62121088-830adbec890267c8dd2e15b721b5f5e7dc2b7552

it did her. It seemed odd, finally being so close to this woman.
Without the bright lights on her, she looked no older than a
child. I watched as the doctor took a look at her. She rolled up
her dress, and pointed to the spot where the fire had touched
her. It became apparent that this was not the first time she had
been burned. Soft, pink, charred skin marked her body all over.
She turned her head and there was a mark over her eye that her
hair covered and could not been seen at a distance. I waited with
her. She gave grimaces at the doctor’s touch.
By the time we left the tent, she was in high spirits. We
wandered the carnival together. Most of the big attractions were
over, and clowns were about collecting trash in barrels. It was a
bright night in July. The sky full of stars. We went slowly through
the paths.
“You must be tired,” she said.
“I’m alright. I don’t mind staying up,” I said. That night she
brought me back to her cot. She let me touch her. My hands
running over her skin. Noting each scar and burn through the
years. We slept together that night. The whirr of crickets playing
in the fields coming in through the window. She had a sweet
smell like wild flowers and smoke. Lying with our eyes closed, my
skin pressed against hers. She felt warm, like a fire burned under
her skin.
“I hate fire,” she said.
“Do you?”
“Yes. It does nothing but burn and scar.”
-35-