IN THE FIRE

“I never wrote him a letter.”

“Have you ever written anyone a letter?” The boy’s father asked.

“He wrote me four.”

“It’s not a competition, pal. Adunya wrote letters to you because he’s your friend. But even without the letters, he would still be your friend.”

“What if he’s mad I didn’t make an effort?”

“Would you be?”

The boy shrugged and stared into the fire. He would be. He knew it. And it made his gut feel hollow. If Adunya had not sent letters, the boy would think he had been forgotten.

The boy’s father leaned back and rubbed his chin. The fire demanded attention in quiet moments. And the boy’s father, like the boy, did not resist.

The flames led them into a dance, a soft rhythm--the seduction of warmth, the threat of destruction. It held them in a quiet trance and almost stole their thoughts.

But for the boy, the dark part of the flames, the blue, the almost black, felt like a mirror. It stared back at him and pierced his heart.

Yet inside that darkness, the boy also saw visions of lions and buffalo, deer and bears. He did see fear. But when he thought about hunting and fishing with his friend again, he saw hope.