I had no idea that undergraduate classes could be so fascinating,” Evelyn effused on the ride home. “Robert – Doctor Borstein, that is – is a brilliantly-gifted orator. It’s such a shame that he’ll be in Brussels for that Medieval lecture series for the next two weeks.”
I glanced at her from the passenger seat; she looked genuinely despondent at the notion, so I patted her arm sympathetically.
“Do you mind taking me back on Wednesday night, even though he won’t be teaching?” I asked, trying to hide my slight amusement.
“Oh, not at all, sweets, I’m just so glad you’re asking for help,” she replied in an affectionate tone, then immediately continued, “I wonder if I might bring you to my place for a short time tomorrow, if you’re not too tired, so you can remind me how to log into my AOL account? Robert and I exchanged phone and email information and for the life of me, I cannot remember how to get into my email.”
“I’d be glad to,” I smiled. I had shown her a handful of times before but I suspected this fourth time might be the charm. We pulled into my driveway.
“Do you need anything at all?” Evelyn asked as I reached to open the door. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some company?”
“I’m fine, really, thank you. I’m actually feeling a little tired,” I admitted.
We made plans for the next morning (hot breakfast at her place followed by an email lesson), then I got out of the car and carefully walked up my unpaved gravel driveway. My battered motorcycle was leaning against the side of the house, one mirror plainly missing. It was a sad and lonely sight, indeed. I promised myself I’d survey the damage tomorrow, preparing myself just as much for the emotional toil as the physical.
I stood on the front porch waving goodbye as Evelyn drove away. The sun was setting behind the hills, tingeing the darkening sky orange. The Aspen trees out front cast long, spindly shadows across the side of the cabin. I unlocked the front door, gawkily dropped my backpack to the floor and, in doing so, nearly knocked over the large flashlight I kept on a small table near the entrance. Muttering, I steadied the table and tiredly walked over to the fireplace where I squatted in front of it, arranging a few pieces of kindling wood around some crumpled-up balls of newspaper. I lit a long match from the box on the mantle and placed it in the middle of the pile, dexterously blowing the nascent flame until it caught on the kindling. When the small pieces of wood were sufficiently alight, I added a few large logs and sat on the floor for a moment, watching the yellow flames hungrily engulf the dry firewood. It wasn’t very cold inside but I appreciated the companionship of the fire, the light it brought to a darkening house.
I sat on the floor with my legs outstretched, thinking about the class, the sack of Constantinople, the fortunate students with ordinary lives who filled the lecture hall; I thought about Evelyn’s new friend, Professor Borstein and smiled, looking forward to helping her get her email account set up. (Again.) My thoughts drifted to Aiden, Borstein’s Associate Professor; his dark wavy hair, his penetrating dark eyes, the way he stared at me, through me, as though something about me bothered him. Is tardiness a capital offense at that school? Why else would he seem so disturbed? I frowned in consternation, scowling at the gentle flickers dancing in the fireplace. …It couldn’t have been me… Could it?
Abruptly, the fire surged and grew intensely hot, its white flames blazing nearly blue from the sudden onslaught of heat. I jumped back, startled. In an instant, the fire promptly subsided, low-burning and orange again.
What the hell? I marveled in bemusement.
Sitting upright, I knit my eyebrows together in concentration, staring intently at the fireplace. Aiden’s face again flashed in my mind and the fire suddenly roared to life once more, lashing and heaving, sending tall plumes of white-hot flames wildly erupting from the fireplace. I yelped and stumbled backwards, shielding my face from the immense heat and light. Whimpering, I squeezed my eyes shut.
A moment passed. Then another. My back pressed against the couch, hands still positioned defensively in front of my face, I forced my eyes open, expecting the entire living room to be engulfed in flames. But the room was… completely normal. The fire remained confined to the fireplace, burning low and unruffled. If not for the heavy scorch marks on either side of the fireplace that left the surrounding bricks charred and blackened, I would have thought I had completely lost my mind.
I scrambled to my feet and stumbled as fast as I could to the kitchen. I grabbed one of the large buckets from under the sink that was filled with water; then I raced back to the living room, water sloshing over the sides of the heavy bucket, and hurled its full contents onto the fire. The dying flames let out an angry hiss as furls of smoke escaped from under the flue. For several minutes I stood there, clutching the empty bucket to my chest in the darkened room, panting heavily, waiting to see if the fire would reignite.
It didn’t. Slowly I let out my breath…
Then I darted. I let the bucket clatter to the floor, grabbed the emergency flashlight from the front entryway since I was too afraid to light one of the kerosene lanterns, and hurried away from the fireplace and into my bedroom, where I sat huddled under my comforter, gripping the lit flashlight for dear life for the better part of the night. It wasn’t until sometime before dawn that I slipped into a nightmare-addled sleep.