Fire in the Waterhole
This never happens to me. I wonder if I ever really mean that or if it is always a flimsy bridge I choose to cross so I don’t have to look at myself in the water. That’s just not like me.
To re-cap, I recently moved in with The Fellas. Last Thursday night in the quiet of the house I went to the shelf for a package of Ramen. At the counter I ran some water into a pot and put it on the stove to heat. There were many things on the counter: a lean mean machine, a plate, a toaster, Lilliputians I don’t remember. I returned to the shelf for a can of tuna.
There wasn’t much space on the counter so I gently pushed back the mass and balanced the opened can of tuna near the edge. That is, I didn’t more efficiently move some of the things from the counter. I turned my back to the Lilliputians in a game of thirst-and-seek, and when I turned back to the counter there was a small flame reaching out from under the pot.
How odd, I thought. I looked closer. Alarm.
Something was on fire. Ardeo! Ardet! The cord to the toaster, which was part of the mass I’d pushed gently back, had snaked onto the burner. Fortune was with me, however, and the flame disappeared when I turned off the flame. The curl in the toaster’s cord that had been snatched by flame was crusty and black.
There was nobody to tell. The scent of burning and err stained the kitchen. I ate my noodles.
"Something bad happened," I said when Shin finally appeared. I gave him a tour. "Are you scared to live with me now?" I asked in half-jest, and then in auto-defense, "I swear I’m not a kitchen hazard. These things don’t happen to me--"
--self-doubt shot up from the grotto like a bad light for me to see and stand in. Am I really a kitchen hazard? Will I be a bad mother? Have I been in denial? How terrible.
I have since bought a new toaster, a black toaster, a better toaster, a toaster that came with a toy.
A few nights ago Shin came into my room. I’d been arranging my gods. He pointed to the green whale lamp. Sitting on top of the green whale is a tiny beige lampshade. There is a hole in the lampshade ringed by brown and black singe. When I was in college I had been lying in bed reading. When I slipped into narcosis I wanted the lamp gone, immediately. I threw a t-shirt on top of it. Within minutes, ignis. "I swear these things don’t happen to me," I said.
Two fires in I see it’s time to stand in the water and assess the currents, accept my accidents as fuel to tried and true character. I'm not who I thought I idealized but rather something other on fire.
To re-cap, I recently moved in with The Fellas. Last Thursday night in the quiet of the house I went to the shelf for a package of Ramen. At the counter I ran some water into a pot and put it on the stove to heat. There were many things on the counter: a lean mean machine, a plate, a toaster, Lilliputians I don’t remember. I returned to the shelf for a can of tuna.
There wasn’t much space on the counter so I gently pushed back the mass and balanced the opened can of tuna near the edge. That is, I didn’t more efficiently move some of the things from the counter. I turned my back to the Lilliputians in a game of thirst-and-seek, and when I turned back to the counter there was a small flame reaching out from under the pot.
How odd, I thought. I looked closer. Alarm.
Something was on fire. Ardeo! Ardet! The cord to the toaster, which was part of the mass I’d pushed gently back, had snaked onto the burner. Fortune was with me, however, and the flame disappeared when I turned off the flame. The curl in the toaster’s cord that had been snatched by flame was crusty and black.
There was nobody to tell. The scent of burning and err stained the kitchen. I ate my noodles.
"Something bad happened," I said when Shin finally appeared. I gave him a tour. "Are you scared to live with me now?" I asked in half-jest, and then in auto-defense, "I swear I’m not a kitchen hazard. These things don’t happen to me--"
--self-doubt shot up from the grotto like a bad light for me to see and stand in. Am I really a kitchen hazard? Will I be a bad mother? Have I been in denial? How terrible.
I have since bought a new toaster, a black toaster, a better toaster, a toaster that came with a toy.
A few nights ago Shin came into my room. I’d been arranging my gods. He pointed to the green whale lamp. Sitting on top of the green whale is a tiny beige lampshade. There is a hole in the lampshade ringed by brown and black singe. When I was in college I had been lying in bed reading. When I slipped into narcosis I wanted the lamp gone, immediately. I threw a t-shirt on top of it. Within minutes, ignis. "I swear these things don’t happen to me," I said.
Two fires in I see it’s time to stand in the water and assess the currents, accept my accidents as fuel to tried and true character. I'm not who I thought I idealized but rather something other on fire.
1 Comments:
Don't despair. I've started many household fires, and people still live with me. Some tips though: don't put tissues on hot lightbulbs. Don't put forks, styrafoam, or plastic bowls that like to melt in the microwave. Do not leave candles unattended. Truest me, all of these things I know from experience.
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