To the Fire

“Today’s low is going to dip into the low teens and it’s shaping up to be the coldest day of the year, so bund-“

 I groaned, and cut the engine; Thank God, I made it to my driveway before I had to endure more radio chatter. One day I would get my aux port fixed and have my control over my commute listening material again.  

I stepped out of my car and regretted not wearing a heavier coat. It was so cold my breath was a solid cloud. I ran as best as I could in the snow to my mailbox, grabbed my couple weeks’ worth of forgotten mail, and made my way back to my house, eager for warmth. Snow crunched under my feet and with each step I reminded myself that moving here was a good decision, and the snow was just a small drawback.

Walking through my front door felt like a warm hug, and I realized that I had left the heater on when I left for work this morning. Sometimes being forgetful wasn’t the worst thing. I threw the stack of mail onto my coffee table and dashed to my room to change into comfortable, warm, clothes. I dug up a cozy sweater and a pair of leggings to lounge in. Getting out of my office attire felt blissful.

My cat weaved around my feet, meowing incessantly at me as I went to the kitchen. Some days I thought this cat might have opened a life insurance policy on me with how he behaved.

“I haven’t forgotten ‘lil guy!” I said to him mockingly. I went to the top drawer where I kept his treats and grabbed the bag. I swore this cat had lost his mind in excitement. His antics were some of my favorite parts of any day, but especially when I was getting home from work.

I gave him his daily treat that he gobbled enthusiastically and went rummaging through my freezer for something for myself. After much deliberation, I settled on the easiest option. Frozen supreme pizza. I set the oven to pre-heat and checked my phone. I chuckled a little reading the weather notification.

 It’s colder than a witch’s tit outside; time to build a fire.

Now that was an idea.

It was my turn to be excited. I wandered into my garage and grabbed some firewood I had gotten earlier this month. I felt giddy about using my fireplace for the first time since I bought the house. I tossed the wood into the fireplace in the living room and headed back to the kitchen to handle my pizza.

While the pizza was in the oven, I got the fire started after many failed attempts. It had been years since I had done this alone, and I was clearly rusty.

I finally felt like I was winding down for the evening once I got settled on the couch with my pizza, my wine, my favorite playlist, and my cat. The rush of contentment washed over me and not even the coldest day of the year could ice my mood.

The moment was of temporary bliss, and I should have known responsibility would come knocking quickly. I eyed the pile of mail and realized I needed to go through it.

So, I proceeded to sort the mail with a slice of pizza in one hand, and the letters in the other.

Bill.

Bill.

Advertisement.

Bill.

Campaign ad. I shuddered. I threw that one with more oomph than the bills.

I looked at the pile, then I looked to the fire. Fuck it.

Practically inhaling my slice of pizza, I gathered all the mail back into a pile. I grabbed it, my wine glass, and threw myself and the pile to the floor by the fireplace.

I began sorting again.

That campaign ad was the first to go to the fire.

Bill. I had that on autopay. To the fire.

Bill. This was paid yesterday. To the fire.

Grocery ad. Meh. To the fire.

Another Bill. To the fire.

A purple envelope with no sender information, and my address handwritten on it. Huh?

This was unexpected. I couldn’t think of a soul who would write to me, and not have their name on it. I held it up higher and a familiar smell wafted from it.

Cologne?

Curiosity got the better of me and I ripped it open. I pulled out a piece of stationery and the smell of the cologne hit harder. My God, did they spill the bottle on this? I waved the letter out trying to get the smell to disperse more. Airing it out helped and I was finally able to parse out the scents.

Cedar and sweet orange.

 I reflexively gagged at my guess as to who sent the letter.

With a deep breath, I opened the letter. A small photograph slid out and my suspicions were confirmed.

Brad.

“Hey Cassie,” it read.

 I drank the remainder of my wine, cringing at the nickname I hadn’t gone by in years. I opened the letter once more, braving the first sentence.

“I wanted to write to you and give you something I should have years ago; an apology.”

It’s been almost 7 years since we broke up. How dare he bring this all backup? How did he even get my new address?

The realization felt like a brick was thrown square at my face.

My mom. She always wanted us to get back together. I folded the letter in half and groaned thinking about the conversation I was going to have to have.

I stared into the fire and watched the flames devour the wood and bounce around the iron stand. Even with how mesmerizing the flames were I couldn’t stop where my thoughts were going.

The last time he came over. Belongings in boxes.

The chase down the stairs with his ring. He forgot it.

The woman from his job in the driver’s seat. Her arms crossed.

The annoyed look he wore.  I wasn’t supposed to see.

The moment I knew.

I looked at the photograph of us.

I remembered when we took this pic. We had gone to the beach and it was our first anniversary. His arm was over my shoulder, and we were beaming. A smile graced my lips for a split second. It fled as quickly as it came. Sadder memories pursed my lips together and had them quivering.

The shouting.

The petty comments.

The cold shoulder.

The lies.

I looked to the fire instead. The flames mesmerized me. With each crack of the wood and flicker my memories seemed to burn with them. The longer I looked, the more at ease I felt. The flames began to slow down some and lost some of its glow. It had burned through most of the wood.

I looked at the photo in my hand, and the folded letter.

I looked back at the fire.

A tether snapped inside my chest, and I felt like a weight had just fallen off me.

I let this feeling fly from me the way the photo and the letter flew from my hand.

To the Fire.