The Breaker

The labels on our breaker panel are in three different handwritings. “Misc.” “Back.” “Kitchen, maybe.” I want the one for the garage outlet. It isn't there.

I've flipped nine breakers. Each time, the whole house went dark and my wife said, “Okay!” from somewhere inside it, like we were playing a game. I walk out to the garage, test the outlet with a lamp, and walk back.

We bought the house from a man named Don. I called him and asked which breaker was the garage. He said, “I'd have to see it.”

He's eighty-one. He drove over and stood in the garage holding a lamp up to the outlet while I went back to the panel and flipped. “Now?” “No.” “Now?” “No.”

We never found it. But Don comes by on Tuesdays now, and we go through them in order.

Last week he brought his own lamp.