Child's Fire Part 2

Brita looks at Mr. Hanning who again makes a gesture with his hands. Brita takes a deep breath and begins.

It was the pickle. Johny’s pickle. The one with hair and greese all over it.

Johny made Vicky stick it in her mouth. Said if she didn’t, he would pull her pants down when she wasn’t payin’ attention. Vicky’s afraid of everyone seein’ the big, ugly scar ‘cross her back leg. Says if anyone sees it, they won’t play with her anymore. I didn’t know what she was talkin’ about. I’ve seen it. It is ugly. Grotesque, my mommy would say. But I’m still her friend.

But when Johny threatened her, she shoved almost the whole pickle in her mouth. Had her eyes closed the whole time. Squinted like the sun was right in front of her face. She held it there for thirty seconds. I counted. Then she spat it out. She said she thought she swallowed a chunk.

I didn’t need Johny to threaten me. If Vicky was going to do a dare, so would I. I left it in my mouth longer, just to show I could. Johny said he was going to suck all the grease off it just to see what would happen. We wanted to look at the pickle afterward. See if all the grease was really gone. And the hair too. But, when Johny spat it out, the dog picked it right up and swallowed it whole.

This is how it started?

Yes.

What happened to Vicky and Johny after?

I don’t know. I saw them once… with the mean lady. They were sad. I waved to them, but I don’t think they saw me.

Pause. Brita holds very still. She’s scared but knows she must answer the questions.

Tell me about the fire, the first fire.

Fire is fire. My mommy says stuff like that all the time. Food is food. Money is money.

I think fire is pretty, but now I know fire is bad. Mommy was right. I used to like fire. I would take a can of hairspray and an empty milk carton out on the back porch, spray hairspray in the carton, stick a match in. Vicky always ran home to tell her mom. She hates doing anything grown-ups tell kids is bad. I never got hurt. Well, except the time Johny was dumb and plugged the carton with my finger. My finger hurt and got…

Mr. Hanning and Mr. Strong shift in their seats. Knowing time is short, Dr. Scott stops Brita’s story.

I understand, Brita. But can you tell me about the one that killed your mother?

Brita sighs, loudly this time.

I remember hearing Beep, Beep, Beep. The smoke alarm. I don’t know how it started. I know it was me, but I don’t know how I started it.

Child's Fire Part 1

Scene:

Small office, walled with tan wallpaper and white trim. Comfortable. A large window overlooks the busy street, three stories down. In front of the window is a large oak desk, clean, well organized. A computer monitor flashes pictures of people: kids, babies, parties, a kiss. A leather-backed, swivel chair is pushed neatly against one side, facing two open black chairs on the other side.

Bookshelves fill the wall space to the right, and on the left is a large mirror, positioned perfectly in front of the bed-like chair, brown with a headrest. A small, round table sits next to the bed with a cup of dead flowers and a blank notepad and pen. Three other chairs occupy the room. One is a few feet from the bed and two others are positioned just behind it.

A tall, balding man enters the room, followed by two younger men—one with glasses the other with a bandaged hand and cheek, as if he had been burned. The balding man takes the seat in front of the bed-like chair and the younger men sit behind him.

The men are quiet; the balding man takes the pad and jots a few notes before the office door again opens and a small girl—about five—walks in, carefully, as if she is afraid to step too hard. She gently closes the door and waits. The balding man looks up.

Brita, come, take a seat.

Brita floats, slowly, to the bed-like chair and sits very still, afraid to move. She doesn’t look at the balding man, or the two younger men behind him. She looks at the dead flowers.

The balding man notices.

I haven’t replaced them yet.

Brita nods.

Brita, I am Dr. Scott and these two men you already know. Mr. Hanning (the one with glasses) and Mr. Strong (the one with bandages). They brought you here, right?

Brita nods.

Do you know why you are here?

Brita nods.

Good. Then we can get started. I am go…

When can I see my daddy?

The balding man doesn’t know what to say. He looks to the two men behind him who only nod.

Soon, Brita. But for now, I need you to answer a few questions.

Brita nods.

First, Brita, how are you feeling right now?

Brita doesn’t answer right away but looks at Mr. Hanning who nods and makes a hand movement that Brita recognizes. She knows she must answer all questions without hesitation.

Scared.

Why are you scared, Brita?

If I don’t answer you, I won’t see my daddy.

Are you scared for another reason, Brita?

My mommy is gone and my brother is in the hospital and others are gone and my house is gone and my dog is run away and my friends are locked in a room and my new home is gone and the mean lady is gone.

Is that all?

Brita takes a deep breath.

It never is.

Do you understand what happened to the people and things that are gone? To your mommy and the mean lady and your house? Do you understand, Brita?

Yes.

It is good you understand, Brita, because we need to talk about why and how those things were lost.

Brita nods.

We need to start from the beginning. Okay, Brita? Now, Mr. Hanning told me you have a story about how it all started. Will you tell me?

If I have to.

Really, God, I Am Thankful

Dear God,

I have much to be thankful for.

First of all, thank you for healing my dad. I remember when we found out he had a brain tumor. We were all scared. But we got him home and to a great neurosurgeon who was able to take the whole tumor out.

Yes, after he woke up from the surgery he could not move the left side of his body. And it was a few weeks before he came home. It was a difficult Christmas with him in the hospital. But, he continues to amaze everyone with his recovery. Everyday he is able to move his leg and arm a little bit more. And today he has been walking without his cane.

Thank you for a great family. I have a lot of support from each of my parents and my brothers and sisters. I know I can turn to them anytime. And they are all really great examples to me.

Thank you for allowing me to visit my brother in Michigan in December. I almost didn't go because my dad was still in the hospital. But my mom convinced me that I needed to go, even though I had already seen his family over Christmas when they came down. But I don't get to see his family very often and it was great to spend time with and get know my nephews and niece.

Thank you for an incredible boss. Jujube is very understanding of... well... everything. Even when life sucks for her, for me, or for us both, she always knows how to laugh. And she always knows how to give out compliments and make me feel like a great writer. (Thank you, Jujube. And remember, you are awesome. And you have taught me well.)

Thank you for all my friends. I have many. But there are a select few who have really helped me these last few months. They know who they are. And even if they don't, after reading this, they should.

Thank you for a place to live, food to eat, and things to do. It has been good to keep busy these last few months.

Really, God, I am thankful--for everything.

No More Broken Hearts, Please

For my birthday, Jujube got me a box of heart-shaped cookies--and mmm, were they yummy. However, this was the problem:

... A broken heart. :-(

And yes, I ate it.

After Jujube bestowed upon me this lovely box of cookies, she proclaimed: I hope this is not an omen of things to come.

....

Me too.

This better not be a year of heart-ache, I say. I mean geeze, I'm not getting any younger and, in the words of Jujube, my eggs are drying up. (She told me to tell that to a certain Mango the other day... Makes me laugh just thinking about it.)

So, dream guy, wherever you are, I'm waiting for you to bring me a whole cookie. Please come before the frosting dries up.

Thank you.