30DOSIT 8: What Have They Done To You Now?
(Note: This piece is partly inspired by a song of the same name by Daniel Knox. Listen here.)
What Have They Done To You Now?
We sat together in silence, on the bench near the park, and watched the spray of flames lick the starry sky.
The firemen had draped a warm blanket around her since she was hardly wearing anything at all, but they hadn’t offered me one yet and it had been ten minutes since I’d arrived. They’d said I was the only contact they thought to call who might be related to her, and seemed taken aback by how different we were when I arrived and started yelling, “I’m her brother, I’m her brother.”
Truth is we haven’t been brother and sister for a while.
I’d seen a show before—sort of a firemen’s show where they lit a little replica building on fire as a demonstration and they quenched the fire with the giant hose from the truck. That had seemed to take ages. They had explained that it takes a lot of water to quench a building fire, almost to soak the whole building. But this? This was taking an absolute eternity. Especially sitting in that kind of a silence.
A couple of the fire station people came over to ask questions, but for the most part they just left us alone. Maybe it’s because they didn’t need to ask too many things, but maybe because they could see we were in the middle of not talking to each other.
She was wearing nothing but her underwear and the blanket, and it made me angry, and it made me hurt, and it made me remember, and most of all it made me sad. It made me really, really sad. But I wasn’t the type of guy to start scolding or fussing over her right away after she gets rescued out of a burning building so I stayed quiet and sat watching the spray of water.
She sniffed from the cold I guess and looked like she was about to say something, but she didn’t and huddled the blanket closer to her. The blanket was orange—her favorite color, I remembered, and wished I couldn’t remember so much but at the same time there was nothing that could make me want to forget, either.
I remember when I met her years and years ago. She’d been being bullied by those boys and I rescued her just like she was rescued from the burning building. I rescued her again not three years later from that man’s house, and I lifted her right up husband-wife style and I walked her back, and she was crying hard but she hooked her arms around my neck and just cried into my shirt. My mama had been cooking dinner and when I came home she asked why I had tear stains on me while she was stirring that big pot and I told her she was just sad ‘cause her boyfriend broke up with her. I’d carry her home four more times after that. That last time I especially didn’t think about too much. Or I tried not to.
There’s a lot of stuff I wanted to ask her then and couldn’t. There’s a lot of stuff I wanted to ask her now and couldn’t. Who? Why did he? Oh, what have they done to you now?
But I stayed quiet. I’d talk to her later about it. I’d offer her my place. I’d let her be in a safe home. We’d go to the hospital first thing. I’d make her good food, and we could be just like brother and sister again.
But for now we both just sat together in silence, on a bench near the park, and watched the smoke conceal the moon.
