Within These Walls

Nova (Age 9) The bark of the sea grape tree is sharp against my spine. I do not move. I do not even twitch when a bug crawls over my foot. My mother’s hand was shaking when she pressed the silver key into my palm. She did not say she loved me. She did not say goodbye. She just looked at me with eyes that were wide and wet and whispered, “Don’t you dare make a sound.” Then she ran back toward the house. Now, the house is just a frame made of orange light. The heat hits my face in waves. It makes my skin feel tight and dry. I smell the salt from the ocean mixed with the thick, oily scent of burning plastic. It makes my stomach turn. I squeeze the key so hard the metal edges cut into my palm. I want to scream for her. I want to run into the fire and pull her out, but my legs feel heavy and stiff. I look at the boy sitting next to me in the dirt. Dante. He is staring at the flames. He is not blinking. A big piece of the roof falls in. A cloud of sparks goes up into the dark sky. I reach out to touch his arm, but he is cold even with the fire right in front of us. He does not feel like a boy anymore. He feels like something that was broken and put back together wrong. Dante (Age 10) I do not cry. My dad says crying is for people who still have something to lose. I watch the windows of the second floor blow out. The glass falls in sharp pieces. I know my parents are behind those windows. I know they are not coming out because I saw the men in the black suits lock the heavy doors from the outside before the first spark appeared. A long, black armored car pulls away from the back entrance. It does not have any lights on. It moves through the shadows of the driveway. I do not look at the fire anymore; I look at that car. I hear the sound of the engine. I hear the way the tires crunch on the gravel. My chest feels heavy. It feels like someone is standing on my lungs. The air is thick with ash that tastes like metal and charcoal. Nova is shaking next to me. I can hear her teeth clicking together, but I do not turn around. If I look at her, I might feel something, and I cannot afford to feel. I need to keep the anger. I need it to stay right in the center of my chest, hot and sharp. I watch the black car go into the dark Miami night. My parents are gone. My house is gone. But I am still here. I look at my hands. They are covered in gray soot. I make a promise. I will find the people in that car. I will find the people who locked those doors. I will make sure they feel the same heat that is burning my life down right now.