What the Fire Left Behind
If you've ever survived a wildfire, you know that it changes you. It touches a flame already living within you. Draws it out in an ancient tribal dance.
My fire ignited on a dry, hot summer day. First came the plume, as the news called it, climbing into the sky in a black column. It grew wider, thicker, darker, until it blocked out the sun and tinted the world around me in shades of amber.
Every moment tasted of smoke. Each part of my life became tainted by the acrid odor, choking me, invading my sinuses.
We kept the windows shut against it. Tried not to look outside. But it was merciless. No home is airtight. Certainly not ours.
My children, Corrinne and Evan, rolled with it. Kids are so resilient. They built forts while we were trapped in the house. Played board games. Pretended to be pirates and star captains. Dinosaurs.
Neighborhoods around ours had been evacuated, but they didn't feel we were in danger yet. Still, I packed. Our suitcases were ready to go, important documents tucked into a plastic tub with photos and our hard drives. Before heading into work that morning, I'd done a final load of laundry so we'd have underwear when the inevitable call to evacuate came through. I'd left instructions for my husband, Stan, to put the clean clothes in the suitcases and load the trunk so we could leave that night after I got off work. We'd decided that we were too close to the fire to stick around and risk being evacuated in the middle of the night. Not that we'd slept for those last few nights. Only a single ridge and four rows of houses stood between us and the raging fire.
Then the plume collapsed.
The fire marshal on the news had said plumes made their own weather. This one made its own firestorm. Sixty-five mile-per-hour winds pushed the blaze over the final ridge, sweeping flames over and down. The fire consumed everything in its path, leaping hungrily from tree to tree, rooftop to rooftop.
There was no warning for the people left behind.
Had I not looked out the window of my office and seen a wall of flame and smoke where that final ridge stood, I wouldn't have known to call home. No evacuation call came.
With shaking fingers, I dialed his cell phone.
"All circuits busy."
I stuffed the phone into my pocket, grabbed my car keys, and ran. It took forever. Thick grey ash rained down around me, soft as snow, muffling sound. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. My heart was a snared beast in my chest, pounding, fighting, desperate to get out. My mouth tasted of char.
Our home wasn't far. We'd moved here because of the proximity to both our jobs. But when I got to the main road leading home, it was blocked off. A police car, lights flashing, was parked in my lane. As the blue and red pulsed into my eyes, I watched cars being turned away. A man raged at the officer, who stood, stoic and calm, and let him yell. Finally, he spoke, using slow movements. The man sagged, climbed into his car, and made a U-turn.
I didn't bother waiting to talk to the officer. I knew what he would tell me; yelling at him wouldn't change that. When the car ahead of me rolled forward, I made my own U-turn. There was another way home. One last chance.
The smoke was cloying. The filter in my car, after days of this constant assault, failed to keep it from inside my car. My eyes stung, burning and watering. Desperation drove me forward, deeper into the smoke.
They hadn't blocked the back way. The closer I got, the thicker the ash became. Large chunks of burning wood fell around me, struck my car with random patters. A piece of cloth plummeted to the road beside me, flaming where it wasn't already blackened. It looked like a scene from a volcanic disaster movie. The smoke was so thick I couldn't see the flames, but I knew they were there. Close. Wildlife had already fled, smarter than us humans, and the unnatural quiet contributed to the ominous atmosphere. There was an intense pressure upon me, as if I would smother at any moment. In response, my entire body tightened, muscles contracted so much I thought my bones might break. My body shook, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
A line of cars waited to get out of the neighborhood, purged out onto the main road. The street leading out was packed with desperate evacuees, their cars stuffed to the gills, the frightened ovals of their faces staring through the windows. The traffic lights still turned red on their pre-determined cycle, slowing the process even more. Somewhere, a button pusher hadn't been alerted to the fiery jeopardy.
Like me, a line of cars also worked to get into the neighborhood everyone else was fleeing. All trying to get to family, pets, belongings. Our lane came to a stop, so I pulled my phone out and tried again. My hands shook.
"All circuits busy."
I hung up and pushed the auto-dial again, the phone clenched so tightly it dug into the flesh of my palm.
"Miriam?" he said when he picked up. His voice was tight, barely contained panic underlying it. Relief washed through me in a hot burst, starting in my chest and expanding outward. Tears stung my eyes.
"Are you out?" I asked.
"We're on our way. I'm just getting the car loaded. The kids are already in there. And…" a grunt, "the last bag is in. Heading out!"
"Okay, I'll see you soon. I'm going to turn around."
"I've gotta' go, Honey. Love you."
"Love you."
He was on his way out. My babies were safe. My shoulders, which had climbed up around my ears, lowered. I unclenched my hands, easing my grip on the steering wheel.
Now to get out of here. There was no reason for me to add to the traffic going in. I waited until someone left enough of a gap for me to turn into and joined the line leaving the neighborhood. A golden retriever panted at the rear window ahead of me, tongue flopping. I imagined he hated the smell of smoke even more than I did.
A motorcycle stood nearby, the driver probably suffocating in his helmet. Someone in a Stormtrooper costume danced on the side of the road, waving at the cars driving by. Kids in the car in front of me waved back at him, laughing. My kids would love this when they got this far. Well, Evan more than Corrinne. Still, it was a distraction. I only hoped he got out before the smoke got worse.
I pulled up next to the Stormtrooper. He moonwalked past my car then turned and waved. I gave him a quick return wave. A brief smile. To conquer the unbearable heat, I turned my air conditioning up. Sweat dripped down my back, drenching my shirt. He must be boiling out there.
My phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Stan.
"What's wrong?" I asked right away.
The kids were crying in the background. They were frantic, screaming and crying. I could hear Stan breathing heavily. His voice was muffled when he said, "It's okay, guys. We're almost out. Mom's waiting for us. We'll go get some ice cream."
Their screams stopped, but they still sobbed. "Damn it, move," he said quietly. His voice was higher than usual, the words blurred as if he were talking through gritted teeth.
"Honey?" I called. "Can you hear me?"
He didn't respond. The phone must have been in his pocket.
A dull roar sounded in the background. Someone behind me honked. I realized the line had moved, so I eased forward, the dog still panting at me through that window. The Stormtrooper now waving at the car behind me. My windshield wipers had turned on automatically, swiping trails out of the ash. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
The roar grew louder. My husband's voice came again. "Guys." There was a choking sound, but then his voice firmed up. "Corrinne," he barked. "Evan. Put your blankets over your head so the smoke isn't so thick." He choked again. No. Not choking. Sobbing.
Their voices quieted. Nothing existed outside the phone in my hand. I pressed it to my ear so hard I'd be bruised later. "Stan? Please!" Tears streamed down my face. "Oh baby, please."
The roar. Then, "Daddy? Why is it so hot?"
"I'll turn the air conditioning up, honey. You stay under that blanket." His voice was subdued. I'd never heard him like this.
There was silence for long enough that I thought perhaps everything was
okay. I allowed hope to fill me, to swell in my chest. But it was too soon. "No," he said, and then the roar was everything. It blasted static into the phone. Metal groaned. Glass shattered.
Then the screams came. I screamed with them, but they couldn’t hear me. They didn't know I was with them, hearing them, feeling them. My screams burned my throat.
Heat suffused my body, and the fire inside me awakened with those screams, birthed from my nightmares, my loss and terror. It scorched its way through me. Where it burned, it cauterized, leaving scars that would never heal.
***
In the months since I lost everything, I have moved through life with that flame smoldering. I cannot feel the cold any longer. I am a coal, ignited, waiting to be stoked.
When I look into a fire, any fire, it looks back at me.
It reaches for me.
I reach back.
Today, I smolder in a peaceful neighborhood. The houses are clean, but in need of paint. Yards are mostly well kept, with one gone to weed here and there. These are ranch-style houses with single car garages, the second car parked in the driveway. Ornate bars cover the windows on many of the houses. Mailboxes stand sentry at the curbs. Dry leaves scuttle along the street, having evaded the suburban army of rakes.
I'm parked in front of one house in particular. Inside, there is a man. When I first saw him, he wore a t-shirt and a baseball cap. He drove by in his blue late 90s pickup truck, the tip of his cigarette glowing. I was heading in the opposite direction, Nirvana blasting from the radio. Pain oozed from Kurt Cobain's voice. We had something in common.
Our eyes met. His left hand came up, pinched the cigarette, and threw it out the window toward the grassy median. It missed, landing on the pavement.
My anger blazed up inside me. I flipped the car around the median, making sure to run over the cigarette and put it out. He was already past, unaware of the beast he had unleashed.
The heat radiated from my chest. It drifted out the window, rode the air currents. When I felt the flames licking at the back of his neck, I knew I could relax. They would lead me to him when the time was right.
Now, three days later, the time is right.
It's a quiet day. A lawn sprinkler starts up with a sputter and a hiss. Birds chirp. A magpie screeches and chases another, smaller, bird away from its nest. The air smells of fresh-mown grass and rubber-infused hose water. No one stirs.
I slip from the car, and straighten my cream suit jacket. A quick pat of my dark hair to make sure there are no flyaways. The car door closes with a solid thunk, and I pocket my key. My heels click over the asphalt, changing tone when I hit the sidewalk. Click, click, click, clop, clop.
His door is navy blue, the trim white, and the house paint light blue. The bars in his windows are white, though they are chipped, black showing through in those spots where the paint is gone. I rap my knuckles against the smooth navy surface. Wait.
Footsteps sound on the other side, faint, but firm. A moment while he looks through the peephole at me. I look at the peephole, smile.
The doorknob moves then turns. When he opens the door, his face holds a question. His expression is open, but his brow is furrowed. "Can I help you?" he asks. His hair is dark and close cropped. A goatee stretches down his chin from his bottom lip. He's thin, but wiry.
"Yes," I say, still smiling, unthreatening. "I'm with the fire department. We're conducting an inspection on this street today to ensure proper smoke and CO detectors are installed. Can I come in?"
I wait for him to ask me for a badge or some sort of identification. He doesn't.
They rarely do.
"Sure." He steps back from the door, holds out an arm, inviting me to enter. "I actually just replaced the batteries in all of them. There's been a lot of literature on fire safety since the fire this past summer."
My chest tightens, but I step inside. The harsh smell of burnt tobacco tickles my nose. Looking around, I take in the details of his home. On one wall, he has a photo of an older couple. His parents, presumably. There's also a portrait with three smiling, apple-cheeked kids. No adults. No family portrait. Divorced, perhaps. I take a moment to wonder if it was his smoking habit that did it. Or his complete lack of common sense.
A guitar leans against a brown leather sofa. His TV is small. I bet he doesn't watch it much. On a shelf beside the TV, there are a handful of movies. This is Spinal Tap. The Dark Crystal. Lord of the Rings. A few more I can't see, because their spines are turned away from me. The scent of fabric softener drifts past.
"Can you show me each of your smoke detectors, please, Sir?"
"Cody," he says, holding out his hand to me. I take it in a firm grip and shake.
"Miriam," I say. It doesn't matter if he knows my real name. He won't be telling anyone.
He gestures with one hand, turns, and leads me down a hallway. I follow him through a series of rooms, noting the location of each smoke detector. When we finish, I tell him I must examine them more closely. I remove my jacket, tie it around my waist, and roll my shirt sleeves up.
"Thank you for your help," I say. "Can I bother you for a glass of water? You're the tenth house I've visited, and I forgot to bring a water bottle today."
"Of course," he says. So friendly. Once, I would have felt bad about what I must do, but the fire burned all guilt away. Just one of the things I no longer have to worry about. Like children's birthday parties and packing lunchboxes. Like cooking dinner for my family.
What I actually do when he walks into the kitchen is disconnect the wires then tuck the smoke detector back to its original snug position. I'm good enough at this now that it doesn't take me long at all, and by the time he returns with a sweating glass of ice water, they're finished.
"Great job," I say. "It looks like you're on top of things."
He smiles, nods. "I try to be."
"I noticed several ashtrays. Are you careful to put your cigarettes out completely? And do you avoid smoking in bed?"
He looks taken aback, but answers. People can't help but respond to authority. "Yes, I'm careful with my cigarettes. I don't want to burn the house down!"
"Good, good. What about in your car?"
"My car?"
"Yes. Do you put your cigarettes out in the ashtray in your car?"
He's confused, but seems unaware anything is wrong. "I guess so."
"That's not what I saw."
"Excuse me?" He's still more confused than scared, but I enjoy watching the fear and doubt creeping across his face.
"Sir, do you know what started the fire this summer?" I ask.
"I—the fire?"
"Yes, the fire. The one you referenced just moments ago."
Well," he says, "I think I heard it was a cigarette. Is that right?"
Very good. "Yes." I nod. "A cigarette. Thrown out of a car window."
"Listen, I'm pretty sure I don't have to answer your questions. I doubt I even had to let you in. Either way, it's time for you to leave." He tries to move around me in the direction of the front door.
I have no intention of leaving.
Instead, I reach over and put a hand on his arm. It doesn't take too much concentration to start the heat. It's always just below the surface. The pain widens his eyes, pushing the fear back, but just a little. He clamps a hand over mine, but jerks it away immediately.
"It's important you know why this is happening," I say. "Why this has to happen."
"Who are you?" he asks.
"I already told you. I'm Miriam."
"But what did I do to you? What's going on?"
"You are full of questions, Cody. Let me explain." I reach up to cup his cheek. Up to this point, it's just been a little warm, but now I turn up the heat. "I saw you."
"Saw me what?" He's pulling against me now, but a mother's strength is unbendable. Fear wars with the pain. His eyes squeeze into a wince, mouth pulled back in a grimace. He's shaking.
"I saw you throw the cigarette out your window. You know that caused
the fire, yet you continue to do so. Don't you care about the lives that were lost?"
"It's not fire season anymore," he says. As if it's ever not fire season in Colorado.
My palms sear the flesh of his face, his bicep. I tighten my grip when he tries to twist out of it. The sweet smell of burning skin is a balm along my nerves. It fills my chest. My lungs draw it in. Pink creeps across his skin, floods his cheeks.
He's really struggling now. Whimpers escape his lips. He punches me in the side of the head with the arm I'm not holding, but it's a weak hit since he had to go around my raised arm. He tries again, this time aiming lower. His blows glance off me, hardly felt. No physical pain could ever equal the emotional agony I suffer every moment.
I let go of his arm and press the other hand to the unburned cheek. He tries to remove my hands from his face. My hands and wrists are blazing hot now, heat licking up my arms, flesh glowing. Smoke escapes from under them. He yelps when he grabs my wrist, and jerks his hand back. He scrabbles at my fingers with his nails, tries to pry them off. I'm not concerned. The flames will purify the grooves he forms in my skin; no bacteria stands a chance against the heat.
I hold tight. He has to pay.
"I'm sorry," he sobs. "Please."
The sound of my husband's voice fills my head. The sobs that escaped before he could get himself under control for the sake of our babies. The loneliness he must have felt without me there. The desperation and terror, seeing the flames coming for them. Knowing he couldn't save himself or our children. The resolve I heard right before he broke at the end.
Cody's head bursts into flames. He's screaming now, lashing out at me. His skin is blackening, melting from his face, hitting the carpet in wet, flaming clumps.
The carpet begins to melt then to burn. My feet are hot, too. I let go of Cody, let him run away, as they usually do. Stop, drop, and roll only does so much good if you can't remember it when you're burning. He slams into a wall, knocks a painting of a seascape onto the floor. It begins to burn, too.
Flames are licking at the walls. I back away, leaving him to his death. It's odd how different each person's scream is at the end. They've collected in my dreams, so it's not only my family's screams I have to hear, but a haunted chorus. Sometimes I can drown them out. I used to hear them even when I was awake, but that happens less now.
Blue Sludge Blues & Other Abominations Page 7