"I still know how to light the fire," Greta groaned as her children fussed over her having the long matches. They didn't think she could do anything these days, but she'd been lighting fires in the family cabin since she was small, it wasn't something you forgot how to do overnight.
"But mom it'd be better--"
"I said I still know how to light the fire," she interrupted gruffly. Her children were getting ridiculous. First it was a huge cause for concern that she misplaced her keys even though they did that all the time. Then she let some food burn, but that was just an accident. Now they wanted to stop her from her nightly ritual and that was just going too far.
"Okay, mom."
Greta stooped low slowly, feeling her bones creak with the effort, but she didn't mind. It was all part of the ritual. She had stacked the logs and added the sparse kindling in just the way she knew worked. She carefully--see kids, carefully--struck the long match and lit up the kindling. The fire sparked to life.
Staring into the growing flames brought Greta back to another time. She was a small girl, learning how to light the fire with her father. The cabin smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg--it must be Christmas time she thought, it would also explain the nip in the air and the need for the fire.
"Now be careful, Greta," her father said in his smoker's raspy voice. "Fire can be dangerous."
"Then why do we have one in our home?" asked young Greta, becoming instantly afraid.
"Because it can also be wonderful and joyous," he explained with smile. "You just have to mind it."
Greta looked back at the fire, wondering how one tames something so dangerous into a creature that can warm a home. But she crept closer to the fire.
And the flames grew.
Greta found herself a little older now, she had invited her first boyfriend over. Her parents were out of town and she'd promised to keep to herself and to not light a fire, but weren't fires meant to be romantic? It was a little too warm out to really warrant one, but Greta was such a romantic at that age that she had to have one for David, the boy she thought she'd love forever. And for a time, she did.
She and David kissed in front of the fire, the flames warming them even more. When he left, Greta felt the same buzz from his kisses as she snuggled near the fire and so she crept closer to it.
And the flames grew.
Greta now had her own children and was reading to them in front of the fire. The pages were blurry, but she could tell from the weight of the book and the frayed edges that it was their favorite book of fairy tales from when they were children. She kept on reading, not hearing the words, but seeing the firelight dance in the eyes of her children. They were too young to learn how to keep the fire then, but they were not too young to dazzle in it. She leaned into the flames' warmth and marveled at her children.
And the flames grew.
Greta was now alone on a brusque day. Her bones did not creak yet, but the cabin was too empty. Her children were grown and on their own. Not that she would dare wish they stayed with her forever, but still their absence was felt. It was time for a new chapter of her life. One where she could do more as she pleased. But in that moment all she wanted to do was curl up in front of the fire with a good book. And so she stoked the fire higher. She at first reached for the next book club book, but instead picked up the weighty, frayed copy of fairy tales. She settled down by the fire, opened the book, and leaned into the heat.
And the flames grew.
Greta realized she was sitting too close to the fire and her children were pestering her with questions. The hem of her skirt was dangerously close to the embers.
"What are you doing mom?"
Greta looked up at them "I...I don't remember."
Her children quickly put the fire out.
And the flames vanished.
(Prompt by Kimisha Cassidy)
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