Fire and Tears

I didn’t notice my shivering from the cold. Memories were flooding into my mind, enveloping me and making me ignore my senses. All I had was a sheet on to keep me warm. I didn’t notice the frost on my window, the snow drifting outside, and the wind howling through the window panes. Tomorrow  was the 3-year anniversary of the day that the fire struck my home, costing me my house, my family, and my ability to relax. I was 18 now, but 3 years before I was forced to reside with my aunt in New York City, thousands of miles from my Kansas home. To be honest with you, that first day at my aunt’s apartment, all I could think was, ‘Todo, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.’

My aunt tried her best to make me feel at home. But it was an expected failure, giving I was used to five brothers and sisters when she was at work all day. My aunt worked at a dress shop, dressing mannequins and opening ordered boxes. The only time she was home was dinnertime, and I had absolutely the whole day to myself. My giant collection of books and puzzles was burned to ash along with my painting supplies. I had received a few things to keep me busy, but they only lasted a little while. 

When I was 18 I moved out. I had enough of being bored all day. My aunt knew why I had to leave, and I could tell she was sorry I was leaving. I found a cheap apartment not far away from my aunts house and got a job at a drive through restaurant to earn money. I didn’t eat a lot. I didn’t have a big appetite like I used to. 

Suddenly a break of cold hit me. I realized how cold I really was and stood up to grab a thicker blanket. The night had been so warm before. I couldn’t sleep. As I grabbed the blanket I made myself some hot chocolate. I snuggled up on the couch with the blanket and the mug. As I turned on the TV, my thoughts disappeared. Screens helped me get my mind off things. I tried to take as little time as possible watching the television, but at times like this, it was needed. I scrolled through channels, clicking through shows and documentaries. When I was done, I looked at the clock warily. It was 2 in the morning, and there were no cars passing by my window. The remaining chocolate dregs of my hot chocolate had gone cold long ago. Knowing that I had to get some sleep, I took my blanket and retreated to my bed. 

I don’t know how long I slept that night. My guess would be about 2 hours. The next morning I woke up groggy and tired. Luckily for me, it was my break day from work. Another few hours of channel surfing took my mind off things, but then, the flashbacks came. 

It was noon. I was eating lunch, when I dropped my fork suddenly. Black flashes blocked my vision. A blurry image crawled into my mind. Orange flames creeping up through the windows. The yellow school bus skidding to a stop on the other side of the road, the driver calling 911. My sister’s screaming, my brother’s calling for help. My little sister crawling through a broken window, dying hours later in the ambulance. Fear jolted my mind suddenly when I noticed that I would never see my family alive again. The red and blue lights with the booming sirens from the police cars piling up on our street. Me, getting down on my knees, in complete and utter shock, breathing in the sharp scent of smoke and flame, officers dragging me farther away from the house, onto the lawn across the street. Families and neighbors coming from all houses all down the street.

I shook myself into reality. My heart was pounding, my head reeling. Suddenly the apartment seemed darker. Snow was falling harsher than ever, wind still howling outside. Pain pierced my heart. I hadn’t had a flashback that clear in a long time. Little parts of that Scene flashed in my mind every once in a while, but I did my best to push them out. But today, the three year mark of my lifelong sadness, I couldn’t stop the memories from flooding in, no matter how big I had built the dam over the past three years. 

The phone rang. I picked it up, saying, “Hello? This is Olivia Bevenet speaking.” A light, smooth voice filled the phone. “Hello, sweetie. If it’s ok with you, I would like you to come over today.” It was my aunt. She lived near, but ever since I moved out I had only talked to her in uncommon phone calls. “Um, sure, Aunt Amy. Let me get ready, and I’ll be right over.” Confused as to why my aunt wanted me over on the saddest day of my year, I got in a quick shower, got dressed, and did my makeup quickly. I tried to look nice. But I just didn’t care. My long brown hair was tied up in a messy bun, my makeup simple, and my clothing neat but plain. 

I exited the building and drove to my aunts now unfamiliar apartment. Looking up at the numerous windows, I wondered how I would feel to be stuck up in that apartment, alone once again. I was grateful I was out of it, yet still, some of me missed the two years I had spent to ponder in that apartment. I made it inside, waving at the familiar faces at the front desk, and loaded onto the elevator with a middle aged woman and a short, slightly hunchbacked older man. They’re faces also looked a little familiar, but I could not place ever talking to them in my time here, so I just smiled. As I reached the fifteenth floor, my heart started pacing. I was about to see my aunt in person for the first time in a year. I walked slowly down the long, narrow hallway, noticing that the carpet had changed and the wall color was more faded. Small notices like that clogged my brain, forcing me to forget that Scene. Until I knocked on the door.

My aunt almost immediately answered. She looked just as she did when I had moved out. Short red hair. Tiny freckles, slim figure. Her eyes were still brown, but just like the walls, they had faded in color. Sadness tinged them. Suddenly tears were in my eyes. They sprung up like I had been crying forever, then after a few seconds of trying to hold them back, unwillingly, they spilled out. I stood there, on my aunts Welcome doormat, staring at my shoes, weeping silently. There were a few precious, silent moments where my aunt just stared at me. Then, she swept me up in a loving hug. As I wept there, dousing her shoulder with my tears. We sank down to the floor, my aunt’s tears not flowing as freely as mine, and sat there, together, mending a bond that had been broken forever, sadness and sadness forming one heart. 

As we stood up, our faces wet and our eyes sad, we knew that we could get through this. I had thought that I was the only one that felt this way. I hadn’t thought that my aunt was my mom’s sister, and she loved my family almost as much as I did. I knew that we could get through this together, and that my last piece of family would help me mend my broken soul and help me find peace again.