Burning Questions

“Can you keep a secret?” Joyce asked after carefully scanning the playground for unwanted listeners.

“Sure,” Mae replied.

Joyce looked down at her doll, her tiny fingers fiddling with its braids. Unlike her toy, pieces of hair had come lose and thus were no longer part of her mother’s neat work. Some even found the way into her face, like blades of grass sticking out from the sides of an untraveled path, but that did not bother her. 

“When I grow up, I…I want to create my own garden. I want to plant roses, daisies, daffodils and lavender,” she said and focussed her grey-blue eyes on those of her friend. They sparkled in the sun as the joy spread across her face and bloomed in her eyes. “I want it to smell like my gran.” 

“Why is that a secret?” Mae frowned.

The smile disappeared rapidly.

“Because so much can go wrong! The flowers could die; animals might trample over them; the sun might not shine enough… Or maybe someone will even burn my garden down!”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about a fire,” Mae grinned. “Because I want to be a firefighter.”

13 years later

Even though I had already turned my alarm off (after hitting snooze for three times), its high-pitched sirens were still vibrating in my ears. The previous day of training completely destroyed me; my arms ached from carrying the hosepipes and climbing ladders and my eyes were swollen. Is this the definition of fulfilment?After reluctantly dragging my heavy body out of my soft place of comfort, I forced down a steaming cup of coffee and headed down to the fire station.

My father, who was an instructor and a long-standing member of our local fire department, was already laying out the firefighter suits and helmets on the concrete next to the truck. He greeted me with a big smile and did not seem to notice me wincing at every step I took.

“Hey Mae! Ready for the live fire training?”

I nodded and could already feel the adrenaline shooting through my veins; beads of sweat were accumulating on my forehead. 

We put on our armour and drove together with the other trainees and instructors to the old building that was to be set on fire. It was not our first time putting out a fire and it was also not going to be the day I got to stand at the front of the line, being the person to direct the pressurised water stream towards the roaring flames (I still had a few days of peace before then), yet I was nervous. The suit felt like a weighted blanket, which funnily enough is said to relieve anxiety, however, it was not soothing at all. Holding up my brittle body against the weight of the suit made me feel ridiculously weak and small. I tried my best to help the others unroll the hosepipe, even though I would rather be rescuing kittens in trees. The trainers initiated the fire which started out as a spark at the end of a match stick, but soon turned into a seemingly living creature that feasted on the helpless building. Red and yellow hues burned my eyes and mesmerised me. I was falling into a trance, though the piercing sound of a pager, followed by curious chatter brought me back. 

“Ready for your first realcase?” my father asked from behind. “Mae, John, let’s go”. He grabbed my arm, eagerly leading me away from the others and into the unknown.

Before I knew it, I was sandwiched between my father and another trainee, racing through narrow streets. People swerved to make way for the red heroes, helping us get to our destination as soon as possible. I picked up the pager to check the address of the fire which seemed oddly familiar. When we made our last turn and were greeted by the red turmoil surrounding the affected building, I immediately knew whose home it was: Joyce’s. Her family’s two-story house used to be white, but the ashes had started to alter the colour to their liking. A cobblestone path leading up to the front door split her front garden in two. Individual dots of all the colours of the rainbow formed a vivid and luminous unit. Although it was only a small green patch, Joyce made use of the space as much as she could, granting each plant plenty of room. The back garden was home to an even larger variety of flowers whose perfume was very strong yet pleasant, and even managed to drown the smell of the fire. All of the plants were thriving and were left untouched by the burning hands of the flames. Joyce had always taken great care to meet their needs and unfold their individuality. Not everyone appreciates the work she does; not everyone sees how successful she has been – but I do. I really hope she knows that. 

For some reason the suit felt even heavier than it did at the fire department. The weight of the tank on my back made me feel like I was carrying a child; I could not breathe properly through my mask and my boots might as well have been bricks. Two knocks on my helmet after my father’s pep talk, which I barely listened to, awakened the anxiety in my brain.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I hesitated.

“Don’t be silly! All you have to do is point the hosepipe at the fire - even a child could do that! John will be right behind you.” 

He handed me the tube and nodded, signalising me to go in. When I started approaching the front door, the window to the left of me opened. Joyce leaned over it and attempted to grasp for air which was interrupted by roaring coughs. Although I had not seen her in such a long time, her appearance did not differ from the image I had remembered of her: a low ponytail held her hair together, except for two strands that framed her face. It was hard to tell whether the freckles were still sprinkled over her face under all the soot, yet her eyes still had that sparkle. I quickened my pace, trying to ignore the heavy bulk surrounding me. Hang on, I’m nearly there.

When I went inside, there was a forest of fire sending hot gushes of wind through my suit and onto my skin. Between me and her stood a curtain of flames that coated the walls and discharged thick, threatening clouds. They grew exponentially, tumbled above my head and with each second that went by, it seemed to get darker. A jet of foamy water, shooting out of the hosepipe I forgot I was clasping, put an end to the gloomy game; the light of the bright flames bounced off the white bubbles and lightly illuminated the ceiling. As soon as I had freed the entrance of its nemesis, John crawled through the left door to rescue Joyce, while I moved down the hallway, alone. Suddenly, the hosepipe caught between my legs. I stumbled and landed head-first on the floor, with the rubber snake accidentally slipping out of my hands and into an intangible proximity. A thud caused by the heaviness I carried with me shook the house, and for a second the world seemed to fall uncomfortably silent. Just I was about to reassemble myself, a chunk of the ceiling came crashing down. The impact brought me to my knees; flames ran towards me and grew twice my size. As the monsters looked down on me, I covered my eyes in fear and curled up into a tight ball. My chest was burning. Hot tears trickled down my cheeks. It’s too heavy. I don’t believe I can get up. Is this the place people call hell? Is this going to be the end?My thoughts were spiralling, the next louder than the previous one.

Is this what I want? Is this who I really want to be?

They continued to move toward me, until their light blinded my eyes andtheir crackling turned into words.

“Let us tell you a secret,” the monsters whispered. I could feel their warm breath on my skin.

“You get to decide.”