No smoke without fire

The memory

*Priya*

A sense of familiarity hang over us, as we sat on the couch in my brother’s room. Good old me leaning over an old yearbook, trying to focus on the pictures, ignoring my sister’s disappointed scrutiny.

- 'Are you still going on about that?' –, she asked. – 'Looking for a mate?'

Annoyance flared in me.

- 'My mate, not a mate. Big difference. And if you looked for yours, you might have avoided your divorces.' - I lifted my gaze to her face pointedly – 'twice!'

She sniggered at my expression.

- 'My oh my, look at you, my little sister all grown up trying to go all out b***h on me of all people.' – For a moment pride brightened her features. – 'I knew you’ll eventually come around. After all, you learned from the best. That, sweety Py, would be MOI.'

Unfazed by my grimace, she continued: - 'You know how the saying goes: practice makes better, and I am out for the best.'

I couldn’t help smiling at her saucy wink.

- But really, Py’ you are almost 25. You keep waiting for the knight in shining armor, but there is no such thing

- 'I don’t know, I chewed on my lip pensively, I recall seeing quite a few in the Museum the other month.' – with mocking tease I continued, - 'or you speak of knights? In that case, I must educate you: I speak of a mate. I do not need someone better then life. I just need someone who is right for me.'

Lifting my palm I stopped the flood of her complaints before they emerged.

– Yes, even with so many people, there is always a way to find him. It is magic.

My sister’s pretty face alternated between pity and sadness:

- Years has passed, Py. It is time to move on.

Leaning forward, she lowered my book from my hands.

– Magic belongs into the books. We live in reality.

Instantly I felt my anger rise, laced with impatience and determination.

– Just because we lost our way, doesn’t make it gone. It is still there, we just need to dig deeper.

For a moment, seeing the worry crease her eyebrows, I almost caved in and told her all about the persistent of my memory. For I was convinced it is a memory, more then a dream. It must be. I put my happiness on that faith alone.

The MEMORY, all caps. The snippet of events from the past, that comes teasing, poking, prodding into my life, preventing me from moving on, whenever I lose hope that it is real and attempt to move out into the world my family resides in. Even now, when I close my eyes, the shape of a man engulfed in fire emerges from my mind: a pair of dark eyes stuck to me, filled with confidence and knowledge of a secret I was not privy to, a tilted pair of firm lips marred by a pale scar, despite the fire lapping at his form, when his lips parts it is not to scream, but to usher a single world with voice coated in rasping, cracking tones: my name. The moment he lifts his hand to me, my blood heats, liquid fire filling my veins, and I start to tremble, unable to get a hold on my body. I know he speaks on, well aware that the words he shares can change my life and I twitch, trying to take a step to link our fingers, sweat forming at my nape, when a hand – not his hand – curls around my wrist, my name ringing in my ear again, this time a earthly, all too normal voice.

- Py, Py! PY!

I catch my breath in small strokes, my eyes snapping open and darting to the horrified face of my sister.

- 'That’s it' – she whispers, determination pressing her lips into a thin line. – 'I am calling mom!'

I almost scream at her – 'NO.'

Quieter I beg her.

– 'Please, Claire, please don’t. I am fine. See?' – I force a short laugh, hopefully lighthearted enough for her to buy. – 'It is just a memory of the fire.'

Randomly I poked at a picture in the book on my lap.

– This guy reminded me on my first doctor, and it brought up the memory, that’s all.

Closing the book I begged her on, – 'See? I am putting it aside. The past is past, I leave it behind' – I parrot dutifully, – 'I take my meds, I attend my sittings, I am good. Don’t make her worry.'

Hope and worry conflict in her eyes as she turns her fingers changing her grab into a gentle pat on my hand – Promise you’ll call me if you can’t cope, will you? Promise me!

–  ' I promise.' - I breathed the lie. - 'And you,' - I turned the table on her – 'promise me, you’ll tell me before you get married next time? I want to be on at least one of your weddings. You owe me that much. Tell me of your current prospect! Mark? Mathias? Mathew?'

Absentmindedly I kept my smile, the one I practiced for hours and hours in any surface that reasonably mirrored my face, until I couldn’t decide which of my smile is honest and fake, and I listened to her rambling of the perfection of the next version of Mr. Husband. But in the corner of my mind a smokey laugh coiled and unfurled, a hoarse menace sliding along my spine promising a night burning with unfulfilled desire.