Sugar and Spice

chapter 13

We run a few steps away from the burning building that has been my home for over 10 years before collapsing. I rip the towel from my head and face and wrap it around my burnt and bleeding hand. I imaging this is what branded cattle feel like, when they get a piece of hot metal stuck onto their rumps. I lean back and grab my fallen BOB, pulling it close to me and holding against my body as I lower my head and focus on breathing.

Jason reaches over to me and pulls me to him, embracing me as though I was the last person in the world.

"I can't believe you did that," he says to me. "I'm so mad at you, coming back when you were out. But, at the same time, I couldn't be more happy."

"You would have done the same," I say softly. My throat feels as though I have the worst case of strep that ever has existed. Talking hurts. Breathing hurts.

Jason raises his head and looks around. Tire tracks have left a deep tread in the soft dust and dirt, indicating the fleeing of the people responsible for destroying my home, my life. He points it out to me and I shrug it off. I'm so grateful to be alive right now, I can't bring myself to think of anything else.

After a long moment of rest in each others arms, Jason rises to his feet, offering a helping hand to me.

"My car is around back. Let's go to the hotel I was going to go to Thursday. We can figure out what to do next when we get that far." For once, I'm not going to argue or feel any kind of offense at his take-charge attitude. My brain doesn't want to think right now, and I'm happy for someone to take over the decision making for the time being.

We shuffle slowly around the still-burning building until we get to the very back, where my dumpster, burning barrel and extra parking places lay. And I begin to cry as Jason groans before yelling,

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"

The doors of his little sports car were flung open and the cabin was being eaten by flames. The hood was up and we could see strands of hay were around the front of the car, as though some idiot decided to stuff hay into the engine before lighting it on fire. Those assholes.

I stand beside Jason as we watch his car burn for a few minutes. I slip my good hand into his, grabbing his attention as he has done me more than once since we met. He looks down upon me in question.

"The hotel you mentioned, it's about 2 miles east of us," I tell him. "I need to get away from here, I don't think I could take another blow." He looks back at his car for a brief moment before nodding in agreement.

We walk arm-in-arm down the dark, paved road in silence, each of us reflecting upon what we had experienced. The bag on my back weighs no more than 15 pounds but even so, it begins to weigh on me. Jason takes it and slings it over his shoulder without missing a step.

After an eternity, I see lights shining ahead of us, the glowing, welcoming lights of the only hotel in 50 miles of where I live. I know it from staying there as the bar was renovated. It's a quaint, 2-star hotel that sees just enough business to keep it's lights on. The manager is a sweet old man who hasn't changed the prices of his rooms to match inflation because, he puts it, his life isn't all about making money. He's happy to help people when they need a rest or a place to stay before continuing his journey.

My knees tremble and we finally reach the manager's office where I ring the doorbell to the office. Chances are very good that he is asleep at the moment, being in the early hours of the day, but his border collie's barking wakes him within minutes.

We begin telling him to call the police and the fire company, and tell him how a car, a truck and my bar are all on fire as we speak. He hurries over to his phone and dials 911. When he hangs up, we set up to get a room and Jason reaches into his back pocket for his wallet before freezing his action.