I remember the coldness of the water that hit my face that afternoon. I awoke with a jerk and unfamiliar panting. Everything seemed blurry—a sole outline of a young man’s face was before me. Even though it seemed I had 5/20 vision, I could make out his chocolate brown eyes—just like my mothers. They were staring at me—though it was an alarmed scare. I noticed that his jaw was bobbing up and down—he was talking to me. The sounds—the noises—started to creep up into my soul. Sirens blazed. Men yelled to each other. They yelled orders that I could not understand. Yet the man was still looking at me. I could now not only see his jaw but also his entire mouth opening and closing.
“Little….awake…can….me?”
I didn’t understand. My world was on its side; sickness—real sickness this time—would overthrow my very being. Young yet amazingly strong arms reached towards me. They shook me though seemingly gracefully as if I was truly a princess like I imagined myself to be before I learned about reality. My head—my brain—jerked back and forth to the rhythm of the shakes that the man bestowed on me. My memory was now in place. I knew exactly what was happening.
Fire. There was fire all around me. “Fire…” the single word stumbled out of my mouth.
“Yes.” A smile slowly stretched out across the man’s face—the kind where nothing could stop you from smiling back.
I did. But then the creases of my face slouched to a frown.
“Eggs…oven…TV…couch.” I whispered, the words tumbling one after the other out of my mouth.
“Yes.” The man said again. He seemed as dazed as I was. He squirmed a little and tried to finish the sentence. “Your house has…”
My house has. I didn’t need the words “burnt down.” That was obvious. Everything just came together. I was rescued and placed about some feet from my front porch. The man kneeling over me was to keep me safe. Perfect. Suddenly, taking me away from my thoughts, I was being lifted up off of the ground. I hadn’t been picked up like that in years. I could feel his arms on my back and under my legs. It felt just like when Daddy picked me up. Daddy….
Looking back, I am surprised that I didn’t kick or scream. He was taking me away from where I was born; he was taking me away from myself. Because of how the circumstances went, I never would see my house again. I would never hear the Granddaddy’s grandfather clock swing its pendelum once more. I would never feel the warmth of the big blue chair as I listened to Mamma’s bedtime story.
The man and I were going to place out of harms way which happened to be in Ms. Griffin’s garden. Ms. Griffin was technically our neighbor though it a walk to get to her house. Highland, New York is a somewhat rural town. Thank goodness, she wasn’t home at the time so she couldn’t hit me with her nearly 100 year old broom. The man placed me right on her sacred bench. Mamma never told me what the bench represented but the whole town knew that Ms. Griffin was a little finicky about it. Ms. Griffin was also very superstitious. Of course, I didn’t—couldn’t—dare think about Ms. Griffin at the time.
The man sat beside me on the bench and continued to talk. I tried to catch every word. “Do you know what happened?” I wasn’t ready to tell him what happened. Not only was it devastating, but also embarrassing. 14 year olds should know not to leave the stove unattended. Warm innocent tears started to trickle down my cheek. He quickly tried to assure me that everything was going to be all right. It was the type of assurance you would give to a toddler but I took it anyway. I needed it badly. I looked over at him. His face proved to be quite young, it was a mistake to call him a man. His skin was a very light brown like what my cup of creamer resembled with a touch of coffee in it. His hair was also a chocolate color so his hair and eyes matched perfectly. It was in a short afro with sideburns coming almost to his jaw. He wore a black leather jacket and khaki pants with all the little pockets in them. His white shirt bore the words: Junior Police. That explained everything. I blushed when I noticed that I was staring at him—which I was. He smiled his smile again and so once again I was under his spell. His hand extended in an introduction like fashion. “The name’s Mike.” I looked at his hand nearly forgetting the human gesture. I quickly shook it to make up for the time wasted.
As soon as my fingers touched his palm, guilt rushed through my soul and had no intention of staying there. Something had to come out. Someone had to know—and he was the only one here. The tears were coming by the thousands. I tried my best to tell the whole story even though my speech was impeded by snuffles every 30 seconds. “And them….I...felg…to…sleepf.” It was the best I could do. By that time, my head was buried into Mike’s shoulder and his arm was placed around me. His patted me and whispered another “Its going to be alright.” So much for therapy but it worked.
I finally stopped sniffing and snuffing when a stern police officer came up to the bench where Mike and I were sitting. He was tall and an unruly moustache nearly covered his mouth. “Are you the girl?” I nodded wearily. “My name is Aubrey.” The police moved his eyes towards Mike and gave him the look that only a boss could give. Obviously embarrassed, Mike took his arm from around me and gently pushed me off of his shoulder. “Michael, come with me.” He quickly obeyed but after a few paces, he turned around and said “Goodbye, Aubrey.” It was so small but devastatingly sweet. I noticed that I had not personally told him my name. I wanted to apologize but Mike had already turned around with the police officer at his side, walking away in the distance. And at that, I was alone in Ms. Griffin’s garden on a cursed bench. How nice.
The two men did not go that far—they were only standing at the end of the road. I hadn’t been truly abandoned after all. At first they were just talking, but then something happened that stirred my interest and would continue to stir it for the next several years. A gurney. Another police officer had walked over to the pair of men, pushing a white silvery gurney with a body bag on it. Someone had died. In the fire I started. But who? The fire was contained only to my house and Ms. Griffin wasn’t home. The question—and answer—would haunt me for years.
