hard stories

[HollyElise]

The Day of the Fire
a true story written
11 June 2003


I just realized why this hurts so much – about Sean and the others not talking to me and why I am desperate to get a response from them.

It goes back to my mother. I woke up this morning from nightmares and the connection was just there, waiting for me.

Of course this happened over and over again in my childhood that I would need someone and there would be no one there, no one at all. It happened from the very beginning of my life, but my clearest memory of it is the day there was a fire on my birthday.

It was my eighth birthday and my mom had planned a wonderful birthday party with eight 8-year old guests. She had gone to great length planning and preparing for this party. I can picture the dining room all decorated that morning with streamers and gifts for all my guests, tiny paper cups of candies at each place setting and decorated plates and cups, and a Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey game on the wall, and she was rushing about that morning, making ready.

My mother asked me to get dressed for the party. She said my clothes were all laid out in my room. So I went up there and I remember a lovely crisp brown organza dress with lace. I put it on and I’m sure I was “dilly-dallying” as my mom would put it... looking in the mirror or dancing or playing. It was then that I noticed the house had gone unusually quiet. That was the all too familiar warning sign that things were wrong again.

I went downstairs and looked for my mother. The house seemed empty. I found her though, drunk and passed out on the bed in the back room off the kitchen.

I remember the smell of sherry to this day, though I’m never around it. The smell of it sets off bad memories like no other liquor.

I tried to wake her. She was really out! I shook her shoulders. She was on her stomach. As usual when she drank she’d put her dark sunglasses on. They were askew on her face because she was lying on them. I kept shaking her, begging her to get up. I could get no response. I got more and more upset. I have no idea how long this went on, but a long time. I remember pulling on her arm with all my weight, but I was only eight. I was hysterical and begging her to wake up and all I could get from her was a rare and very slurred mumble to leave her alone.

I don’t know how long I was pulling on her arm, but eventually the doorbell rang. It was my birthday.

I wiped tears off my face and went to the door and greeted my first guest and pretended nothing had happened and I guess I was to be the hostess so I put on my most polite face. The other guests arrived one by one until there were nine of us eight year old girls.

The rest of the party is a blur until the cake.

It was time to light the birthday cake and my mom was still passed out. She had taught me how to light matches safely one day when she was building a fire in the fireplace and she had me light it, so I would know how to light matches. The cake was ready with its candles and on the baby grand piano in the dining room. I didn’t move the cake. I think it was probably too big for me to lift and carry over to the table. Also on the piano was an amber colored acrylic vase filled with paper flowers, about a foot to the side of the cake.

I carefully lit a match and started to light the candles while the girls watched me. I was almost done when the girls started to scream.

Unfortunately, the paper flowers were not just flammable, they were combustible. No flame from a match or candle touched them directly, but the heat from the cake beside them was enough to set them off. Within an eye-bat there was a column of fire and the acrylic vase was melting rapidly onto the piano. One of the girls helped me put the fire out and after I blew out my candles we cut and ate the cake.

I don’t remember the rest until after the party when the house again was too quiet.

Some girl I suppose had told their mother about the fire and who had in turn called my typically neglectful dad and given him an earful. I never saw my dad except for instances like this and his angry rants and he came storming into the house and called me over to the piano and yelled at me while he fussed that his acrylic vase had been destroyed.

He never yelled at mom about the this. He never even looked for her. What would be the point of yelling at a passed out drunk? I was the adult he yelled at. To my knowledge he never blamed himself either for leaving his child without care, but I was punished and sent to my room and that was my eighth birthday and I never had a party again.

And now I understand why it hurts so much not to get a response from my friend Sean or the others. I’m pulling on their arm, crying hysterically for attention, because I love them and need them.

[HollyElise]

Hey guys, i didn't mean to make anyone feel awkward.

You don't have to comment, but you shouldn't be afraid to make honest comments either, or add your own stories if you like.

[thespitfiredragon]

HollyElise...Thanks for your last post. I, for one, wasn't feeling exactly awkward, but I didn't know what to say that wouldn't be....lame. "I'm sorry" doesn't quite cut it, but I am sorry that you had to experience that. Stuff like that makes a kid grow up a lot faster than they have to.

My own hard story....hmmmmm.

Well, when I was young I was sexually abused by an extended family member...

When I was 9 my sister was born with Spina Bifida...she's paralyzed from the waist down and uses a wheelchair. I take care of her a lot and even though it was hard at first she's brought a lot of joy to my life...

At 12 I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes and though I was terrified of needles I had to learn how to deal with daily injections...

My dad, my brother, and I all have chemical imbalences... I'm prone to depression and also Obsessive-Compulsive...

Due to complications of my diabetes 2 days after I turned 18 I spent 4 days in the hospital...the doctors weren't optimistic that I would make it, but make it I did and now I have HUGE debt because I didn't have insurance...

My dad got really sick right around that same time and after staying at home and raising us for years my mom went back to work as a Junior High Language Arts Teacher.

And recently my boyfriend of almost 2 years...we were engaged...decided he was gay and left me faster than I could blink. Any questions?...see one of my million previous posts on this subject.

So then I had a nervous breakdown...

And that leads us up to now. Believe it or not I'm actually happy...(maybe it has something to do with the Paxil or the Wellbutrin). Even though all these things in my life were painful they've made me grow as a person.

[kathyv]

My grandad used to say that hardships build character. I think he was refering to getting up at 4 am to milk the cows in Feb, or walking up hill 5 miles (both ways!) to school everyday of the week... I don't think people could concieve of these kinds of hardships today.

But strength and character can be gleaned from any difficulty. I read your stories and I read your posts in other places and I see 2 strong and intellegent women that I am proud to 'know' and share with.

Your words have touched me, I wish I could make it all better. I am appaled that things like this happen and children must go through them.

It also makes me realize that I am not alone when trying things happen and neither are you!

[HollyElise]

hahaha! I DO believe it... that you are happy. Happiness is an artform. Some people are fortunate and never have happiness. Others have every challenge and yet they just learn to appreciate the best things in life all the more and treasure them... things like friendship, a sunny day, having basic needs met, a day where our health is "okay."

I am somewhat familiar with SpinaBifida, by the way. When i was a young woman, i regularly babysat for 6 years or so for a family who's eldest child had spina bifida. Mike and i got to be very close... i felt closer to him than my own brother by far. I dealt with the colostomy bag, putting on or taking off the heavy leg braces, etc. I was the one to discover he had a hearing problem, not his parents. i was the one who taught him how to dress himself and do other things so he could feel proud(his mother tried to do everything for him and discouraged his self-sufficiency). I was the one who taught him painting, tutored him in math (he went from an F to a B+ in one quarter!), tossed football with him, and who taught him how to play the recorder and to read music. Unfortunately he died at 18 during surgury. I'm sorry you've had so much hardship in your life as well.

But all this aside, I wasn't really sharing this story to garner sympathy. I appreciate "i'm sorry" but it really is completely unnecessary. This was merely an "ahah" moment i had the other morning so i wrote it down. Perhaps i should not have shared that it is true, as that is distracting. I was actually sharing it for critique of the writing... to find out people's reactions to it and if it leaves them thinking or with questions... if they found it valuable... if it should be longer... if it is too devoid of emotion or just what. I took it to my writer's group last night and had some quite interesting comments i'm not sure whether to believe. It is a small writer's group so i'm wondering what others may think.

[kathyv]

Well Holly, this puts a different 'twist' on things!

My critique....

This was an emotionaly tugging example of a memory. It did evoke strong feelings in your audience.

I am curious as to why you placed the cake and flowers on the piano and why the piano is set in the dining room. When I think 'dining room', I mentally see table, chairs, china hutch, dishes etc... When I think 'piano', I see music, pictures, candle sticks, metrenome....Was this a placing from your memory or is there a symbolic refrence that I have missed?

"I was the adult he yelled at." I like how you have foreshadowed the girl into the future. Taking a little girl who has had to grow up quickly, putting her into an impossible situation for a kid to handle, then giving her the skills to take care of herself. But her dad can't see that. In a way she, at 8 is more mature than her adult parents; hosting and serving and saving the party. But you lent her such an innocense when doing all this and there is dignity from the scolding because of her actions.

I did feel a bit lost about the Sean and the others refrence at the beginning. Do you think developing the reasons for their indifference toward the girl could help? Are they just busy? Do they really not care or understand the girls needs? Do you have plans to resolve their indifference towards her?

I think this is a good essay and worth developing. What were some of the comments you got from your group? If you don't mind sharing, that is!

[anneli]

Holly, thanks for sharing this with us.
I never had real problems in my life, no illness, no hard childhood and I´m really feeing grateful for that! It must be very hard to cope with things like that even if it happened a long time ago.