The Fire

I stood beside him unwilling to move forward but wishing the strength to take a step back.  No words passed between us for moments strung out to vapors too thin for concern.  In that silence we were shielded.  Or, perhaps, it allowed us to share an escape from what was taking place.  Together, hidden from words, still, while I churned with what felt like the stirring kicks of a sleeping panic within, we watched the fires pour through the city below. 

To say we’d seen them begin would almost be a lie.  Not in the way one would think.  It was I who came last, to join him atop the hill overlooking our city.  What had been our city.  No, it remained ours.  Even in the flames, in death, now, it was our city.  But I would make no attempt to save it.  Not now.  I hadn’t before.  This was to happen.  It had to come and we shared that thought now.  Knowing that the swirling of oranges, those violent twists of angered reds dancing against the tossed body of shadows, chasing them from building to building, that all of it was struck years before behind the eyes of another.  If one knows of a spark but refuses to put it out isn’t the fire their fault?

“Why?” It was my word but I hadn’t said it.  No.  I had let it pass but without wishing to.  The word left my unconscious and somehow became real.  The waves of fire surged over line of parked cars off in the distance.  I’d forgotten I’d disturbed the silence long before he responded.

“We wish to find meaning to what we see,” he finally began.  I wasn’t certain there were words spoken or if the song of the burning reaching a new tone.  “In meaning we can escape.  Find a place that we own or that touches of the familiar where comfort begins to join us.  Without meaning we’re without comfort.  There’s nothing to hide in.  Nowhere that’s known to us without being told.”

I turned my head towards those words.  They came soft.  And while there was little space between us I feared his meaning would slip away.  The light became too brilliant for my eyes.

“There’s always a reason.  Always a place we can come to hide, to retrieve our own sense of comfort.”  I could see the play of light across eyes wet with sorrow.  No tears yet fell.  I doubted he had any left to share.  “Even this.”

Looking back down to the city, watching the scene of silhouettes scurry from place to place, following the path of fire, the flowers of smoke opening in bloom to the night, feeling the heat drift over us on winds, I was caught in the scene.  Held fast to it all, kept there.  Again time fell away from the moment and we became all that was.  Just watching once more.  The cold touch of water trailing across my cheek let me know of the crying. 

“What reason is there for this?” I mouthed into words.

“Because it was beautiful,” he answered.  “And he needed to see it suffer.”