Slow Burn

I came home with the groceries on Friday to find that my house was on fire. My neighbor, a volunteer fireman on the weekends, was excitedly rummaging in the bushes near the burning corner. He noticed me, and grinned as he held up a cigarette butt.

“Yep, looks like this was your problem,” he said, and handed it to me.

“Thank you, Phil.” It was a Marlboro Red, the kind that I smoked.

“No problem at all!” He put his hands in his pockets and squinted at the blaze. “Looks like you’ll need someone to clear that up for you. Just give us a call tomorrow or Sunday. Be glad to come on out.”

“Thank you, Phil.” I walked up the steps to my door and went inside.

The groceries went in the kitchen and I lay down on the couch, in the living room, where I could see the fire. It had taken over the tall plant in the corner. The room was warm. I laid my arm over my eyes and took a nap.

I woke up several hours later to see that the fire had advanced a few inches into the room. Small flames licked at my overstuffed chair near the window. I pulled on the chair and slid it further away from the flame. Some of the fringe was blackened. I could have called the weekday firemen, but Phil was always so excited when the weekend volunteers got a chance. I could wait.

I unpacked the groceries in the kitchen. Brownie mix this week, for my sister, who had called me up and asked me to get it. She was coming over in remembrance of mom’s birthday. She always got so choked up over that sort of thing. Microwave popcorn in the top cupboard, cans of soup in the bottom. I opened my new box of cereal and took the milk out of the fridge. I always had a bowl of cereal before bed.

Saturday I woke up to the low roar of the flames in the other room. I got dressed and lit a Marlboro Red on the living room, taking it outside to smoke. The parts of the lawn nearest the house had turned black, and hints of brown fanned out towards the sidewalk. The corner of the house where the whole thing started had sunk a bit, the burned wood falling apart. If a hole opened, bugs would be able to get in.

From the porch I looked down the street as far as I could. There was Phil, dressed in his fireman gear along with a few of his buddies and the old minivan they had converted into a fire truck. He had a mobile in his hand, and he paced back and forth staring at the unringing phone as the rest of the crew sat by. I needed to remember to call him. My sister pulled up in her silver midsize sedan. I dropped the cigarette and crushed it with my foot.

She got out of the car with her large purse and was distracted by the flames dancing up against the front window.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The house is on fire, Stacey.”

“Oh,” she said, “have you called the firemen?”

“I’m going to, today, Stacey.”

I motioned her towards the house. She switched her big purse from one shoulder to another and began rummaging as she walked. The doorknob was hot, and I put my sleeve over my hand to open it.

Inside there was only a slim walkway of unburnt floor leading through the living room. My overstuffed chair looked unsalvageable. I probably should have moved it further. Stacey followed behind me, sorting through the things in her bag and giving worried glances around the house.

“Um, did you already make the brownies? It smells like chocolate.”

I looked in the kitchen, and the entire room was up in flames.

“Looks like the brownies are gone, Stacey. Why don’t you put your things in the guest room?”
Stacey looked unhappy, but she carried her purse towards the extra bedroom. She called from the back, “This room is on fire! The bed is on fire! I can’t sleep in this room! What is going on here?”

I sighed. I hadn’t checked the back room. Stacey emerged.

“This is ridiculous. Why haven’t you called the firemen yet? Why is the guest room on fire? Why is the house on fire? This doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any food, you didn’t get the brownies…”

“I got the brownies.”

“You let the brownies get burned up, what is wrong with you?”

She looked disappointed. She shook her head at me with her mouth gawking. She was going to get choked up like she always does. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I kept silent.

“This weekend was important.” She had the voice that she gets whenever she’s about to cry. I prepared myself for it to come. She reached into her purse again. “Here are some pictures, some new pictures I found in the attic at my place. I think that’s the last of mom’s pictures.” I reached for the pictures and didn’t say anything. She pulled them away.

“I’m not sure I can leave these here with you. I definitely can’t stay here with you.”
She walked towards the front door, pausing by the dining table.

“You’ve left the milk out,” she said, and finally her voice cracked and she began sobbing lightly. She reached for the door handle and recoiled. She used the fabric of her purse to guard her from the heat and opened the door. I heard the sound of her car starting up.

Sunday was uneventful.

On Monday I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sense that I had forgotten to do something. The walls of my room were covered in small, licking flames. The place was unbearably hot. I had left the door of my room open, and so I looked down the hallway, which was entirely ablaze. I sighed.

Slowly opening the window next to my bed and unlatching the bug screen, I crawled out onto my dry, crunchy lawn. Across the street was Phil, sitting with crossed legs on the sidewalk, staring at my house with a look of betrayal on his face. I crossed the street in bare feet and pyjamas and sat down with him.

“Guess you forgot to give us a call,” said Phil. “That’s… that’s all right. Happens to the best of us.”

“Thank you, Phil.”

My house crackled. Sparks flew up, and smoke covered the street. We could feel the heat from where we were sitting. There was a great yawning sound, and at the same time the front window shattered, leaving bits of glass around the lawn.

“You know, I guess if you need a place to stay,” said Phil, “You can be at my place for a few days. I got an extra room, and, you know, until you’ve got a new place and all.”

“Thank you, Phil.”

The yawning sound repeated, and the main beam holding up the front door collapsed inward. The walls around it followed. One by one the beams fell, and soon, the whole building lay on the ground in a pile. Three days later, the fire ran out of things to burn, and died out.