Child's Fire: Part 3

Were you dreaming?

Yeah. It was a scary dream. Someone in a black robe was chasing me. I ran and ran. But he caught me. And I was so scared and I screamed. Then there was red everywhere.

And when you woke up?

Brita’s eyes are closed tight and her fists are clenched.

There was still red everywhere. All over my room, on my bed, on my window, at my door. But it didn’t hurt me. So I wasn’t scared and I started to dance. Like the nympie things I saw on a movie once. I danced and the fire danced. Then my mommy came in and she screamed. Her face looked like my jack-o-lantern. The scared one.

She called my dad who saw and got my brother. My mom couldn’t get through the fire. She tried and burned her arm. When she screamed I ran to her. But the fire told me she was okay. It was her fault.

Mommy kept yelling, “Brita, we gotta go. Brita, Brita, Brita.” She grabbed my arm real tight and dragged me away from the fire. But the fire didn’t want us to go. It followed us out my bedroom door, down the hall, into the kitchen—did a little dance on the countertop, I laughed—and out the house. Mommy ran and I tried to go back to the fire.

Your mother made it out, out of the house?

We all got out. Mommy, daddy, me, Riley, the dog.

Then, can you tell me how she died?

Tears are stream down Brita’s face. She squeezes her eyes tighter.

It was an accident. A bad, bad accident. I didn’t want to lose the fire. I told it to follow. It would be okay. If we could dance, everything would be okay. It skipped to me. My mom yanked me away and I screamed. “Let me go,” I told her.

Brita lets out a sob but hides it with a hiccup.

I remember that is what I said. “Let me go. I want to be with the fire.”

My mom had a strange look on her face and started to cry. She grabbed me real tight and hugged me; she squeezed and squeezed. I wriggled and wriggled. She wouldn’t let go. The fire got mad and attacked her. Came right over her head and grabbed her.

Brita hiccups again.

I tried to stop the fire. But it told me it couldn’t stop. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop.

Dr. Scott pauses. He notices Brita’s shoulders shaking. He hands her the handkerchief from his jacket pocket. She looks at it and scrunches her face, trying to stop the tears.

What is this?

It’s like a tissue.

Brita sticks out her lower lip.

I don’t want it.

Dr. Scott sets it on the table beside Brita’s bed-like chair.

You may lie down if it will make you feel better.

Brita looks at the cushion.

No. I just want to see my daddy.

Dr. Scott looks at the two men behind him again. Mr. Strong points to his watch.

Can you tell me what happened to your brother, Brita?

Sunday Night Laughter

I must continue to interrupt this story for some other important business.

Actually, I was thinking about how much life has changed within the last few months. My family had quite the scare with my dad's brain surgery to remove his tumor last December. But he has pulled through really well, and continues to amaze everyone with his progress, especially after losing mobility in his left arm and leg.

But something even more amazing has happened. My dad now laughs more than ever.

He has always been a laugher. My brothers and sisters and I loved watching comedy movies with him because he would laugh 'til his eyes watered and a coughing fit ensued.

I think the tumor must have been located on the funny part of his brain because now he will laugh at little things, such as my mom saying "plank you" instead of "thank you."

I don't remember what started it Sunday night but just before bed, we were all gathered together, and the laughter began. And it didn't stop, and it didn't stop. The more my dad laughed, the more we all laughed. And our sides hurt. And our faces were red. And we wanted to stop but we couldn't.

My dad was sitting uncomfortably on the floor, holding his side because it hurt so much. He kept saying, "We gotta stop. It hurts so bad..."

Well, that didn't work so well. I was then stupid enough to say something else that made the laughter continue. And then... I tried... I really tried. I kept my mouth straight, thinking that if I was serious, eventually the laughter would die down.

But then I looked at my mom. Her face was so red... and her eyes were squinted. She was clearly trying to stop laughing. But just the look on her face got me going again. And it continued...

Somehow we got everyone to simmer down. Everyone held their sides. My poor dad.

But, I am thankful for the moment. Laughter, truly the best medicine and vice (if it can be called that) in the world.

A Series of Very, VERY Important Letters

Sorry, I must interrupt this story for a bit of important business...

Dear Hickory Kist,
Sorry I spilled Dr. Pepper all over your floor... and I mean all over. Okay, so it was only by the fountain drinks. But now it's a sticky mess.
Sincerely,
A very sorry customer
Ps. The sandwich was delicious. Mmm.

Dear guy with white shoes,
Sorry I spilled Dr. Pepper all over your pants. I hope I did not get your white shoes. But thank you very much for providing floor clean-up help.
From,
A cute girl (You should have gotten my number...)

Dear Mrs. Triple T lady,
I am 26 yrs. old. Not 10. Jujube is definitely not my mom. But thanks for asking.
From,
A very confused customer

Dear Spanish Fork,
I'm sorry for almost killing myself due to the white truck blocking my view of the road. However, you'll be glad to know that I am fine, Jujube is fine, and I did not make a terrible mess all over Main Street.
Sincerely,
A very careful driver

Dear Pier 1 Imports,
I would like a job as a copywriter in your home office. You'll be pleased to know I have super great references and an incredible portfolio. Please call me soon.
Sincerely,
A very talented writer

Dear economy,
Shape up and deal with it like a man. This is no time to pout and cry. Come on. You can pull through.
From,
One who cares

Dear future home,
I'm coming. And after being at Triple T, I really hope you have a fireplace. I would really like to roast marshmallows while watching a sappy love story.
From,
Your future occupant