Fire Fight

This is my worst nightmare. Everything was dissolving into gray wisps of nothing. The violence had faded. The roaring scream of a dying life had deadened into a soulless whimper. The other noises became a chorus. A great collection of nature that held the note. A call to peace. A silent plea to feel the cool breeze instead of the starving heat. My house, my home. That’s it, and it’s all gone. I don’t deserve this. 

Pieces of shattered glass surrounded the narrow stone path carved out of the scorched grass. Everything was gone. My soul began to leak from my fingers. I had built it for her years ago. Our two-year anniversary. I can remember how her soles padded so gently on the stones. I had spent so long watching her. Maybe it was the way her lilac dress moved in the wind that wasn’t there or the simple way she held her hand out to me in the split second before I took it. The other hand held a cigarette. The memory burnt at the edges there. “David, come walk with me,” she spoke with a softness in her voice. Remnants of ashes that weren’t there covered my memory’s hand. Her eyes moved closer towards me. Deep brown, mixed with trails of amber moving deeper and deeper towards her pupils. I couldn’t tell if the light made her pupils dilate into nothing but small pinpricks barrelling into my soul. A shot in the head for her to stare deeply into something that I couldn’t see.

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The sky had been gray that day, and stress began to well in my spine, pooling into a reservoir much too small to handle the new tributaries sprouting everywhere I turned. David sat next to me, his hand lying upward, me. I didn’t want to hold his hand. Instead, I thrusted mine between my legs, trying to get some warmth in the freezing room. 

David’s mother was messing with something in the kitchen, closing cabinets with no regard for how loud the closing slam would be. Ice into a glass, liquid on the ice. She strode into the living room, a glass of whiskey in one hand, water in another. “Here you are, dears,” she said, handing me the glass of water. I could have sworn she had offered the whiskey to both of us. “I decided to give you water, love. Executive mom decision! You know, just in case you’re pregnant.” This again. “Tawny, Davey, you’re still trying, right?”

“Cass, I think we’ve mentioned before that we don’t think we’re going to have children,” I sighed into my glass. David stayed silent. He couldn’t even stand up when I needed him to. She looked at me with these puppy dog eyes that reminded me of what my mother had given me when I was a child. A face practically whimpering, “Do what I want or you’ll never live up to my expectation of who you should be.”

“Well, maybe things had changed. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page, push you in the right direction perhaps. You tend to make decisions without me.” The words slipped out so casually, and the sting coated my mouth with the repugnant taste of disdain I’d been trying to wash out. I could feel my heart pounding faster. Not enough to be alarming, but I swear that the floor would open up for me to fall in. She was humming. David kept tapping his foot, tracing his finger around the empty glass, ice slowly melting into a watery, honey-colored liquid. Why did I want to finish that off? His mother was a joy, after all.

We finally left after the silence had dug a trench into the peace I had been saving for the afternoon. The bus bench was cold. I could feel the freezing metal bleed through the tweed skirt I had bought for the occasion. We didn’t get what we wanted accomplished. David wanted money, I wanted to leave her house, so I did get what I wanted. I didn’t know why he was so tight lipped after she had walked in.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I wasn’t angry. Maybe I was. 

“What do you mean? I talked to her. It seemed like you wanted to talk, so I let you.” I turned to look at him. We were sitting so far from each other. His hand was out between us, laying upward, facing me. I met his gaze; he knew I was ignoring it. All I could focus on were his eyes. Crow’s feet lay atop dark olive skin, tanned and scarred in places from a reckless youth. He was still wild but muted and in places that I didn’t want him to be. He was fighting something inside of him. I could tell he was holding a secret in the other hand, nestled in the fist he wouldn’t show me. 

I pulled a cigarette from my purse. A new pack of Newports I bought at the gas station when I told him I was going to the bathroom. “You look dirty when you smoke,” he said to me, moving his hand into his lap. There was no fighting this one. I didn’t want to talk to him, and the only way I could seal my lips would be around burning paper. 

The evening was falling quickly when we got home. I couldn’t stand the garden anymore. Overgrown and dirty looking, it was such an eyesore. The grass was sprouting in between the rocks in the path, I felt so overwhelmed. Another project. Another thing to fix. “You know, I think you could do a better job to keep this up,” he unlocked the door and let it close while I sighed into the marmalade sunset. 

We sat at the table. “So, how has work been lately?” I wanted to break the silence. I needed him to stay with me. 

“It’s been okay. Marjorie kept coming to my desk every twenty minutes for no damn reason. At what point do I just tell her to screw off?” Why in the hell would he think I would want to hear about her. My chest was tightening. I didn’t want to look at him; I hadn’t been, but I sensed that I should. I glanced up from my plate, “Oh, really?” This was a nothing conversation, but he had to mean something by it. “I could have sworn you had told me that she had transferred departments months ago.” I couldn’t be still about this. A dull, burning pain began to beg at my knees, scratching at my calves. 

 There was nothing to be done. 

“No, I told you she had moved down the hall. It’s not that big of a deal, really. She’s just been getting on my nerves. Her room is right next to the copier, right? So, she keeps her office door open and waits for me to walk past, and I swear, it’s like clockwork. The next thing I know, she’s practically sprinting from the door. She’ll always have this sultry look on her face, and I just know that she is stripping me down with her eyes. I just brush her off, you know. I never let it get too far.” 

What does that mean? 

My hands are getting wet. My face was hot. Nothing felt right. The room began to spin. There was no anchor in this sea. I am alone, and he is leaving.

“It’s not a good feeling, is it?” I let the words roll out of my mouth, but I wanted a stinger attached. “It’s strange you haven’t done anything yet, Davey. They have things in place to make sure stuff like that doesn’t go unreported, love. Do you like it?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t like it, babe.” He was angry. I hope he hates himself for what he’s doing to me. The room was twisting. The hardwood was warping into spirals and holes under my feet. Dangling, I knew this was something I wouldn’t be able to escape. I’m watching him fall away from me, and this girl, this stupid girl is ripping him from the ledge. 

“You’re overreacting, babe. Tawny, listen to yourself. You sound crazy.”

“Don’t say my name like it means something to you.” Anger was seeping from my pores. 

“What? What the hell are you even saying?” He was making that face he makes. That same one his mom makes. The same one my mom makes. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess I never do. You would know, right? I just wish that I could have a husband. Is that too much to ask? I guess it is.” Sounds were drowned, becoming nothing more than background noise, my heartbeat overtaking them. I raked my fingers down my thighs, the only thing I could do to keep myself from screaming. I need to smoke. “I- I don’t know how to keep this up anymore, Davey. Something doesn’t feel right,” I said, muffled, almost speaking to myself. The walls were contorting; the shadows from the dying evening light distorting into ghouls and screaming men. I stood, my food cold.

“Tawny, wait! You can’t just…” His voice was buried in the layers of drywall as I turned the corner into our room. 

I threw my purse from the floor onto the bed, pouring everything out. My hands shaking, I grabbed my lighter and walked to the window. The pack was almost full. I always left the window open because I knew he liked the way morning air smelled like salt and pine needles. 

I watched the smoke drift out the window. I didn’t feel better. Everything spun around me. The trees blending with the plain white walls decorated with water damage and cracks in the foundation. I closed my eyes. The world turned black. I felt something fall from my fingers. A silent thud onto the old rug his mother gave to us. For once, nothing was still. The smell of smoke fresh on my lips, the burning beginning to rip through my lungs.

￮   ￮   ￮ 

Tawny and I had been home for a while. Mother’s was fine, but Tawny seemed so angry about the whole thing. We were sitting at the table. As we had fallen into the same pattern, dinner had moved earlier and earlier. Our dining room was dark even though the sun was still peaking out over the trees in our backyard. She had pulled the curtains in lieu of keeping the windows open as I had always said I preferred. The sun still bled through a tad, illuminating the embroidered maroon and red paisleys, casting faint shadows onto the wall behind us. All I could think of was how it looked like flames, each lapping against the fading yellow paint. 

She had been quiet tonight. Her lips were pursed, twitching slightly. A dam somehow holding much more than ever intended. Her head must have been swarming with something. Words, usually not decadent or particularly graceful, piling on top of one another. Understanding had never been my strong suit anyway. 

I don’t know why I had to bring up Marjorie. It wasn’t even a big deal. She kept changing the story too. “I told you that she had moved to a new office.” How do I take back something like this? Would it have been better to fade into obscurity, another painting on the wall? No, of course not. It was better to feel fire than to freeze. I wanted the air to ignite the settling gas of indifference and budding contempt around our ankles. Crumbs fell from my mouth while I spoke. “There’s no need to worry. It’s not a big deal. She’s just been getting on my nerves. Her room is right next to the copier, right? So, she keeps her office door open and waits for me to walk past, and I swear, it’s like clockwork. The next thing I know, she’s practically sprinting from the door. She’ll always have this sultry look on her face, and I just know that she is stripping me down with her eyes. I just brush her off, you know. I never let her get close to me.” Her face was turning red, probably embarrassed for me. 

“Yeah, it’s not a good feeling. I bet you don’t even get half of what I have to deal with.” She twirled her finger around her plate. Nothing was touched. “It’s honestly strange you haven’t done anything, Davey. There are things in place to make sure that that kind of stuff doesn’t go unreported, love.” She turned away from me, “I’m thinking you like it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t like it, babe.” I was trying not to get upset myself. “I promise you’re overreacting to this. Tawny, listen to what I’m saying. You need to hear me; you’re sounding crazy right now.”

“Don’t say my name like it means anything to you,” she was seething. What the fuck is she talking about? I didn’t even do anything to her. I tried to focus on her eyes, but they were engulfed into a fury of an indifferent face. 

“Okay. What are you even saying at this point?” I could tell she was in pain somewhere. Antsy, she moved her feet in and out from under the table, shaking her chair, she was almost vibrating in place. I didn’t know how to help her, how to make it right. 

“Oh of course. I never know what I’m thinking. I just want my 

 to be faithful, that’s all. I know that’s just so much to ask for. Much too much for you, anyway.” Her words spit like acid onto my face. Her searing gaze was hard to look away from but harder to look at. I could tell she wanted to smoke. Her mouth twitched, and her fingers tapped the table quickly, nervous energy practically spilling from her ears. “You don’t feel right with me. I- I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Davey.” She stood to leave. She hadn’t eaten anything.

“Tawny, wait. You can’t just leave! Where are you going? I think we just need to talk more.” She was gone before I could finish, before I could persuade her. She needed space, after all. I could give her that much. She’d come back to me; she always does. I’d just go on a walk for a bit, clear my head, think through everything. 

The sky was still the sickly gray it was this morning. Painstakingly boring while having a heavy sense to it. There was something in the air that made me so sad. As I walked from the block, I smelled smoke in the air. Not the kind that would fill our living room after she chain-smoked for hours, even days, on end. This was the type that chills your bones, striking a match and lighting fire to the fear you hold down inside you for tragedy alone. I ran closer to the house. It was lit with bright orange and yellow columns breaking through windows and torn beige vinyl siding. Stones fell into my stomach. Nothing was real. I couldn’t lose everything like this. Heaving from running and the crushing realization from it all, I fell to my knees. Under it all, I felt my phone buzz. I picked it up, on the screen it read:

“Marjorie Office: ‘I saw your text. What were you thinking? What time?”