Chapter Text
The bus ride back home was just like the bus ride from to the theater. If it wasn't for the sounds coming out Thalia and Micheal, who were so close to me it was as if we were conjoined, it would be completely silent.
I kept replaying that last conversation between me and my mother. I had already spent most of the time trying to examine and analyze her words while at the theater. she was acting so strange. Trying to rethink the conversation wasn't helping however, it just made the knots in my stomach grow bigger.
Before I knew it, and before I was done thinking, our thoughts were cut off by the sound of firetrucks and police men. The flashing lights of red and blue were completely taking over my peripheral. Part of me already knew what happened when I saw those lights, mom probably had another episode that warranted a call to the police while we were gone. We didn't really think about how bad it could be until we stepped off the bus to the smell of fire and smoke in the air. The smell of smoke is intertwined with my memories of home, my mother was a notorious cigarette smoker. She could always try to lie that she was getting clean but the scent of cigarettes always invaded her hair and clothes.
It's the strangest thing; Seeing your home along with your entire childhood still lingering in it, on fire. Seeing and hearing the nosy bystanders try their best to figure out what happened while spouting the most bizarre theories, is such an aggravating experience. Part of you just wants to turn and shout for them to leave your home alone, and the other part wants to join in with them. With the hope that someone could tell you what happened.
Micheal was the first one to talk. He always was. “What did she do now.” he asked, like a mix of sorrow and anger. I think he already knew what she did. “20 euros she did it to avoid giving us anything for Christmas” came quickly after from Thalia. I wanted to be pissed but all my mouth would let me do was take that bet on.
It was at that moment I realized that with our house burning down, and most likely our mom burning down with it, I should probably call my sister. The walk to the telephone pole was only a couple of steps away, yet each step felt as if I was walking on nails. Those few, solemn, steps to the telephone pole felt like crossing a desert, never ending. I finally made it and dialed the numbers with shaky hands. I ended up calling the wrong person. Some girl in Brooklyn, which didn't make sense to me seeing as how I was in France, I was nowhere near New York. After three more attempts I gave up on reaching my sister. I'm not really sure why she was the first person I thought to call, we haven't spoken in almost three years. I guess she always felt more like a mom to me than our mother did.
The firefighter chief had told us that she didn't suffer, that it was a quick death, but he was lying. I knew he was. Dying by fire is one of the most gruesome ways to die. If she didn't die of the smoke invading her lungs after a few minutes, then it was definitely a long painful death.
Mom had started the fire, Mom was dead and now we were orphans.
Great.