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.