Poem
I carry my pain like sparks catching wildflowers blowing in the field.
But my love for you,
Oh, my love,
It spreads through my soul like wildfire.
1
Aidan
Eight Years Old
When I die, let it be doing something honorable. Not old in my bed with regrets, but alive with purpose. ~ Aidan
“I see the moon, the moon sees me, the moon sees somebody I want to see. God bless the moon, and God bless me, and God bless the somebody I want to see.”
Mama’s voice is probably what an angel would sound like. Her singing always makes me feel warm and light inside, like a feather floating down to the ground. She tucks my favorite green blanket around me, making sure my feet are uncovered, just the way I like. I snuggle into my soft pillow and grin up at her. Her pretty brown hair hangs in front of her face, and she smiles at me widely. I am such a lucky boy to have the best mama in the world. She makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world. She listens to me and doesn’t think anything I say is silly. She tells me that I have a vivid imagination, whatever that means. She says I could write someday or make movies from some of the things I tell her. I doubt anybody wants to hear about the adventures of me and Mr. Snuffles. I hold him closer to me, making sure he’s covered. I’ve had this giraffe for as long as I can remember. He’s my best friend, beside Mama.
She runs her hand over my hair. Her fingers tangling in the strands is tickly, then she leans down to kiss my forehead. Mama smells of baked scones with jam and cream. We had that after dinner. She spent the afternoon baking, and I giggled at the flour in her hair and on her nose.
“Go to sleep, my little prince,” she whispers, switching on my night lamp, which sits next to my small bed.
I yawn, my eyes drooping. “Good night, Mama.”
“Good night, Sunshine.”
I take one last look at her swollen belly and reach out to touch my little brother or sister inside. Her tummy is firm to the touch, and warm. I want a brother. We’ll share a room, run around the back yard, swing on the tire, and watch Toy Story together.
Mama wants a girl. She says it’s so she can braid her hair, mess her face with makeup, and other things I overheard the girls in school talk about. Yuck!
I guess I wouldn’t mind either. It would be fun not to play on my own. Mama tries to keep me company, but she isn’t very good at video games or hide and seek.
I tug my blanket up to my neck, letting out another yawn. Mama stands, strolling across the room. She looks over her shoulder at me, then switches the light off, closing the door behind her on her way out. The stars from my nightlight start to float around the room, casting a soft white glow against my baby blue walls and white ceiling.
The wind howls outside my window, but it doesn’t scare me. I’m safe here with Mama. I wish my daddy would hurry up and get home. He missed the scones. He’s been coming home later and later. We never spend any time together like we used to, playing catch and pirates. I can’t remember the last time we had dinner together. I never want to grow up if I have to work as much as he does. I know Mama doesn’t like it too. I hear them argue about it sometimes. They try to make sure I don’t hear, but I do, and it makes me sad for them.
Turning toward the window, I feel myself drifting, my eyelids becoming heavier by the second.
My nostrils burn, and I scrunch my nose to ease the weird sensation. I pull my blanket over my head and turn in my bed. A small crackling sound has me throwing off my blanket and sitting up. My eyes are heavy, and when I manage to pry them open, they burn too. Like when Mama cuts an onion, and I sniff it to see if I’ll cry the way she does.
I switch my night light on and gasp. Soft grey smoke fills my room, dancing in from the spaces between the door and the frame. My vision clouds, my chest heaves as I cough frantically. I place a hand over my nose and mouth. There is a heavy pressure in my chest, and my heart beats wildly in my chest. At that moment, I remember what my teacher, Ms. Macgregor, said — “Where there is smoke, there is fire.” I drop to the ground the way she taught us.
“Mama! Daddy!” I shout, crawling to the door quickly, but the yellowish-orange light under it has me backing away. No, I must be brave. I must get to Mama. “Mama!”
I place my hand against the door and draw it back immediately. It’s warm to the touch. I shuffle back toward the window and wait under the sill. I’m shaking all over, small sobs escaping my lips. “Mama,” I whisper. I should pray. I clasp my hands together, but I don’t have the words. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say as more smoke seeps into my room. I place my palms against my eyes. This feels like a nightmare. I’m going to wake up soon. I cough hard. It feels like the smoke is filling up inside me.
The door bursts open, and Mama rushes in with a blanket. It’s suddenly so hot in here—sweat beads on my forehead.
“Aidan, baby.” There’s amber light behind her. I’m afraid to stand in case this is a mind trick. “Come to me, baby.” She hurries to me, bends down, and bundles me in the blanket.
“What’s happening?” My voice shakes.
“A fire. We have to get out. You do as I say, okay?” I nod.
Mama grabs hold of my hand, rushing us out of my bedroom. A fire. And then I see it — the angry flames that lick over the walls near the stairs.
We head for her bedroom, away from the flames. “The first floor is on fire, baby, and it’s already spreading up here. We have to get inside my room and wait till someone comes to get us, okay?” Mama babbles the way she tells me not to. I only catch bits of what she says. I know we’re in a whole lot of trouble.
She stumbles on something, my fire truck, and we fall to the ground. We shuffle up, and she groans in pain. She’s limping. “Mama, are you hurt?”
“No, baby. I’m fine. We have to hurry.” She looks scared. I’ve never seen her like this. She tugs me along with her as we make it back to her room.
“Where is Daddy?” He should be here.
She looks down at me, fear in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she tells me.
“Maybe he’s downstairs.” I pull my hand from hers and turn to where we came from.
“Aidan, no, he isn’t!” she shouts. She shuts her door when we enter her room. Soft smoke dances in the air. Mama’s bedroom is the closest to the street, so I hear the sound of sirens.
“They’re here, Mama.”
She coughs. She reaches into a drawer and covers my nose and mouth with a scarf of hers. She doesn’t do the same for herself. She’s coughing hysterically. “We have to wait here till they come get us, okay? The big red fire truck is here, baby.”
“Okay, Mama.”
“Come sit here with me.” I do as she says. She starts to move the curtains, waving hysterically at whoever is out there. She leans against the wall, her back sliding down until she’s seated. I can hear the commotion outside. They will get to us. I shuffle closer next to her, placing my head in her lap. She wraps an arm around me, and I snuggle into her. My eyes are suddenly heavy. I’m finding it hard to stay awake and even harder to breathe.