Sometimes I forget about this: for three years I grew up homeschooled in a van.
It was second to fourth grade. Lessons were taught on the road, taught by my mother as she would snap Trident peppermint gum while explaining concepts.
“You have to understand that what I’m about to tell you is putting you light years ahead of your peers,” she’d say, adjusting her scratched sunglasses. “America is first and foremost a shitty-- shit. We’re running out of gas.”
i.
I look up from my phone (opened to the News) and realize I’m no longer alone in my room. A bonfire flashes before my eyes. It’s young one, still feeding off of fresh wood, writhing out of control. Its body occasionally extends to my toes. My room feels otherworldly with dancing shadows that sway at the same rhythm as the flames. I rub my eyes.
It reaches out from its body to beckon to me in. The edge of its flame extends five little fingers as a shy greeting and I have the strongest urge to shake its hand, as if maybe its touch will feel like a cool balm. It’s silly. I know it’ll hurt.
When I look at the fire again, it has resumed its soulless shape. I turn back to my phone and keep scrolling.
ii.
How are wildfires born? I imagine it begins like a thought: circumstance, chance, and a bit of my own fault. Wind, a poorly kept campfire, a little bit of dryness, and a single persistent piece of glowing firewood -- that's all it takes to catch the world aflame. What a determination that last piece must have, waiting patiently for the hour in which it will grow thousands of times its size. A seed waiting for the world to provide it its due glory.
But imagine once it's grown -- it would be horrible for the people. What if I woke up to a fire in my room? How helpless would I be? The heat will press against my face and my eyes would open to a looming figure at my door. Between smoke and tears I'd watch it rapidly hug the periphery of my room, seep closer and closer until I cannot breathe. All of my previous thoughts at silly little bonfire events (“How much does fire weigh?” I had wondered) will seem absurd.
How crazy that a trivial thought, given time and circumstance, will grow so quickly. Left unkempt, a seed grows overnight into an inevitable beast. A beast that teasingly dances to a music I can't hear.
If I am to die this way, maybe I will shake its hand to see how it feels.