“Okay,” Roland said. I realized that the cereal box he was wearing as a glove was no longer Apple Jacks and was now Cocoa Krispies.
“Go easy on the cereal, okay, Roland?” I kind of asked and kind of demanded. I’d need to get better about that, be more sure of myself.
Roland shoved one last handful of cereal into his mouth, the pieces scattering across the counter and onto the floor. Then he stopped, chewed what he had in his mouth, and hopped off the counter and ran over to me. Bessie stood and we all went into their room, which was, I guess, balloon themed. There were framed posters of hot air balloons, crazy colors like flags to countries that existed in made-up worlds. The knobs on the posters of their beds were designed to look like red balloons.
“This is a lot of color,” Bessie said. “It’s kind of too much.”
“It is a bit too much,” I said. “But you’ll get used to it.” Bessie looked at me like, Duh. They were children who caught on fire. Their mother had died. They understood how to adjust to weird stuff.
There were a lot of choices as far as clothing went, and they both picked these black-and-gold Vanderbilt T-shirts and black cotton shorts. I wrapped up their old clothes and tossed them in the trash. How many clothes would these kids go through? Was it better to just let them run around the house naked?
“Okay, so let’s talk,” I said, and the kids sat on their beds. I sat on the floor and pulled my knees up to my chin, unsure how to proceed. I’d had so much time to prepare for this moment, but I’d spent it playing basketball and eating bacon sandwiches in bed. There had been a folder from some private doctor who’d examined the children, but it was so boring and nothing was actually resolved, so I’d just kind of skimmed it. I wished Carl were here, because he always had a plan, and then I hated myself for it.
“So the fire stuff,” I said, and both kids had that look on their faces like, This shit again, ho-hum.
“You guys catch on fire,” I said. “And so, you know, that’s a problem. I know it’s not your fault, but it’s something we have to deal with. So maybe we can try to figure it out.”
“There’s no cure for it,” Bessie said, and I asked, “Who told you that?”
“We just know,” Roland said. “Our mom said we’ll always be like this.”
“Well, okay,” I continued, a little annoyed with their dead mom for being so negative about it, “but what do you know about it? How does it work?”
“It just happens sometimes,” Bessie said. “It’s like sneezing. You know? It’s just this tingly feeling that comes and goes.”
“But is it when you’re upset? Or does it ever happen when you’re just bored?” I wished I had a notebook, a lab coat, something to make this more official. Like I was doing intake, or a school project.
“If we get upset, or if we get freaked out, or if something bad happens,” Roland said, “then we catch on fire.”
“Or if we have a bad dream,” Bessie offered. “Like, a really bad dream.”
“Wait, it happens when you’re sleeping, even?” I asked, and felt the floor beneath me give way a little, the realization that this might be worse than I thought. Both kids nodded. “But only, like, really bad dreams,” Roland said, as if this would comfort me.
“But mostly when you get upset?” I asked, and they nodded again. I didn’t know if this was progress, but they were listening to me. They weren’t on fire. We were together, in this house, and everyone outside of this house was waiting for us to figure this out.
“So we just stay calm,” I told them. “We read books and we swim in the pool and we go for walks and we just stay calm.”
“We’ll still catch on fire,” Bessie said, and she looked so sad.
“But not as much, right? Not like today? You’re not always catching on fire?” I asked.
“No, not much. Not all that much. More since Mom died,” Bessie offered.
“What would your mom do to keep you guys from catching on fire?” I asked.
“Push us into the shower,” Bessie said, seeming to think of this as an injustice, squeaky shoes and damp underwear.
“She made us get up real early, every morning, no matter what,” Roland said. “She said it was better when we were a little tired. And she made us do tons of chores. And lessons. All these lessons with pencil and paper. And she would fill up the tub with ice cubes and cold water and we’d have to get in it.”