Fires. Essays, Poems, Stories

Carl. We've both been up for a while. I guess there's something wrong with the baby. I don't know. The baby keeps crying, I mean. The thing is, I guess I can't go this time, Carl.
    You should have just stepped to the phone and called me, boy, Carl said. It's okay. You know you didn't have to come over here to tell me. What the hell, this hunting business you can take it or leave it. It's not important. You want a cup of coffee?
    I'd better get back, the boy said.
    Well, I expect I'll go ahead then, Carl said. He looked at the boy.
    The boy kept standing on the porch, not saying anything.
    It's cleared up, Carl said. I don't look for much action this morning. Probably you won't have missed anything anyway.
    The boy nodded. I'll see you, Carl, he said.
    So long, Carl said. Hey, don't let anybody ever tell you otherwise, Carl said. You're a lucky boy and I mean that.
    The boy started his car and waited. He watched Carl go through the house and turn off all the lights. Then the boy put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.
    The living room light was on, but the girl was asleep on the bed and the baby was asleep beside her.
    The boy took off his boots, pants and shirt. He was quiet about it. In his socks and woolen underwear, he sat on the sofa and read the morning paper.
    Soon it began to turn light outside. The girl and the baby slept
    on. After a while the boy went to the kitchen and began to fry bacoa
    The girl came out in her robe a few minutes later and put her arms around him without saying anything.
    Hey, don't catch your robe on fire, the boy said. She was leaning against him but touching the stove, too.
    I'm sorry about earlier, she said. I don't know what got into me. I don't know why I said those things.
    It's all right, he said. Here, let me get this bacon.
    I didn't mean to snap like that, she said. It was awful
    It was my fault, he said. How's Catherine?
    She's fine now. I don't know what was the matter with her earlier. I changed her again after you left, and then she was fine. She was just fine and she went right off to sleep. I don't know what it was. Don't be mad with us.
    The boy laughed. I'm not mad with you. Don't be silly, he said. Here, let me do something with this pan.
    You sit down, the girl said. I'll fix this breakfast. How does a waffle sound with this bacon?
    Sounds great, he said. I'm starved.
    She took the bacon out of the pan and then she made waffle batter. He sat at the table, relaxed now, and watched her move around the kitchen.
    She left to close their bedroom door. In the living room she put on a record that they both liked.
    We don't want to wake that one up again, the girl said.
    That's for sure, the boy said and laughed.
    She put a plate in front of him with bacon, a fried egg, and a waffle. She put another plate on the table for herself. It's ready, she said.
    It looks swell, he said. He spread butter and poured syrup over the waffle. But as he started to cut into the waffle, he turned the plate into his lap.
    I don't believe it, he said, jumping up from the table.
    The girl looked at him and then at the expression on his face. She began to laugh.
    If you could see yourself in the mirror, she said. She kept laughing.
    He looked down at the syrup that covered the front of his woolen underwear, at the pieces of waffle, bacon, and egg that clung to the syrup. He began to laugh.
    I was starved, he said, shaking his head.
    You were starved, she said, laughing.
    He peeled off the woolen underwear and threw it at the bathroom door. Then he opened his arms and she moved into them.
    We won't fight any more, she said. It's not worth it, is it?
    That's right, he said.
    We won't fight any more, she said.
    The boy said, We won't. Then he kissed her.
    He gets up from his chair and refills their glasses.
    That's it, he says. End of story. I admit it's not much of one.
    I was interested, she says. It was very interesting if you want to know. But what happened? she says. I mean later.
    He shrugs and carries his drink over to the window. It's dark now but still snowing.
    Things change, he says. I don't know how they do. But they do without your realizing it or wanting them to.
    Yes, that's true, only—but she does not finish what she started.
    She drops the subject then. In the window's reflection he sees her study her nails. Then she raises her head. Speaking brightly, she asks if he is going to show her the city, after all.
    He says, Put your boots on and let's go.
    But he stays by the