Episode 4
About those curtains
I had made it through the first grade. There were a
number of scrapes and bruises that never really bothered me, but those broken
noses left an impression. It's no wonder I never liked school. It would be a
long 13 years. When I donated blood, the nurse was surprised that I would watch
the needle go in my arm. She said I was lucky I didn't faint at the sight of
blood. She didn't know the half of it - I would have been out through 50 of my
67 years.
It was second grade. The teacher had given us a
picture to color. I'm guessing it was art class. I was working hard to stay
inside the lines. Then I heard a familiar sound. What was that? It was a
birthday sound. I was only seven, but I had heard it 60 or 70 times. Hah! It was
the sound of one of those little match boxes being slid open and a match being
scrambled out. Oh boy! My senses heightened, and I waited for the familiar
scritch of the match to the side of the box. Then it happened. The little flame
burst forth. I could smell the sulfur. My pulse quickened. My eyes darted down
to my paper when she looked up, but they didn't stay there. I watched her
closely as she lit a small candle and raised what looked like a funny shaped
crayon to the flame. It dripped a couple of times. Then she blew out the candle,
made some movements with her hands, and set the candle aside. At the end of
class, when we took our pictures up to her desk, I scanned it thoroughly. It was
stunning. The crimson wax had dripped onto an envelope, and there was a
depression in it with such a fancy design. Wow. I walked home in wonder.
We used to have a junk drawer at home, and you could
find, well, pretty much anything in it. I found a candle and, yeah, matches,
too. It was on the window sill in the little bedroom adjacent to the bathroom
where I set up my project. I was going to make an impressive picture for my mom.
I had melted a few crayons before the light in the room started flickering. No
big deal - lights flickered all the time back in the day. Except I hadn't turned
it on. It wasn't the light that was flickering at all - it was the flames. There
were a couple of little dragon caterpillars crawling up one of the curtains. I
assumed they were dragons because they were on fire. Fear is a strong motivator.
I mean, I wasn't so afraid of the fire - I was more afraid mom would find out I
started it. I ripped the curtains from the window, rod and all, and had them in
the bathroom sink in a heartbeat. Well, my heart was beating pretty fast, so
maybe in a few heartbeats. Plus I kinda bent the rod going through the doorways.
The water put the fire out fast, and I quickly hung them back up...after
straightening the rod. Oh boy. That wasn't going to work. The curtain on the
left hung lightly down with its pristinely white delicate lace pattern. The right side, however, although it also
hung down, only consisted of a couple of threads, and they were both black. I
couldn't give mom the picture I made, not just because it would be evidence, but
because it wasn't finished, and I kinda lost the inspiration. I got rid of the
ashes and spread the other drape across the window. It was quite worrisome
because it only covered half. Maybe mom wouldn't notice - she had fourteen kids
you know. She noticed. I had to own up to it. After all, at the time I still
felt guilty about the one I didn't start on Retallack. I told her how It started
and explained how I put it out. She checked my hands, my arms, and my little
face. My new nose was almost a year old now. There was so much wax on my hands
they didn't get burned at all. She put her arms around me and hugged me close.
Turns out she didn't care about the curtains.
