Smoke

50: Communication

"Good job everyone. Wait until people file out for us to regroup and talk." Danny said after it was all over. I felt so tired, my mind buzzing and eyes struggling to see properly. My throat was dry and scratchy, and I felt like if I talked, no one would hear my voice.

I watched as actors passed me. Oliver glanced over, giving a thumbs up before he went to pack up.

I waited until there were only a few stragglers. Ellie came down from the catwalk, her shoes thumping against the rungs of the ladder and her fingers clinking against it as she made her way to the stage.
"Hi." I said, voice quiet. I cleared my throat.

"Hey." Ellie replied. "My hands are very stiff." She said, laughing slightly.
"Yeah, my throat is killing me." I said. We walked back to the sound booth together. It was strange to talk to someone about using powers. We were making small talk about it, which I had never done. I had never even been comfortable saying my power, before.

"Good job today, everyone." Danny said once they had exited the sound booth and we were all huddled. "We all did great today." His eyes skimmed to each of us, and my heart stuttered when his eyes met mine.

"Now, uh, we'll be going over all of this in class, but there are a few things we can improve from tonight, and a few things we'll change. But, everyone, for now just go home and- and get ready for our next performances this week."

"Oh, and give me back the walkie-talkies." Danny said, nodding, dismissing all of us. I handed mine to him, my eyes glancing up at his, and I turned away. I headed back to the drama classroom, where we all put our backpacks and everything we didn't need, hearing my own footsteps thump against the floor.

"Cecil." Danny called over a few seconds later. I looked back and watched as he ran up to me, walkie-talkies piled in his hands. "We're definitely adding that to the play." He said quietly, his voice tingling my ears. I thought about what he was saying, momentarily confused until I remembered the fire.

"Really?" I responded, a nervousness growing.

"Yes. It looked awesome. Just don't run away after you do it, and- and don't stumble onstage." He said lightly, smiling. I glanced at him. He must've felt a lot less stressed now that today was over, because he seemed to be in a good mood.

"Alright." I nodded, still partly unsure.
"Cool." He said, smiling at me. I smiled back, feeling the closeness between us as we walked.

When we reached the classroom, the theater teacher gave a brief summary of what went wrong and what didn't, and we packed up and left for the night.
My heartbeat was quick as I walked out to mom's car.

The air outside was warm and dark. I looked past headlights and brake lights to where mom's car was waiting, seeing her silhouette moving in the drivers seat.

I got into the car, silent, hearing the pull of the door closed behind me, hearing my clothing rustle against the seat. I clicked my seatbelt around myself, and Mom started moving.

I was monitoring my breaths, making sure I wasn't breathing weirdly or that I wouldn't start hyperventilating.

"So--" I started, voice quiet.
"Good job tonight. I watched it, you all were great." Mom said, and my stomach turned when she accidentally interrupted me, when she mentioned that she watched it. "Were you the one doing all of the smoke effects?" She asked me, glancing over and back towards the road.

"Yeah." I was out of breath, and felt a heaviness in my limbs, sitting still. "What did you think of it?" I asked. The lights from the other cars and the street lamps were sharp in my eyes. I wanted to be home already.

"I thought that was really cool to have you all doing stuff like that. But," she said, pausing to make a turn, "who did the fire effects when Romeo was visiting Juliet?" Mom asked, and my body flashed a brief cold. She saw it, and I didn't want to lie anymore. It would be going too far. "After he was banished?" She elaborated after I stayed silent.

"Um," I said, then paused, feeling the tightness in the car and in my chest. "That was me." My voice turned to nothing, and she glanced at me. I turned my eyes down towards my lap.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I," smoke exited my mouth as I said it. "Can we talk at home?" I asked, looking around at the other cars in the dark.

"Alright, sugar." She said, a bit of concern in her voice. I tried to keep the smoke down during the rest of the car ride, but felt it keep trying to push up, felt the dryness in my throat as the smoke pooled in my mouth.

--

"So what did you mean that was you, sugar?" Mom asked, locking the car behind us, walking closer to the house.

"Well, uh," I said, pausing by the car. I felt a tightness in my throat as I said it, a combination of smoke and stress. "So my power isn't just smoke," I said, and my voice was quieter with each word. Mom waited for me to continue, and I could feel my heart beat quicker. Everything felt so fast and unsteady, and I fidgeted as I spoke. "I can also breathe fire." I said, and my eyes went to my hand, the one that I burned. The air felt so bright outside, so sharp in my eyes, despite the darkness and blueness that was around us.

I eventually looked up at her, seeing her body stuck in place, turned towards me but closer to the house than I was. I looked back down, shaking my head, closing my eyes, but I had already said it. We couldn't ignore what I said, now, and I had to finish what I started.

"Can you show me?" Mom asked, taking a step towards me, reaching out a hand for me. The air was so quiet, our voices the only sounds besides wind against leaves and animals rustling.

I took her hand and nodded, exhaling shakily. The smoke left me in puffs, and I squeezed her hand, feeling embarrassed and sad and not wanting this.

The smoke thickened and the fire came. Mom's eyes widened, watching me, watching the smoke make way for the fire. I felt the tightness in my throat, the constriction of air as I exhaled. The air waved in front of my face, heat curling it. Mom and I's faces glowed with the fire, and I watched as it turned from a small flame to a large one, flicking and hot. The edges were the most vibrant, with pinks and oranges and blues, while the middle grew to be a more transparent color the longer it went on. It was dark and vibrant, the night making the glow of the fire sharper in my eyes.

Mom took a step back to not get burnt, still holding my hand, and waited until the fire died down, until I killed it with closing my mouth. My throat stung and was dry, and I felt even more tired than before.

I looked over at her, seeing her wide eyes, her face holding different emotions.
"So when your blanket set on fire...?" She asked, trailing off. Her hand was still extended to mine, and I squeezed it, feeling the warmth from her palm.

I thought she would be mad that I was like dad, but she didn't seem to be. She seemed okay with it. Mom's eyes met mine, and she pulled me in, hugging me. I hugged her back, feeling a breathlessness and a relief.

"You should've just told me."
She said, and I knew that I should've. "I wouldn't have gotten mad or anything."
She sighed. "It's alright, though." She said, and I exhaled against her, feeling a steadiness and an equilibrium in my body.

"Okay." I said quietly, my voice hoarse. She was okay with it, with this power. I was starting to be, also. I was worried for nothing. I should've just talked to her, should've just not been so afraid.

"Let's get inside." She smiled, pulling away. I nodded, and we went into the house, the day done.