“The world is on fire! The world is burning, Tyler!” Celeste’s voice tinnied through my thoughts and cut the smoky air and she ran in strung out, uneven circles around the patchy dirt hill. Ashes pirouetted through the air and landed in her hair and on her shoulders. She stretched her arms into the grey and tilted her head back, jumping and clapping at huge ash flakes and giggling when they crushed to dust between her fingers.
Her circles wound tighter and tighter until she spun in on her tiptoes and exhaled, ‘Woooooahhh,’ and, dizzied, she wobbled uneven and then slammed into my stomach and chest. Sixty seven pounds of nine year old wasn’t enough to take me out, but I exaggerated so she’d laugh and fell forward onto my knees, busted tumble weeds poking into my skin. “Ooofff, owww,“ I gasped. Normally I would have yelled at my kid niece. She knew better and she really bugged me most of the time. Not today. She ran into my arms and she shook with laughter against me and I felt better than I had in months.
“Tyler!” she burst out. She smelled like sweet child’s sweat and cherry, her mouth stained red around her lips with the popsicle I’d bought for her before we drove up the hill. “Ohhh, Tyler, it’s beautiful! Look at the flames—we’re so close!—and the sun is pinky-orangy, like sheer-bert! We’re so close to the fire, aren’t we? We should do this every day!” She rested her elbows on my shoulders.
“Easy for you to say, kiddo. My house is gonna burn to the ground and you’re whooping it up like a banshee. Look, see there—that line of flames? And then—no, not there, too far, look down a little—there—that’s where our house is. Are you happy that I won’t have anywhere to live, wild child?”
“No, I’m sad for you, but you can come live with us.” She took my face in her grubby hands, and then cupped her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Oooopps, you have ash on your face now,” and her smile dropped and with concentrated solemnity, she drew with her finger across my forehead.
“There!” and her smile infected her face all over again and she bounced on her heels away from me. I stood up and ran toward her.
“Hey!… Not so fast there, kiddo. Your Momma will have my ass if I don’t get you back soon.”
Celeste’s eyes widened to saucers and her mouth became a little o.
“Tyler—you said the ‘A’ word!”
I rolled my eyes. “Geez, Celeste.”
She balled her hands into fists and planted them on her waist. “Geeeeeeeez, Celeste.”
“Ohhh, no. Don’t even start!”
She thrilled. “OOohh, NOOO, don’t even start!”
I stopped walking and she stopped half a second later. “Celeste, I will never bring you here again if you don’t stop copycatting. No more copycat or else…No joke.”
She whitened and went silent.
The sky hazed grey and smoggy. My eyes smarted from the burnt air and I could still feel the heat from the fire on my back. I had brought Celeste too close to the fire and I knew it. We were right on the edge of the perimeter that was established by the firefighters who told us that we needed to evacuate the area. I made her double dog, triple dog swear and even pinky promise to never tell anyone what we had just done. Pinky promises were Celeste’s bond, and I knew that the secret would be safe.
Celeste had done her best to dust off the ashes and I tried to look nonchalant but when the screen door slammed shut behind us, Andrew turned around on the couch where he had been watching TV and muttered under his breath when he saw us, tussled and guilty. Celeste bound across the room and climbed over the couch and wriggled next to Andrew.
“Hi Dad!”
“Hey trouble,” he tousled her hair and I saw a fleck of ash fall onto her shoulder. Andrew didn’t seem to notice, but when he kissed her flyaway ponytail his eyes narrowed.
“Where have you two been?”
“Uhhhmm…” she shot me a look for help. I held up my pinky and she spluttered, “No where. We had Slurpees at 7-11.”
“Mommy tried to call Tyler for an hour, Celeste. Why didn’t he answer?”
I glance at my phone—six missed calls. From Diana.
“I dunno.” Celeste squirmed with uncomfortable conscience. She jumped off the couch and, smart child, ran down the hall to her room.
Andrew mouthed a couple words without any sound. The family was trying a ‘no swearing’ policy around Celeste because Diana had converted them all to being Roman Catholics. No swearing was no problem for Diana the crusader, but very tough for Andrew, who had picked up the idea ‘opiate for the masses’ at some point and did not want to let it go. Diana won out, and to be conciliatory –and to avoid ensuing wrath– Andrew had given in. For Celeste’s sake, he had explained to me. But coming up with a new vocabulary put some serious strain on him and often made a black mood darker.
Andrew gulped his PBR with his head tossed back and wiped his mouth and stood up, his shoulders tensed like he was ready to fight.
Trouble with your phone, Tyler? You want to try giving a—try to care? Diana always blames me when this shi- stuff happens.”
I had my defense ready.
“Andrew, I’ve been helping you with Celeste way more than I can afford to. Now that I’m managing, I work way more than forty—heck, more like sixty—hours a week. And—and I’m applying to school. Schools.”
Andrew was a firm workaholic himself, and I knew this would work. His bravado slumped into a fatigued sigh and he crushes the Dr. Pepper can between his fingers. He circled around the couch and faced me. The dining room table stood between us.
“Listen, Palton, I’m sorry,” he only calls me by my last name when he wants to get back in control of a situation, “It’s just now that Diana has to work, she’s so eff— so… anal… about Celeste. Like she doesn’t trust me. It —ticks me off. She trusts you more. But I keep havin’ to cover your ass when you go takin’ Celeste to dangerous places—‘
“Dangerous? What? Andrew, I didn’t take Celeste anywh—‘
Andrew raises his eyebrows and breathed in, his nostrils flaring out.
“You think I’m a fu- an idiot when Celeste’s been playing sidewalk chalk on your face?”
“What the hell?”
“I understand you’re busy with work, but Tyler, really–? School? Y’just told me you don’t have time.”
Hot anger rushed into my cheeks and I slammed my fist on the table. “Damn it, Andrew. I’ve been busy!”
He sighed.
“Tyler, I’m sorry… Sorry for being such a—uhhhmmm—jerk. I do appreciate it, man. We don’t thank you enough. Just tell Celeste to take a shower right now—before Diana gets home—will you?” He clapped my shoulder with his calloused hand.
“Of course,” I rub my hand as I wander the hall and when I pass Celeste’s room, I yell, ‘Take a shower, ya dirtbag,” and she pokes her head out, does her best raspberry and then points at me, “You take a shower!…”
I wander into the small, cramped bathroom and steady myself on the sink. My left hand throbs and I feel like a fool for slamming my hand and am angry that it hurts. I never lose it like that. What the hell, I’m shaky. “Get a handle on yourself,” I breathe in, counting to ten and stopping at seven because I realize it’s something my mom would tell me to do. I look up and see a dark smear across my forehead.
“What the….”
I lean in close and my breath fogs the mirror. Celeste’s handiwork.
In flecked ash that fell into my eyebrows was a smudged black cross.
Bethany MW 