Fire and Ice Both Burn

1998

Only silence filled the drive home. The man clenched his jaw, eyes fixed on the road, but even the icy air from the open window couldn't clear the heavy fog in his chest. The woman stared down at the hospital band on her wrist. The empty car seat sat in the back, a silent and haunting weight. He had clicked off the radio the minute they had gotten into the car as if he was going to speak. He did not.

The house was cold, quiet, and dark when they arrived. It had been several days since either of them had been home. The mailbox was full. The bananas were overripe. The garbage emitted a smell strong enough to make the woman gag.

He laid in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the streetlight on the bedroom wall, broken up by the half-open blinds. He did not move when she walked through the room. His eyes stung, his face burned, but he did not cry.

She stood under the shower, letting the hot water scorch her skin, as though she could burn away the ache she couldn’t name. Tears mixed with the water, but they didn’t feel like enough. Her hands gently rubbed her swollen stomach. When she finally crawled into bed, she laid down on top of the comforter, towel still surrounding her, with her back to the man.

The days stretched into weeks, and life, against all odds, crept forward. The silence that once defined their home softened, replaced by the echoes of new beginnings.

2008

Laughter filled the living room, bursting it at the seams, spreading all the way to the kitchen where the woman stood frosting a bright purple cake. She smiled as she placed a large candle in the middle shaped like the number six. Reaching into the freezer, she grabbed a gallon of vanilla ice cream.

Ten children sat around the dining room table. Eight of them stared at the boy and girl at the head of the table as they prepared to blow out the burning flame of their birthday candle. Each year it was a race to see who could blow it out faster. She usually cheated, blowing it out before their parents finished singing ‘Happy Birthday.’ This year was no different.

The boy ate two bites of his ice cream before his teeth started hurting from the cold. He shoved the bowl at his sister with frustration. He hopped down from the table, and, leaving his polka dot party hat on his chair to save his seat, wandered into the kitchen. The woman followed closely behind him with a smile.

The girl watched her brother walk carefully back to the table with a big mug. He held it with both hands, a look of absolute concentration on his face. As he seated himself back in his chair, she scooted down a little bit, not wanting a replay of the other night when he had spilled hot chocolate all over her.

The laughter carried them through the years, but time, as it does, had a way of softening bonds and bringing new distractions.

2018

The woman watched her two children fight over who got to drive the car from the front window. Hot tears filled her eyes as she watched her daughter get into the driver’s seat with a big grin on her face. She watched her daughter carefully adjust the mirrors, and, just as she was about to back out of the driveway, she gave her mother an enthusiastic wave.

The boy sat in the passenger seat shivering. The AC roared on full blast, and every time he went to turn it down a little bit, his sister batted his hand away. He cracked his window, little enough that she wouldn’t notice, and embraced the warm air that blew in.

The girl sighed as she stepped out of the cool car and onto the hot asphalt of the high school parking lot. She wore flip flops, shorts, and a t-shirt - the coolest she could get without disobeying dress code. Pulling her long, dark hair back into a ponytail, she started towards her friends, ignoring her brother with which she’d drove.

Sixth period was the boy’s favorite class of the day. Everyone laughed at him when he took cooking, but who was laughing now as he ate warm brownies or homemade lasagna right out of the oven. Not them.

The girl checked her watch once more before starting the car and screeching out of the parking lot. Sweat caused her hair to stick to her face and neck, and she couldn’t sit in the heat for a minute longer. Besides, he was going to make her late for her salon appointment.

Years passed in the blink of an eye, turning sibling squabbles into a quiet, unspoken understanding.

2028

The boy, now technically a man, looks up at his sister through the open bathroom door. She stood in front of the mirror, touching up her eye makeup for the third time. She shouldn’t have worn any if she knew she was going to continually cry it off.

He let her take her time, but it was clear she was only delaying the inevitable—waiting for the right moment to face what was coming. He could have pushed her to hurry, but he knew better now.

She fidgets with everything: her hair, makeup, jewelry, and dress. She can feel her brother watching her, waiting for her to be ready to leave. His patience was unprecedented: with her, with mom. Her eyes started to burn yet again, but she ignored them. Standing up straight, she turned towards her brother.

She let him drive for the first time. The silence felt heavy, but not unbearable—just familiar. He glanced at her as she stared out the window, watching the snow settle on her bare arms, but didn’t say anything. When he reached for the heat, she didn’t stop him. Neither of them spoke, and it was more than enough.