Free The Girl in the Flammable Skirt by Aimee Bender Page B

without any money, just me wanting a new place to go, this is the time for something spiritual to happen, this is my right timing. I wait for God to speak to me.
    The flames snap and hiss.
    A couple drivers pass by and slow: Want a Ride? but I shake my head, no, and it’s not because I’m worried about rapists, I’m not. Something is about to happen here—something big. I’m going to hear what this bush has to say to me and then I’m going to walk forever by myself since I never have and because it’s a better quiet outside than it is in a car and because all I took was one puff and I set something on fire. Me. The bush keeps crackling. I wonder, what will it tell me? What is it that I need to hear? I lean in closer and listenwith my whole being. I can’t tell what it’s saying. I can’t find any words, just that fire sound, the sound of cracking and bursting. I start to feel a bit panicked—what if it speaks in a different language? What would I do then? The warmth of the flames flushes my face.
    I speak English, I whisper to the bush as a reminder. Talk to me. I’m listening.
    6.
    Same ugly man.
    7. Back at Haggie and Mona’s
    At one in the morning, a key turned in the lock and Mona tiptoed into the living room. She could see the shape of the woman still there, lungs lifting and releasing. She felt a surge of pride that the runaway was alive and had stayed, and eased herself down on the couch across from the woman and unlaced her boots.
    It had been a great date. He’d been one of those men who kissed hard, trying to merge their faces. Hand at the back of her head. It was quite urgent kissing for a first date but she liked that. She left the boots by the couch, tiptoed into the bathroom and flipped on the light and there was Haggie lying on the floor, legs tucked into his chest.
    “Haggie,” she said, stopping still, “what’s going on?”
    He craned his head and looked up at her with enormous eyes.
    “I committed suicide,” he said. “But it didn’t work.”
    “What?” Mona squatted on the floor.
    “I mean,” he said, “I just wanted to sleep and sleep, sleep and sleep, so I took nine pills, nine dangerous white pills, those pills you use to sleep sometimes? I took them hours ago. Hours and hours ago. Nine of them. I’m sure of it. And I feel fine.”
    She stared at him. “Did you puke?”
    “No,” he said, “I didn’t even puke.”
    “Haggie,” she said, “are you okay?” She reached forward and felt his forehead. “You’re not feverish,” she said. She sat down next to him. “Are you okay?”
    “I think so,” he said.
    She stared at him still. He stared back. Standing up, Mona pulled the bottle down from the medicine cabinet and read the label. She looked down at him and shook her head. “Nine?” she asked, and he nodded. She kept shaking her head, placing the bottle back on the shelf and closing the door. Then she squatted down next to him again and touched his hair. Her voice was quiet. “I’m worried about you,” she said.
    “I know.” He reached up an arm to grasp the counter. “Me too.” He pulled himself up. “But still, it’s all so strange.”
    Mona grasped his elbow. “Do you need help walking?”
    “No.” He shook his head. “That’s the thing. I don’t.”
    He walked into the living room and stood against the back of the stiff sofa, facing the big window that looked out onto their small backyard. Mona followed him in.
    “She’s still here,” she whispered, pointing.
    “Did you have a good date?” Haggie looked at the woman sleeping. Her entire face was relaxed. He thought she looked beautiful.
    “Yeah,” she said, “it was really nice. He liked the boots.” Haggie smiled. “Are you going to sleep?”
    “I guess not yet,” he said, “I’m feeling pretty awake right now. I think I’ll just stay in here.”
    “Okay.” She touched his shoulder. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
    He nodded. “I’m good,” he said. “Good night, Mone.