pelin

yesterday i burned things

I said this to my daughter:

If youre bored, why dont you go burn things? Thats fun. Here, honey, you can use my lighter.

She holds the lighter gently in her fragile hand, and studies it. She weighs her words carefully. This. This kind of thing, she says finally, is why the other moms dont like you.

Fuck them, I say.

Things like that, she says. You see?

I dont say it to their faces, I tell her. They dont like me because youre beautiful and theyre jealous.

She sighs, and even the whisper of her breath is beautiful, and the sorrowful tilt of her head. Mom, she says. Mom, you do. You told the PTA to fuck off.

No, I did not. I told them their idea was fucking asinine. Thats very different.

They didnt think so, she says. She is still holding my lighter. What do you want to burn? she asks.

We choose a chair I hate. We take it into the back yard, and douse it with charcoal starter. It flames beautifully. A throne of flames. Ashes float into the blue, and fall around us.

Look at that, I say, Isnt that gorgeous, in a scary way? Now it looks like the chair of Satan.

She smiles and sits in the grass and weaves me a crown of pink blossoms, and then one for herself. We watch the chair burn until it is a black skeleton of a chair. A chair of death.

Im worried about what will happen to you, she says, when I leave. I dont want you to be alone.

Im a big girl, I say. Dont be silly.

Youre just a little girl, she says, only smiling a little.

I have a plan, I say. It is a lie. Im going to buy a mini van, and grow a big fat ass, and make silk flower arrangements. Im going to redo the house in American Country crap. Maybe geese, or something. Yes. Or cows. I wont swear anymore. Ill come to see you in New York, and say, Kate, take me to see Cats. Or Annie. Yes. Ill be the envy of all the neighborhood moms. Ill wear glasses. Ill learn to golf. The other moms will love me. Ill say, okeydokey.

Okeydokey slays her, and she laughs until the pinks blossoms tremble in her hair. Or not. Annie, for heavens sake. She knows better.

We look for more things to burn. We add an ugly sweater, a barney purple bathrobe, a broken table. A few bills I cant pay. Broken branches from the lilac tree.

I dont want to think about New York. She is right. I am terrified to lose her. I want to keep her near me forever. I will keep her safe, and far away from men, and her eyes will always look like they do now, like dark stars. Holy and pure and brilliant child. I say this to her:

Run. Run away. Run as far away from me as you can. Go to New York. Go to Florence. Go to Athens. Go to Budapest. Fall in love. Buy beautiful shoes. Never buy a mini van. Dont worry about me. Swim in the Adriatic.

Why Budapest? she asks, curious.

How the hell would I know? But its fun to say.

Budapest, she repeats, and laughs.

My husband comes out, and looks at us, two bedraggled May queens, throwing branches on a burning throne.

What the hell are you doing? he demands. He looks baffled by the skeleton of the chair.

Burning, I say.

Fucking nutters, he says, and goes inside.

Run, I tell Kate. Run.