The Burn Journals Read Free Page B

walk out. There's Craig with Rusty, our dog, next to him. They have the same expression on their faces.
    Craig yells something and runs downstairs. I think he's calling 911. I'm following him. He hands me the phone and runs off. There's a woman on the phone asking me questions. I try to tell her what's happened, but my voice sounds choked and brittle. There's something wrong with my voice.
    The woman on the phone says the fire trucks and ambulances are on their way. Somehow she knows my address. Craig is gone now, gone to get Mom, and Rusty is hiding somewhere. Smoke is coming from the bathroom upstairs and I can see that the whole room has turned black. I look down and see my flesh is charred and flaking and the glow-in-the-dark boxer shorts are burnt into my skin.
    The woman on the phone says everything is going to be all right, and I believe her. She has a nice voice. She keeps asking me if I'm still on fire and I say, “I don't think so.”
    I'm walking around the kitchen, waiting for the ambulance to come. I can see my reflection in the microwave. Where's my hair? Where did my hair go? Is that my face?
    We used to put marshmallows in the microwave. We used to watch them get bigger and bigger and then shrink down.
    “Oh God, just tell them to get here, just tell them to get here, okay?”
    She says, “It's okay. They're coming. They're almost there.”
    “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”
    “It's okay, that's okay.”
    I can hear the sirens in the distance now.
    I say, “I want to lie down. I'm going to lie down.” It hurts to talk. I think there's something wrong in my throat.
    “You can't lie down.”
    “But I have to.”
    “Okay, you can lie down.”
    The men are here. The firemen are here. They're putting me on a plastic sheet. They say I'm going to be okay. One of them puts something over my face. That feels good. That feels so good. The cold air feels so good going into my lungs.
    What are they talking about? What are they saying? They're giving me a shot. They say it's going to make the pain go away. Make the pain go away.
    I'm looking at the faces of all the men who are gathered around me. Their eyes are so blue and so clear.
    I turn my head and see Craig in the front hall. He's yelling and punching the walls. He's angry.
    And my mom is here, and she's smiling and saying she loves me, and her eyes, which are green like my eyes, are the most beautiful things I've ever seen.
             
    I'm being lifted. They're rolling me through the front door, down the path, and into the ambulance.
    I wonder if anybody in the neighborhood is watching. I don't want them to know.
    I can feel that we're going to the ball field down the road, where I play soccer, and I hear something about a
helicopter—that should be fun. I'm so tired. I keep trying to close my eyes and sleep, but this woman with red hair is yelling at me to stay awake.
             
    I'm outside now, and people are running. It's windy and the mask over my face smells like plastic and I'm so tired.
             
    And now we're flying, but I can't see anything because I'm lying down and that woman is still yelling at me to stay awake, and I wonder where my mom went, is she here? I don't think she's here.
    I was in a helicopter once in Hawaii, we flew over volcanoes and along these big cliffs and saw waterfalls. It was beautiful.
    We must be over Washington, but I can't see the monuments or the White House or anything. This is probably the only time I'll get to fly over the city like this unless I get to be president someday, but I don't think I'm going to be president.
             
    That woman is still yelling. Please stop yelling. I don't want to stay awake, I want to sleep. Why won't she let me sleep?
    I wonder if I'm going to the hospital near where my dad works. I could get a ride home with him later, oh, but he's in Arkansas or something. I wonder where he is.
    I try to say something, ask the woman with red hair if my mom is