Combustion: Mayra Zamora

With Zach gone I’m left to my own devices until my father gets home from work in a few hours. For once I have a day off where I’m not going through the schedule and calling anyone to see if they want off and it feels good. It feels good to have a lazy day. I haven’t had many of these since I started high school and started padding my resume with volunteer work and then actual work. I thought coming back would suck but so far it’s been like putting on old shoes, already worn in in all the right places. And I’ve found a friend who isn’t afraid of what I really can do.

I’m starting to feel really bored. So bored that I’m restless and don’t want to actually do anything. Instead I stare blankly at the walls until my photo collage stands out and all I see is the old faded photo of me and my mother on my fourth birthday before the fire and before she left. I have some of her features they really stand out in the photo. I barely remember her being around and the only image I have of her is pinned to the wall. The only attachment I have to her is wondering what she would be like. Would she be the kind of mother that was also my best friend? Or would we fight constantly and not get along? It was hard to say. Every time I asked my father about her he didn’t say much.

Between the heat and how comfortable my bed is, I pass out and don’t wake up until I hear my father open the front door. I hear him walk around the living area and into the kitchen where he gets ice and then I assume water before I hear his footsteps head down the hall and into his room. When I look at the time I realize I’ve taken quite a long nap and it’s time for me to get out of bed.

In the kitchen I get a glass of water to rinse the sleep out of my mouth. When I turn around to head back to my room my father is standing right behind me. “Dad!”

“Sorry, did I scare you?” he asks. Of course he scared me, he was standing right behind me and I didn’t know.

“Yeah, but I’m ok.” I try to reassure him even though it’s not a big deal.

“Well I just wanted to remind you what day it is,” he says.

“It’s Tuesday,” I reply, a little uncertain. Maybe it wasn’t. Did I sleep through the next day?

“I wasn’t sure you would remember. You were so young when she left.” He looks down shuffling his foot.

“Is it the day she left?” I really don’t know what he’s getting at.

“No, sweetheart.” He seems honest enough and possibly a little heartbroken. “It’s her birthday today. She would be forty five.”

I don’t like the way he says it in the past tense as though there may be none of her left to speak of but it is what it is. She left over fifteen years ago and no one has heard from her since.

“So, what?” I ask. I honestly don’t know what to do with this information. I can’t exactly talk to her or send her a card or anything.

“You’re right. We don’t have to talk about this. Sorry, sweetie.” He pats my shoulder and turns to walk away.

“Wait,” I stop him. “What were you going to say about her?”

“Nothing, really, just that she would be proud of you.” There’s a sadness in his eyes that I can’t understand as he squeezes my shoulder and turns away from me. I watch him walk out of the kitchen and down the hall toward his room.

I lean back against the refrigerator letting out a deep breath. I usually have so many questions for him about my mother but right now I just froze. This can’t be happening, but it is and it did. I could go to my room and do what I always do but instead I opt to watch TV in the living room. He’s bound to come back out her eventually.

I watch endless episodes of Law and Order: SVU. Once he comes out of his room but only to grab something quick for dinner and disappears. This must be pretty hard on him if he can’t be out here where he usually is. Maybe he doesn’t want to be out here because of me. And maybe I’m overreacting. I start feeling hungry all at once so I heat something up in the microwave and eat it before taking a shower and going to bed.

Throughout the night I have trouble staying asleep because all of my dreams are about starting fires that go out of control burning down my house and the people I love. But I wake up to the darkness several times until it isn’t so dark anymore. Once the sun starts to rise I get out of bed and head to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. My father is already in there, humming a song I don’t know while he makes some eggs for his breakfast before work. It smells good but I can just make some for myself later.

“Good morning,” I say, pouring a cup of coffee.

“Good morning.” He’s standing in front of the stove letting his eggs over cook.

I grab a plate for him from the cabinet, “Here.”

“Thanks.” So many summers have passed since my mother left and this time is the first time I really notice it hitting him hard. It seems kind of odd given that she’s been gone for so long. I start fiddling with my locket.

“So, listen,” I venture, “what were you really going to say about mom last night?”

“Well just that she was under a lot of stress when she left. After the house burned down. And actually I’ve been meaning to ask, do you still think you started the fire?”

I don’t really know what to say because the truth is I did start that fire and I can prove it, but I still don’t want to show him. Not unless he can tell me something better first. I pick up my coffee and lean against the counter next to the stove and look him dead in the eye. “Nope.”

I almost see relief in his face.

“I was just a kid,” I say.

“Yes, yes you were.”

It takes everything I have not to cave and tell him the truth but I know now after seeing Zach yesterday that talking about magic when you don’t know how to use it kind of looks like psycho-babble. Not that I don’t believe Zach, but still it sounds crazy when you have nothing to back it up.

“So what was she like?” Now that we’re on the subject.

“She was very good to you. She played every game with you that you could think of. She loved you. That’s all you need to know. Now if you’ll excuse me, my eggs are getting cold.” And with that he walked away to the dining room table and sat down to eat his breakfast.

I refill my coffee cup and head back to my room, taking it black. I will find out more about my mother.

When my father goes to work I head to his room. He has pictures of me on his dresser, a painting on the wall and his bed is neatly made. Everything in here has its place which means it could be incredibly easy or incredibly difficult to find anything about my mother. I start with his drawers opening each one and feeling my way to the bottom finding nothing but clothes. I never realized how much clothing my father had until now.

I think about lifting the mattress but change my mind since that’s something a teenage girl would do. Instead I head for the closet and find that it’s packed full of stuff. Somewhere in the back I find a stack of old photo albums containing pictures of his parents and childhood all the way through my adolescence. A few of the pages are blank or missing pictures. It seems odd that he would remove any trace of my mother when I have a picture of the two of us posted in my room, but he did.

I sit on the bed looking around the room trying to find something that might be out of place. Just when I’m about to give up my paranoid brain gets the best of me. On a hunch I get up and start looking at the pictures of me on my father’s dresser. I think of all the times my father had me write a note on the back of a school picture before I gave it to anyone. The only picture up here from before my mother left is my one year picture.

Opening the back I take a deep breath before pulling it out. The picture is old and the frame sticks but I manage. Seeing nothing but a white background I feel myself deflate a little. The frame tilts in my hand releasing a white page that is the same size as the picture. I put the picture and the back down before picking what appears to be a sheet of card stock off the floor. When I turn it over there’s writing. It’s cursive and beautiful. The stuff of love letters and when I start to read it I realize that’s exactly what it is.

My dearest daughter Elizabeth,

I am sorry I had to leave you but things have changed ever since the fire. I have changed and I don’t think that you would understand. I don’t feel safe anymore, not since I found this ring. You have been my light, my perfect spot in a ruined world and I know that you will grow up safe with your father. He is a good man who will always do right by you no matter the cost. I wish I could explain this to you now but you are too young to understand and frankly I wouldn’t burden you with the explanation anyway.

I regret that I will not see you turn into a beautiful woman. You have so many dreams and ideas that I know you will be just fine no matter what you choose. I can only hope and pray for your happiness. I regret that I can’t change back for you. And more importantly, I regret that I must leave you.

I love you and I will miss you deeply. I promise I will come back for you better and stronger.

Sincerely your mother,

Mayra

A large hot tear rolls down my cheek as I sit on the floor reading and rereading the letter. It leaves me with more questions than answers. How did she change? When will she come back? How will she find me? And what about the ring? What does it do that she had to leave? I don’t have to be a genius to know she’s talking about magic. So is this something I got from her?

I put the picture back together and walk out of my father’s room with the piece of card stock. I walk down the hall past the pictures of me and my father on fishing trips and camping trips and trips to the coast to my bedroom, close the door behind me and let out a sob when I see the picture of me an my mother. She didn’t just leave because of me, she left because of something bigger and she wanted to come back to me but when would she be ready?

I take a deep breath, stifling the next sob and wipe the tears from my face without wetting the letter from my mother. I wonder if my father had ever seen this. Not anytime recently since the frame was pretty stuck, but still. Did he know? Did he hold out false hope for her to come back? And how long ago did he give up? These are all things I wish I could ask my parents but I can’t because my father thinks I stopped believing in magic and my mother is nowhere to be found.

It’s almost nine o’clock now and MeNEd’s will be opening soon. I didn’t snake any shifts for today but I need somewhere to go for awhile and that’s the first place I think of besides Starbucks. I realize after a minute that what I want is a friend so rather than hanging out at work I decide to text Zach.

<You never guess what I found.> I don’t expect a reply because it’s still kind of early but I still hope for one. A few minutes pass, then a few hours and still I don’t hear from him. It seems pretty unusual so I walk around the block to his house passing all the dead lawns in the heat but when I get there no one answers. Maybe he’s out with his grandma today.