The First Fire

"It could be seasonal," Friend informed me of my struggle. I smiled, not because I particularly appreciated the advice, but because she had - not an hour earlier - told me that she understood I didn't want help and didn't want to talk and that was my choice but if I needed anything, I could call or write and she would listen.

"Thanks," I said simply of the former offer, withdrawing further into my shell of solitude. But I guessed she'd try again - Friend is good at the gentle nudges.

I found I felt better as we chatted - she typed that she was also very tired and a bit off lately. Perhaps I'm not so sick after all, I pondered hopefully. My brain just misses the sunshine and there are far worse things than that. So I took a walk yesterday, Chienne trotting happily at my side, and tried to work at an acceptable pace. I gave myself a break when I had to nap, head throbbing after dealing with more people who were disappointed in my lack of responses.

I woke this morning and smiled at the flurries falling outside the glass doors in my bedroom. I shifted so I could watch the tiny flakes swirl downward, melting as soon as they touched the deck off my second floor. I said good morning to the dog and cat, the former buried under blankets as she yawned widely, and got up to shower. I tugged on my robe after I was clean - soft, green terrycloth that I've had since college and rarely use - and went downstairs to fetch the clean laundry I'd forgotten to tote to the bedroom last night. I sipped coffee and settled into my chair to work, beginning to wade through emails and type out recommendation documents.

They day passed rather quietly - the chilly weather keeping my neighbors indoors and the weekend meaning most people (not me!) stayed away from their email so as not to reply to the messages I sent. I paused, realizing I could breathe a bit easier, when I was down to 20 messages from 300. The task had taken a good part of the day, but I'd relaxed into the work - the flow of communication and questions and decisions to be made - and it finally seemed manageable again.

"Better," I told Mom when we talked in the late morning. I'd called her once this week when I was terrified they were coming this weekend for a visit. "Next weekend, right?" I clarified. "I'm too busy right now - do not come here this weekend!"

"Good," she replied, sounding relieved. "I've been praying for you." I nodded, thinking that was a good plan, and talked to Dad for a bit before hanging up and returning to my work.

"Oh," I offered before I ended the call, "I'm going to light the fireplace today." I grinned into the silence that followed that statement, picturing them looking across the room at each other with alarm. "It'll be fine," I promised, "but should I blow myself up, I love you both very much."

"She'll end up moving home," Dad predicted of my gas+fire ability. "Then we'll have that dog and cat again."

But it went rather easily. I turned the little key in the socket on the floor and flicked on my lighter-device. My tiny yip of alarm was immediately replaced by a lengthy coo of pure pleasure when the fire whooshed and caught, filling the room with flicking light from orange and blue flames.

"Please," I said when I realized Friend thought I had lit wood on fire. "Like I could ever do that. Honestly." She agreed after a moment, but said gas wasn't the same.

"No," I replied, "but I can use it and it's very pretty and soothing." So I keep looking past the screen of my laptop at the fire that laps at what must be some faux-wood substance and makes the fascinating fluff under the "logs" glow orange. It's not sunshine - and this job is still going to be rough for the next few months - but today is much better than yesterday.