Among the Flames

by Lya Lively

  THIRTEEN

  Hayden

  “So Hayden,” the conversation turned to me when everyone had grown uninterested in Tony’s sock-puppet collection.

  I felt my breath catch in my throat like a match, “Yeah?” I asked, but my throat was dry. I could feel their eyes burning into me like headlights on an open road.

  “Why’d you decide to move here?” Alesha asked.

  I thought carefully, “the tourist traps.”

  I heard a scoff from somewhere to my right, then a dog from a nearby campsite barked, easing my paranoia.

  “There are tourist traps everywhere. Why Georgia?” It was Noah’s voice.

  “It fit the daydreams,” I said without thought. The burn on his neck floated gracefully back into my head, so I pushed it away.

  He nodded, “But seriously. Why here?”

  I opened my mouth to say something but Kara quickly came to my defense, “Jesus Noah, we invited her here to have fun, not be interrogated.”

  I sat silently watching and listening.

  “Well I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically, “but I’d just like to know something about the person I’m living with now if you don’t mind?” He said it with force, but there was something off about it. It was almost like he was hesitant about being so... forceful.

  “No, you just want-,” she started, but I cut her off.

  “It’s fine; he’s right.” His gray eyes flickered with hints of orange from the fire.

  “Why here?” He asked again.

  I choked down my spit before speaking, giving my time to think genuinely about the answer. “Because of Eric.”

  “Oh,” now Kara chimed back in. “That’s the guy you like,” she said remembering our conversation.

  “Liked,” I corrected her. “I can’t say I know him anymore,” my voice grew more and more tired as I spoke as if the words physically drained my body. “A lot happened before I came up here, so how can I expect he’s the same when I’m not even sure who I,” I laughed a short-lived, sad laugh.

  “So did you run?” Noah asked again.

  I looked up at him, his eyes piercing into me like daggers I hadn’t seen since my mother was still alive. “Yeah,” the word came out choked up, so I cleared my throat.

  “But why’d you run?” When the words came from his lips, the world seemed so simple, so “black and white.” Maybe it was, and damn, why couldn’t it be?

  The campfire illuminated the features of his face so spontaneously. It was dangerously calming, fearful and yet relieving the way the lights danced across his solemn face. The fire, a contained natural occurrence still not yet contained, flickering ever-so-slightly as if threatening to go but it never leaves. The rumbling crackle filled my distracted mind until I spoke aloud.

  “I was afraid.” My words came out soft and low, barely audible over the cricket’s tiresome roar and the distant laughter of our distant neighbors. “Lonely. I was scared, and I thought I could outrun it-,” I paused, contemplating. “the pain-,” my voice cracked. I shook my head. “It was just all too much, so I ran.”

  Noah opened his mouth to say something but quickly shut it. I too was at a loss for what to say, to think, to feel, but his words were the only ones I cared about at the moment. At any moment.

  “Did you-,” A soft voice spoke up with indisputable trembles of hidden anxiety. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Tony asked timidly; his body pulled together as if he was cold. He used one arm to hold his legs close to him while his other hand pressed a stick into the ground.

  “You know,” I told him. “I don’t think I really knew what I was looking for, or what I was escaping. I think- I think for a moment I just was. And I think, even for a moment, just that was enough.”

  They all sat in silence for a while, so I shifted my attention to my marshmallow as it burned. I watched as I sadistically held it, pierced by stick, over the trembling flames that grasped, cried, and lashed out onto this poor helpless marshmallow. They just kept reaching for it, smacking it, as if trying to pull it downward into itself like a black hole. One of them a free force, though still a victim of how I abuse it. The marshmallow is dying, and it is my fault; the fire will live and die, and that is also my fault. Everything that interests me either falls to ash or burns out.

  Of all of the things, I thought I should have but didn’t feel: remorse, sorrow, pain; the one thing I did was undoubtedly worse. I felt like my mother.

  Also, it all made me wonder what it’s like in Hell where she’ll eternally lay. It was almost peaceful to think. I wondered if it was all it’s cracked up to be, or if she’d made it safely, or if Hell maybe refused to incriminate someone who rightfully pleaded insanity and they just ‘dropped’ her off somewhere else.

  All of these thoughts may very well make you sick of my voice, or the curve of these letters as I have them written, but it soothes me. It makes me feel not helpless, or lonely. I almost feel, “okay,” in the loosest sense of the word, while just contemplating the possibilities.

  I pondered there for a moment, on the center of a seesaw wavering back-and-forth between what Hell was like and what it must feel like to live it.

  And then something I didn’t fully understand occurred to me; a thought I didn’t have the strength to either shape my lips to form my words or the breath to push across my vocal chords to carry it over the deafening sounds of reality to my “friends.”

  “I think that... I wasn’t running in the sense that I was leaving one place or going to another, I think I just became so lost within myself that all I could do with my impatience was run. I feel like there is no way to run away from something or to leave a piece behind. Because no matter how fast we are, how strong we’ve become, how far away we get we can never truly escape ourselves, and I think that is a fate worse than death.” I took a moment to absorb what I was saying, to try and make sense of it. I couldn’t though, so I just chalked it up to another meaningless rant of a dumb teenager. That’s how I was starting to feel about everything I’ve had to say lately: meaningless.

  “It’s like; we are the Hell we’re escaping,” Noah whispered as if to answer my thoughts somehow and deem me to be sane.

  “Yeah,” I mumbled back comprehensively. “Hell.”

  FOURTEEN

  Hayden

  I sat alone in my small corner of the luggage tent feeling the suffocating forces of nature like never before. I used to think of the world, in reference to space, was like a snow-globe. It made sense when I was younger because the night sky had an apparent dome shape and all that we could see of the Earth was flat. I could hear the low roar of the campfire from outside my tent, and the hushed voices of my friends whispering things together.

  It only took a few seconds of looking at the night stars through the mesh, of hearing the burning of innocence, the interruption of silence, to entrance me. One slow blink followed by another and the world quickly rushed me into a state of helpless comfort. I would’ve begged the tranquility for mercy for I knew what the next step of this peace would be; the agonizingly dreadful reminisce of the things I try so desperately to forget, to no avail. And then it was gone, and I was trapped alone in my suffocating little space caught in a daydream like death, and no one was the wiser.

  There was a ripple in reality. It was as if someone was running their finger through the different shades of darkness, bubbles floating up to the surface carrying my breath in them along with my last trace of life. My body was sinking, deeper and deeper into the world unknown, unrecognized. I was drowning in my subconscious, and I half-expected Rod Serling to freeze the displayed scene and announce that I had just entered the Twilight Zone, but instead it was silent. I sank until I was gone; all used up like a lighter without fluid.

  ***

  For a moment I was still consciously aware of how embracive the memories were becoming, and then it was all too real to separate from myself.

  I stood parallel to my mother, her back facing me while she sat at the
table. Hues of gray shaded the kitchen as I once recalled seeing it. Her hand was trembling where it rested on the table beside her glass of the night’s alcohol.

  I clenched my jaw, preparing for her rage that typically followed a night of drinking. A puff of smoke went up, and she put her cigarette out on an old pizza plate, I cringed. “Mom,” I spoke softly, sympathetic.

  Nothing.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  “What?” Her voice was sharp and apprehensive.

  “I don’t-“ I shook my head though I knew she couldn’t see it. “You called me down here.”

  She paused a long while, taking a swig of her poison while the anticipation killed my shaky legs. “Oh... right.” She stared out the window rather than explaining; I was almost tempted just to leave her to herself, but something in my forced my stay. I’m not sure if it was fear, or curiosity, or pity maybe? But instead of walking away my feet brought me closer to her. In fact, they took me all the way to the seat across from hers.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Her eyes fogged over; she gazed blindly outside through the back window, so I slowly moved my hand toward her drink to slide it away, but she grabbed my wrist like a hawk gripping its prey so that it couldn’t escape.

  “DON’T YOU DARE! I’M FINE!”

  “No!” I yelled back. “You’re not fine!” I took the glass and the plate and dumped them into the sink, running some cold water over the cigarette before I returned to her.

  “YOU BITCH, NOW I HAVE TO BUY MORE!” She went for her keys, so I rushed ahead of her, turning it into a game of tug-of-war.

  She continued screaming cuss words at me, her voice slurred until her grip slipped from the keys and she fell on the floor.

  “Mom!” I yelled, throwing the keys on top of some high cabinets, I would have to remember to get them in the morning. “Are you okay?” I begged, helping pull her up.

  “I’m fine... I’m... LET GO! I HATE YOU!......You....you should’ve told me...” And then she started crying uncontrollably.

  “I know.” I soothed. “I know. I know. It’s okay, I know.” I held her in my arms, running my hand through her hair like you would a child.

  “I hate you...” she just kept mumbling.

  “I know, it’s okay. You’re okay. Shh, shh, I know.” And I just kept repeating that until she was silent again.

  Finally, after my arms had grown tired and my knees were surely bruised on the tiles, I could feel her falling asleep. Her eyelids fluttered a moment, and she was gone. Even with her there I was at last alone, and it was my turn to cry.

  A part of me wanted to scream, and kick, and fight and beg, but instead I just sat there. I just sat there and held my drunk, snoring mother in my arms like you would a delicate child. I almost prayed, I almost did it, but then something inside of me clicked. It must’ve been a bomb because it set off a million different thoughts in my head, but they all had the same basic principle.

  Why would he put me through such misery, knowing how I would take it? Knowing that I would hate my life, that I would feel a pain that no one else I knew had ever felt? Why would he surround me with such few people and even THEY abandon and destroy everything I know to be joy? All I have is Eric, and he’s moving to New York. “I have nothing. You gave me nothing!” I cried. “I try so hard, and you give me nothing! I just want to know why. Why, God, must you be such a cruel bastard?” I instantly regretted saying it, or thinking it, let alone questioning Him. I was just so tired, all sometimes it felt like maybe I didn’t want to die but things would be so much easier if I could just sleep and never awaken.

  ***

  Unfortunately, though, I did awaken. I awoke to the sound of someone unzipping my tent causing me to gasp very loudly.

  “Woah, hey! It’s just me!” The dark mass announced with a hint of humor. He came in, though there obviously wasn’t enough space for the both of us and all of the luggage to fit into the small shelter, he insistently zipped it back up with him inside. It was as if he challenged the laws of physics.

  The side of his body pressed against mine; the anticipation coursed through my veins like religious plasma, simultaneously good and evil. I avoided looking directly at him as if he were the sun itself.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, a little too loudly. He placed a hand over my mouth and shushed violently.

  “They’re sleeping,” he whispered, pulling his hand back apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. I was too loud, and-,”

  “No-,” he said cutting me off. “Not that, I mean about everything else. I really am sorry, Hayden.” His gray eyes pierced through mine in a way, I fear, could never be replicated and so instead of glancing away I studied them. They were light around the pupils, a ring around the iris nearly as black as the pupil itself. It sent jolts of electricity down my spine, so much so that I actually shivered.

  “Are you cold?” He started pulling at the sleeves of his black jacket, but I put my hand on his abdomen to stop him as if there were any space for me to have done otherwise.

  “I’m fine,” I said while my mother’s drunken tone echoed through my sober thoughts. This time I did glance away in fear that he just might read my mind.

  Out of nowhere his thumb came up and wiped away a tear I hadn’t known I’d cried. He watched me with sympathetic, unwavering eyes. “I yawned,” I lied. “I’m tired.”

  “Bullshit,” he said quickly. “You’re crying.”

  “I’m not,” I whined pathetically, ruining the chance of anything becoming of us. “It’s late, and I’m tired. It was a long drive, and I’m tired. The stars are out, and I’m freaking tired,” my hands were shaking, but there were so many things it could’ve been I didn’t bother wondering why. “You can leave,” I told him steadily, not wanting him to go.

  He just sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry I keep hurting you.”

  I didn’t respond. Instead, I just watched him awkwardly huddled opposite of me. We both sat with our knees close to our chests, though his arms held him up awkwardly beside him and mine crossed protectively in front of my chest. I hadn’t realized no one was wearing his jacket until he ran his hands through his black hair, his arm flexing beneath his sleeve. He sighed again, “Do you really want me to leave?” His voice was drawn out and sore.

  I thought about it and forced my brain to string the words, “Yes, please go. You’ve done enough,” together, but just like I couldn’t help myself from falling for him slowly, I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “no.”

  Even in the faint moonlight, I could see him smirk. “You know, Chloe would’ve slapped me the moment I came in.” His voice was low and rough.

  “Are you comparing me to your girlfriend?” I nearly yelled.

  “No. Ex-Girlfriend, and no. There’s no comparison.”

  “You two fighting again?” I asked jadedly, not in the slightest interested in his ‘relationship’ status.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ah.” I looked up at the stars; it was too much to look at him directly in the same way it was too much to look at the sun. “So that’s why you came in here, huh; to tell me about your healthy strobe-light relationship?”

  He stretched his legs out then, crossing one foot over the other and placing his hands behind his head for support. He had joined me in looking up, ignoring my question. “You know, it’s much more beautiful outside of this thing. The sky I mean.”

  I cautiously stretched my own feet toward him, only a few inches but it wasn’t about the space, it was about the thrill of letting myself get too close. “I figured. But, it’s not about what you see, it’s about how it makes you feel.”

  I felt him look at me for a moment, and then back at the sky, “And how does this make you feel?”

  “Squished.” I joked. I felt his body jolt beside me as he chuckled.

  “The sky I mean.”

  “I don’t know. Scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of not knowing. Of reali
zing that none of this is important in the grand scheme of things. Of the fact that the larger infinity becomes, the smaller I feel that I am. Of life, death, and everything in between. I’m just afraid.” I felt the tears welling up in my eyes as I accepted it all. My voice choked out a final whisper, “I just am.”

  We were both silent a while before he spoke again. “Free.”

  “How so?”

  He took in a breath. “It just does. I mean, everything with my parents, and life. It just, almost feels nice that we can look up whenever we want to and see, for a fact, that it doesn’t matter, and that we aren’t important centers of everything. We just are, and I’m okay with that because anything more would be too much.”

  “Why are you here?” I asked him sitting up, even though I hardly wasn’t before.

  “What do you mean?” He asked as he lifted his head. “’Here’ as in camping, or ‘here’ as in alive?”

  “‘Here’ as in my tent, maybe?”

  He let out a breath and sat up completely now, bringing his knees closer to him but not the whole way. “Oh, that.”

  “Yeah.”

  He bit his lip while he thought. “You never told me what you were running from, specifically. It just seemed a little unfair considering.”

  I know he didn’t mean it that way, but “Unfair?”

  “Wrong word, just. You know what I mean.”

  I did, and I understood why he didn’t want to say it, so I didn’t make him. “I do.” We were both quiet while I thought about how I would say it, about how much I would give away.

  “My parents,” I told him quietly, the sounds of nature suddenly dull and lifeless. “They died.”

  “Both of-?”

  “Yeah. Both dead. In a fire actually.” I let the words out in a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “So that’s why you-?”

  “Yeah. I ran.”