by Kim McCoy
Prisa dropped her half of the orange and ran toward a firefighter who was beginning to unravel a hose from the truck.
“Wait,” Prisa shouted. “Wait.”
“Ma’am stand back. That home’s fully engulfed and is sure to affect these other homes.”
“But, it’s all right. It’s okay.”
“Stand back.”
The firefighters started spraying the house. But the flames continued to glow as if they hadn’t been doused. Not blinking out for even a second. A second fire engine and more firefighters came onto the property. They unraveled more hoses and aimed at the house.
Latrice and her children, joined by Solomon, stood on Latrice’s porch looking nervous.
Olga came up behind Prisa, startling her. She put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“It’s over,” she said.
Prisa brushed her mother’s hand away and watched as the flames grew bigger. They reached for the firefighters, and Prisa wondered if they were going to grab them and take them away. She didn’t think they would destroy human life, but she never claimed to know or understand everything there was to know about the fire.
The firefighters put down their hoses, and started whispering to each other.
“Let me explain,” Prisa said. “Follow me.”
She took them inside her house, and didn’t know what to say except for the truth. She explained lighting the candle on her first day, the subsequent flames, sleeping in the woods, and eventually moving into the house. The firefighters touched walls and doorknobs, and even the sparse furniture, as they moved through the house and commented that they’d never seen anything like it. So Prisa wasn’t surprised when they asked if they could stay, and she found herself building another house the same way she had built the others. This one would have three bedrooms and two bathrooms.
Olga couldn’t believe what had happened with the firefighters. As Prisa constructed their home, Olga approached her.
“So, what are you doing? Are you running a cult now?”
“No, I’m not. Maybe you should give it a chance. Stay for a night.”
“I could never stay in a place like this. You won’t last here forever. You’ll come to your senses some day.”
“I’ll be back Prisa and next time you’re coming with me.”
Prisa rolled her eyes and went back to her work.
The firefighters made dinner for everyone on the compound. They built a large picnic table so that everyone could sit and get to know each other.
As they ate, a young man carrying something wrapped in a blanket walked fast toward the table.
“She needs help,” he said. “I found her in a car on the side of the road.”
“Follow me,” Prisa said.
She directed him to put the woman on her bed. The firefighters followed, wanting to help in a situation like this, but having a feeling their help wouldn’t be needed. Prisa went to her porch and put her arms and hands in the fire. When she returned inside, the man had removed the blanket from the woman. Prisa gasped. Her mother, bloody and unconscious, lay on her bed.
“Can we do anything?” one of the firefighters said.
“No, no. It’s okay.”
Prisa stroked her mother’s forehead and temples and laid her hand on heart. Moments later, Olga opened her eyes.
“Prisa, is that you? I had a dream I was dead.”
Prisa touched her mother’s hand, and turned to the young man who had found Olga.
“What happened? Where did you find her?”
“I was on my way here, looking for this place, when I saw her in a car that had over turned.”
Mike had left his drug rehab center in the middle night. At 18, it was the third time he’d been there and figured there no was no way he could live without drugs. He had never been married but said it was the same as a husband trying to leave his wife. A wife that had been good to him, making him forget things not worth remembering. He followed what he thought was the scent of heroin and ended up here.
“Looks like she hit a tree,” Mike said.
“I don’t remember that at all,” Olga said.
Prisa watched as the bruising and swelling in her mother’s face started to disappear.
“Just stay here and rest. Looks like I’ve got another house to build.”
“Can we help?” one of the men asked.
“No, I think it’s all up to me. I don’t mind.”
When Prisa walked outside about 100 people of all ages and races were in the yard, looking patient. Some leaned against trees, others sat on blankets on the ground, and a few sat in wheelchairs. Solomon and Latrice were running around, offering handfuls of fruit and vegetables to the people.
“Welcome,” Prisa said. “You have a home here.”
Prisa didn’t know how she was going to build houses for so many people, but she didn’t feel worried. The firefighters and the young men came into the yard and started asking people what kind of help they needed. Olga came onto the porch, looking neat and clean and younger.
“I’ll help too,” she said and went out into the yard.
Prisa put her arms into the fire and pulled out slats and nails to start the construction. It didn’t take long, but there were so many houses to build, and Prisa wanted everyone who had come to experience what the fire had to offer.
Prisa decided to try something different. She walked into the flames, placing her entire body into the fire. Prisa let the flames envelope her. She felt a sense of peace she had never felt before. Olga, who had been keeping an eye on Prisa from the yard, ran toward her daughter.
“Prisa, no!”
Prisa couldn’t hear her mother and she didn’t notice that all of the people in the compound had gathered around her. She forgot where she was as the flames swallowed her, but never burned her. She was fading into her home, becoming part of it. Her right leg erased by the fire, then her left.
The people didn’t know what to do. But they weren’t frightened. They felt at ease. Latrice grabbed her daughter’s hand, her daughter reached for the hand of the man next to her, and he reached for a hand that belonged to an old woman in a wheelchair. After a few minutes the entire compound was woven together.
Only Olga’s heart was beating fast. She watched as Prisa’s right arm, then left arm, then trunk disappeared. She cried as Prisa’s face, eyes closed and mouth content, vanished. She would miss her daughter. She wished their relationship had been different. She knew Prisa wasn’t sad wherever she was. She knew she’d always be happy.
They held a vigil for Prisa. People who never had the chance to meet her said kind things about her. They spoke of her generosity and the place she built. A place of healing. When it was done, Prisa’s home was no longer there. In its place was a building with many floors and many homes. The outside was wrapped in orange flames.
Led by Olga, they all walked inside.
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