I said that tonight and then, later, I thought about it. When did this happen? I'm afraid of a lot of things that started, I thought, in my childhood, but when I try to think back to when I first remember feeling this fear, to figure out why this fear, well, I can't pinpoint it. The more I thought tonight about my fire fear I realized it is not so much a fright of flames flickering about, but more the idea of creating fire. I don't like lighting matches. Or candles. Or bunsen burners.
The first memory that came to me was having to light a match to light my bunsen burner in high school. My chemistry teacher was the football coach, and his reputation was that of a tough cookie. I worried for days for the day that I would have to set fire to the area under the test tube. When the day came and the teacher questioned why I had not lit my burner I practically cried. And then I did what I tended to do when caught in sticky situations; I lied.
I told a version of the truth. I told my teacher that I was afraid of fire because I had lost a brother to it. I told stories of how he use to light matches, of how he enjoyed the glow of the flame, and how after many times catching the woods behind our neighbor's house on fire he moved his pyro obsession to the car. It was here where he succumbed, catching the car on fire and himself. The teacher patted me on the shoulder and lit my bunsen burner for me. He might have been tough on the football field, but in the classroom and with the girls he was an old softie. It was only after my lab partner scoffed and said, "Banana, you're a lying stack of shit," that he decided I was heading in the right direction to become a writer.
I only have one brother, and while he certainly went through a pyro stage, he did not blow himself or our car to smithereens. He had a few episodes with starting fires in the woods behind said neighbor's house, and he tortured me with lighting matches, and so I decided last night to blame him for my fear of making fire. So when my husband returned from walking the dog during one of Tropical Storm Colin's breathers, and told me to quickly come outside to show me a potential fire hazard I was not the calm, cool, collected person I always am in crisis situations.
My husband led me outside in the spitting rain to point out that the palm tree in the neighbor's yard, katty corner to us and behind us, was blowing in the 30 mile and hour winds, and each time it brushed against the electrical wires that run through our backyards sparks shot into the sky. Sparks! From the electric pole! The wind blew. The palm fronds swayed, touched the wires, and SPARKS. IT was like watching a fireworks show. Immediately, although my body stood perfectly still in the driveway, inside it was running around the driveway shrieking.
Me: "OH MY GOD! It's going to catch on fire!"
Tom: "More likely the transformer will blow and we'll lose power."
Me: "Or the tree will catch on fire, or the wind will blow the sparks on to our house and the house next to us, and the whole neighborhood will catch on fire."
Tom: "Good thing it's raining then."
That's my husband. He's calm, cool, and collected in situations where I am not. Instead of that having a soothing affect on me it pisses me off, and then I tend to just panic more. Which I did in this situation. I came up with ten scenarios of a burning inferno caused by this palm tree that was growing into the electric lines. I told him we needed to alert the electric company, the neighbors who owned the tree, the neighbors up and down the street, the fire department. I ran inside and made the kids come outside and join in my hysteria. I ran out to the pool deck to see if I could see it up closer, and not being able to do so, I ran back to the front of the house. The dog thought this was great fun and he ran with me jumping up at me and barking.
The palm tree neighbors were not home. Tom called them.
Me: "Leave a message! Why didn't you leave a message? They were probably right there and didn't recognize the number."
Tom: "What would I have said? It would have been too long of a message and they aren't home."
Me: "How do you know this? They are probably like us, watching TV and not caring about answering the phone until they hear someone leave the message. You could just start off by saying who you are, reminding them we live behind them, and by then they will pick up the phone and you can tell them their house is going to catch on fire."
Tom: "You need to relax."
Me: "I don't like fire. I'm afraid of fire."
I paused then and thought about that statement. That gave Tom enough time to get on the phone with the power company. He explained the situation, used the fireworks analogy, tromped outside to describe what he was seeing, gave the neighbor's address, gave our address, scheduled a date for trimming trees, left his number, and hung up.
Me: "Well? What did she say?
Tom: "She said call the fire department if the tree catches on fire."
Supposedly, the company would send someone out to survey the scene. I spent another hour running outside to check the progress. I swore I smelled smoke. I know I heard popping and sizzling noises. I called and left a message on the neighbor's phone letting them know their tree was causing dangerous sparks. Eventually Colin got bored and began dumping tons of rain on us once again. Tom went to bed.
I've checked the trees once more, standing under an umbrella that threatened to carry me up, up, up into the air where I probably would have connected with the power lines myself. The sparks were very minimal. I thought maybe even the tree had shrunk some. I imagined the brave power company man shimming up the trunk to trim the palm fronds while I was finishing my television program. I gave up and took a shower where I pondered my fire fear. Here's hoping to our house still standing tomorrow.
Update: It rained all night and morning. No fire. No more sparks. Haven't heard from the neighbors or the power company. The top of the tree, however, is brown, although you can't see that in the photo. So much for panicking....
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