One last try The Fire This Time (SECOND revision) Jill
jill stockinger
The Fire This Time (Second Revision)
I’m tense. Sylvia is late again,
third time, fourth date. Why do
women always do that men?
We meet at the trailhead in a park
famous for its trees. Ambling down
the shaded path, I’m starting to relax
when Sylvia says, “Here’s a hypothetical
for you.” I say, “Go on.” I try to look
interested, though I expect it’ll be
something I won’t care about.
Doesn’t matter, she’s really hot.
Sylvia asks, “If there’s a burning spruce,
should it be extinguished or permitted
to burn?” “When a tree needs a permit
to live or die in a forest, I don’t belong here,”
I tell her, feeling clever. This answer
exasperates her. She cries out,
“Why do you turn everything into a joke?
You never take me seriously.”
If I took everything she said seriously,
I think, I’d be crushed by the weight.
She stands there fuming; I make up
an excuse about needing to leave early
and hightail it back to where I parked.
My car has been immolated by a burning
spruce! I might die! I gotta get out!
Firemen are arriving; the fire is spreading.
I run back to Sylvia, yelling, “There’s a fire!
We've got to go! Where’s your car?”
We jog to her car parked across the road,
out of the fire’s path, and make a swift
getaway. In the car, I riposte, “About your
question: burning spruces should not be
allowed to burn.” She smiles sweetly
and says, “I think it’s probably more
a question of timing, the state of the tree,
and what’s around it.” And I tell her,
fervently, “You could not be more right!”
She asks where’s my car; I evade this with,
“I’m having some minor car trouble.” When
she asks, “What kind of trouble?” I reply,
“I need to replace some parts.” She nods
like she understands. I don’t inform her
it’s a case of needing to replace all the parts.
I insist, “I’ll deal with it tomorrow; I’m just
glad we're safe.” Why don’t I tell her the truth?
But I don’t want to! I feel like such a loser!
We go home to her clean, spacious house,
eat leftover Chinese takeout, and she declares,
“I’m tired, and I’m going to bed. Alone.”
I act like I understand. She shoos me out;
I call Lyft and get a ride home.
While I’m perfunctorily brushing my teeth
in my small, messy apartment, it hits me.
Why did she mention a burning spruce?
Did she set the tree on fire, knowing
it would fall on my car? Did she pay some
goon to make sure my car burned up?
I decide I’d better take this as a sign.
I call Sylvia the next day and say I need
a break from all relationships, that there’s
a lot I need to think about. She agrees,
points out I need to grow up, tells me
not to call again, and ends the call.
So I wonder, Is she crazy? Did I
just have a lucky escape? Am I being
paranoid? Maybe the fire was entirely
accidental! But I feel happy
I wasn't in the car when it burned.