he wouldn’t hurry. She’d said 6:30 and he was going to be there at 6:30. And so he was.
As she saw his light coming up the hill, she hopped out of the car and walked over.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said. “I know I’m a bit early but I’m really excited.”
“It’s just an old lighthouse,” he replied. “But you’re free to come on in and see what you see.”
“Perfect,” she said and followed along behind Hank.
“Don’tcha be wanting your painting stuff?”, Hank asked.
“Well not yet,” she said. I need to see what I am working with first.
“Right then, up you come.”
So he opened the door and they walked up the 172 stairs. There wasn’t much to see in that part so they walked in silence. To Hank’s surprise, she didn’t ask once how many steps there were and he didn’t volunteer the answer. When the got to the top, it was the round room that was the only real room in the place. There was a small toilet room off to the side but other than that, just the one round room. Though many times Hank has been thankful for that toilet. 172 steps each way to go to the bathroom was crazy. He’d never have stayed. Other than that, there were a few chairs, a small table and a small refrigerator. The fridge had a few sodas and a few beers. He hoped she didn’t need anything because he didn’t have much. But he had tidied up a bit. After all, no sense in it being too dirty or dusty.
Before he could start to show her around, she ran to the other side of the room, out the door and onto the outside railing. You could just see the first glimpse of predawn. The sun wouldn’t be up for a bit yet but you could tell the day was coming. A part of Hank remembered the first few times he’d seen that view. It was pretty special. But he’d seen it enough. He understood why she wanted to see it though.
“This is amazing. It’s perfect,” she enthused. “How long til the sun comes up?”
Hank though a moment and looked again, “Maybe 30 minutes or so til it’s above the horizon, maybe a bit less.”
“Oh my goodness. I have to hurry, it’s probably going to take 3 or 4 trips up here to get everything I need.”
Three of four trips, Hank thought. She won’t get that done and get set up before the sun comes up. “Well ma’am,” he said. If you don’t mind, I’ll just come down and give you a hand.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she said. It’s a lot of steps.”
“Yes ma’am but it’ll be fewer if we do it together.”
“Very well, but only if you call me Cheryl.”
“Right you are Cheryl. We should get moving though. Sun’ll be up soon enough.”
And so down they went. And man did she have a lot of stuff. 3 big easels, tons of brushes, paints, canvas, cloths and a bunch of other stuff besides. They made in in two trips but they were both more than a bit out of breath by the time they’d made the second one.
So they now had quite a pile of stuff in the middle of the round room. “Ma’am, not sure I can help but let me know if you need anything in gettin’ all that stuff set up?”
“It’s Cheryl and I’ll be fine. Well actually,” she said, reconsidering, “it would be great if you could just set up the three easels there, there and there,” she said pointing to three different places around the railing.
So Hank dutifully put the easels out and sat down at the table and worked on his crossword. She moved from place to place getting the rest how she wanted it and then she started working. Hank really didn’t like to pry so he sat and worked the crossword until it was done and then grabbed a book from one of the shelves. He’d read it more than a few times but it was a way to pass the time. Now normally he’d grab one of the chairs and sit outside but he didn’t rightly know what she was doing or where to sit to stay out of the way.
After a few hours, she came in from the railing and asked him why he was sitting inside.
“Well, ma’am, I don’t want to be in your way, you paintin’ and all.”
“Hank, my name is Cheryl, not ma’am and this is your place not mine. I’m just borrowing it for a few days.”
“Well ma’am, I mean Cheryl, if you can just tell me where to sit, I’ll grab a chair and stay out of the way.”
“I’d be happy to. Say Hank, do you have anything to drink here?”
Hank should have known that was coming but all he had was Coke and beer. So he told her so. “I love Coke was her reply.”
So he grabbed her one out of the fridge. Grabbed his chair and took a seat by the railing and lost himself in his book. He couldn’t really see her from where he was but from time to time, as the wind shifted, he caught an occasional hint of her humming. It wasn’t a song that he could tell but it sounded happy.
A few hours later, she came over and said, “Are you hungry?”
“Well ma’am…Cheryl,” he corrected when she gave him a look. “I bring myself some lunch every day. I don’t be havin’ time to run into town just to get lunch.”
“Oh goodness. I didn’t think to bring anything. How long will it take?”
“Depends what you want. But if you like, I’m happy to share.”
“Hank I can’t eat your lunch.”
“Well…Cheryl. I have enough and worst thing is I eat a little bit more at dinner time.”
And so they sat at the table, each ate half a turkey sandwich, some chips and half a chocolate chip cookie. Cheryl ate quickly, much more quickly than Hank, even though she was a lot smaller than he was.
“I don’t want to be rude,” she said, “but there’s only so much light and I need to keep working.”
“It’s no problem at all,” said Hank. “I’ll just tidy up a bit and you go right ahead.”
And so he did and then headed back out to his designated spot and watch the world go by a bit while he read his book. Usually, he just read but today he seemed to take more breaks than normal.
Finally as the sun was going down over the landward side of the lighthouse, she came over and said, “Well I’m about done for the day. Can we meet at the same time tomorrow?”
“I don’t see any reason why not,” replied Hank.
So they walked down again in companionable silence. She got in her car and drove away.
Hank walked down to the pub. He was a bit hungry after only having half a sandwich for lunch. He’d have to make two tomorrow just in case she forgot. So after a beer and a burger at the pub, he walked over to the grocery and bought a bit more food. Normally he made his sandwiches the night before but they got a bit soggy that way so he decided to get up even a bit earlier to make them in the morning.
The next morning, Hank woke early, made his sandwiches and headed off to the lighthouse. Once again the car was in the lot as he came up the hill but this time he quickened his step just a little bit. Cheryl got out of the car carrying two big bags and popped the trunk.
“I brought breakfast and lunch,” she said. “And if you look in the trunk, there’s a bunch of Cokes for us as I don’t want to drink one a day but I also don’t want to drink all of yours.”
“That’s nice of you ma’…Cheryl,” Hank said.
And up the 172 stairs they walked.
But Hank could already tell as soon as they reached the top that it wasn’t going to be a great day. There was some weather rolling in. Probably wasn’t going to rain much but it was going to be damp and cloudy. He told Cheryl that it wouldn’t be a sunny day today. And her response shocked him.
“That’s perfect,” she said. “That means I will be able to start the second painting.”
“You mean you only worked on two yesterday,” he asked.
“Oh no,” she replied. “I only worked on one. I made good progress but it will be great to start the second one.”
Hank didn’t really understand why anyone would want to paint a picture of clouds from inside the clouds but he happily ate the breakfast sandwich she had brought, pulled up his chair and did the crossword and read his book.
Again he caught the sound of her humming or singing. It sounded different today. Still pleasant but different. Yesterday it sounded lighter but today it just sounded deep and full but it was still her voice.
Lunch was a little different this time. They ate a little bit of what she brought and a little bit of what Hank has made. She commented on how thoughtful he was to bring her food and Hank simply pointed out she had done the same.
She seemed to be a little less rushed today.
“So Hank,” she asked as she was cleaning up, “what’s your story?”
Hank wasn’t sure the last time someone had asked him that so he tried deflecting a few times but she kept at him. So he told her a little bit of it…how he had come here, how time had just sorta gone by. Even told her how he liked the cloudy days like today though he made something up when she asked why. But they passed a few moments more in conversation before she went back out and started painting again.
And so it continued for another few days. They would meet in the early darkness, share a few meals and some time together at lunch. But other than that, they would simply do their thing in the lighthouse. There were a few good sunny days and a few that were not so nice but through it all Cheryl kept painting. But as Hank watched, she never touched the middle canvas, just the one on the right and the one on the left.
One day, he asked her about it. “Well Hank,” she said somewhat mysteriously, “if you must know, I’m not ready to paint that one yet.”
Now that didn’t make sense to Hank but he didn’t know a thing about art so they just continued on.
Another few days passed and in the seventh or eighth day at lunch, she took a long look at him and asked, “Hank, tell me again why you like the cloudy and dark days better than the days with sunshine.” He started repeating what he had told her the first time and she held up a finger. “No that’s not it. What’s the real reason?”
Hank was a bit shocked. I mean she was a visitor and all. But he hadn’t really ever talked about it and she was here and asking so he decided to tell her. He told her about feeling alone, about feeling like everyone always left and the dark days he couldn’t see the people leaving. He talked and talked. In fact, he might have talked more than he had in months or years, just straight away. And by the time he was done, her eyes were shining with unshed tears.
“Cheryl, are you all right?”, he asked.
“Yes and no Hank. The bigger question is are you all right?”
“Sure I am,” he said. Though as he thought about it, he wasn’t so sure.
She was very quiet for the rest of the afternoon and there was no music coming from her. Either that or the wind was just in the wrong direction.
The next morning when he met her in the parking lot, she had a strange request. “Hank,” she said, “I’m done with the first two paintings and I’m ready to work on the last. But to do that, I’m going to need your help.”
What help could she possibly need from him he wondered. But she was a nice person and it certainly couldn’t hurt to find out how he could help.
“How can I help then?”, he asked.
“I need you to stand exactly in the center of the room and stand still. It should only take 30 minutes or so.”
“Right now?”, he asked.
“No, when I tell you. Like I said, it should only take 30 minutes.”
Well this made no sense to Hank at all but he could stand still for 30 minutes he supposed so he agreed.
And that very afternoon, shortly after lunch, she called out to him. “Hank, could you go stand in the middle of the room now?”
Hank walked in and stood in the room.
“No not there,” she told him. “Right in the very center.”
Hank didn’t really know what she meant but she asked him to move around, a bit forward, a bit back and then a bit to the right until she seemed satisfied. “That’s perfect,” she said. “Now stand still.”
So Hank tried to stand still but the whole time she was painting this time, he could hear the singing or humming. It seemed to reach through him. It felt a little uncomfortable at first if he was honest. But after a while he got used to it and sort of lost track of time.
The next thing he remembered was her voice cutting in, “There. I’m done.”
Hank was surprised. His feet hurt and his shoulders were stiff. There was no way it had been 30 minutes. In fact, the sun was pretty close to the horizon. It must have been nearly two hours he had been standing there. But he didn’t remember any of it.
As she walked back in, she looked at him closely, almost as if seeing him for the first time. “Tomorrow will probably be my last day here.”
Hank felt some sadness at this but it also felt right to him. This was another version of the same story. She came, got what she needed from him but was going to move on.
“I understand ma’am. Do you want to pack your things tonight?”
“Cheryl,” she said quietly. “We can bring the rest down but let’s leave the canvases until tomorrow and then I can show them to you and then we can bring them down.
So they grabbed up the paints and brushes and things and brought them down.
That night felt different to Hank. It wasn’t so much that he did different things but he felt like he was about to go back to the way it had been before Cheryl came. That wasn’t a bad thing he thought…or maybe it was but it wasn’t as if he had a choice. And thinking about that, he once again fell asleep.
The next morning when Hank got to the lighthouse, Cheryl’s car was there but she was not. He went to the door and found it unlocked. He carefully locked it every night so was shocked by this. But seeing as her car was here, she was probably already up at the top. And so he walked the 172 steps to the top of the lighthouse. When he got there, he saw two easels with sheets over them and a sheet covering part of his wall.
“So Hank. I came here to do a painting,” she told him. “But that was the least of what I was here to do.”
Hank wondered what she was on about but let her continue.
“As you know, I wound up doing three paintings but I need to show them to you in my own way.”
Saying this, she strode up to the first one and removed the sheet. It was a painting of the lighthouse in the clouds but from the view of the lighthouse. You could feel the light straining to reach the ground and while Hank knew it did, you could almost feel it reaching by looking at the canvas.
“This,” she said, “is what you think the world looks like. You think of the light seeking to do its job, to reach the ships, to lead them to safety. And while that’s not wrong, it’s only a part of the story.”
“This,” she said, removing the second sheet, “is also a part of the story.” It was an amazing picture of a series of boats on clear blue water. But somehow the boats felt alive or maybe they felt like they had people on them. And every one of those people was staring at the lighthouse.
“This is the part of the story you told me you don’t like,” she continued. “But you aren’t seeing it correctly. You see the people in those boats don’t just cruise on by, at least not all of them. They see the lighthouse. They know it. They believe in it and they know it will keep them safe. In their own way, they love it.”
Hank snorted a bit. He didn’t really think anyone loved a lighthouse, but looking at the painting, he could almost believe her.
Then she moved to the painting at the wall. “But this one,” she said somewhat dramatically. “This one is the real story. It is what I came her to find and what the universe has sent me to show you.”
And with that she pulled back the sheet and anchored to the wall was a picture of the lighthouse as seen from the ocean. He wasn’t sure how she had done it but you could feel the dawn in the background and see the lighthouse. But as Hank looked closely, he noticed that something was amiss. The light of the house was too low. It wasn’t coming from the peak of the building but from lower down, almost as if it were coming from the very room they were standing in.
“Hank, this is what you need to see. You are the light, you provide the warmth, and your light never goes out. And even when people move on or are far away, those few lucky souls will still see your light and it will come to them in the moments when they need it and guide them to where they need to go. This is what you and all of us are here for.”
Hank didn’t know what to make of that. But he did know one thing. The painting was beautiful and it wasn’t right for him to keep it and he told her so.
“As long as you are here, it belongs here with you, to remind you of who you are. And if you ever go, take it with you to remind yourself of who you can be.”
And with that, she grabbed the two easels and two other paintings and walked down the 172 steps. Hank didn’t really know what to do so he did nothing. Eventually he heard her car drive away.
So he sat down, pulled out his crossword and got to work. But he did so with a lighter heart and a clearer sense of where he was and why he was. And while he never saw Cheryl again, from time to time, he would hear humming in the wind, look at the painting, and smile.
Thank you for taking the time to read this story. What began as a simple exercise about a lighthouse turned into something much more meaningful, at least to me. Many of our stories evolve that way — they start with a single image or idea and, as we live with them, they reveal what they were really about all along.
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