Kerosene

He was a little odd, but what man wasn’t?

Shawn liked to be prepared, he said. He lived in the upper of the house across from the Mobil but insisted on keeping a gallon of fuel in a canister the colors of Ronald McDonald just like the one her dad used to use for their lawn mower.

“For my car,” he said. “Just in case.”

Zara nodded.

She’d met him at the corner store: Zara, there to pick up some eggs; Shawn, there for a beer. Of course, she didn’t know his name was Shawn. Until the sound of afternoon fireworks startled her, and she dropped the eggs, Zara didn’t even notice that Shawn was there.

“You should be more careful,” he said, not bothering to hide the laughter dancing in his eyes. Zara could feel his gaze, even as she knelt down to clean up the mess, inspecting her.

“Must not be from around here.”

Zara said nothing. Even in the absence of spoken words, it was often Zara’s eyes that betrayed her. She was learning to slow the steady stream of speech that escaped her lips, to control how much she said, and to whom, knowing that she was getting too old for everyone to know what really should have been on a need-to-know basis, all along.

Her cousin shook his head when he looked out over the counter to see Zara trying to soak up at least some of the egg white, needless to say, to no avail.

“Here,” he said, pushing a roll of paper towels across the counter. “Now I have to mop tonight.”

“Nice to see you, too, Hassan,” Zara muttered, wiping the remaining egg and shells off of the floor. She heard the voice from the man with the laughing eyes again.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What are you doing here,” Zara shot back, more venom dripping from her words than she’d intended. His response contained no words at all, just the can of beer in his hand and a toast to some invisible man.

“Shawn,” he said as he placed the can on the counter. “You shouldn’t drink,” he added helpfully. “Enough of a stumbling block as it is.”

If you took the plank out of your own eye, you might be able to see better, she thought, not allowing what swirled in her mind to escape her lips.

“Go, Zara,” Hassan suggested, his eyes urging her to leave. “I’ll drop the eggs off after I close tonight.” Be safe, Zara, he thought, later wishing that he’d given life to the words he’d left unsaid that day.

“Careful,” Shawn shouted, a few months after they’d met. “You’re going to fall.” Too late, Zara thought, already a heap of cloth and limbs on the ground. “Maybe you should mop the floor,” Zara suggested, peering at the greasy surface from under her hood. “Maybe you should watch your step,” he returned. “Everyone else walks around in here just fine. You’re the first one who’s ever fallen. The only one who ever does.” Zara sighed. She’d slipped just about every time she came in, but eventually learned that it was her poor balance that was to blame. She’d never stopped to question what was on the floor, anyway. This wasn’t a restaurant kitchen, after all: it was the doorway of Shawn’s apartment.

“What’s on the floor,” she asked, struggling to regain her footing.

“You don’t have to come over if you don’t want to,” Shawn said, pausing for a moment before adding, “No one’s ever asked that before. You should work on your balance. That is…” he whispered, turning around to face her, “Unless you like to fall.” Shawn laughed as incredulity spread from Zara’s eyes to the outermost edges of her face. “Hey,” he offered, “Some women do.”

Zara knew that she could take her shoes off and wash her hands, but the liquid that laced the tiled floor was on her clothes, too. Slippery. Odorless. In the corner sat Ronald McDonald, the canister of fuel that Shawn said he kept “just in case.” “But isn’t your car in the shop?” Zara inquired. “It’s been there for a minute now.”

“Do you always ask this many questions?” Shawn carefully washed his hands at the kitchen sink. “It’s your birthday. Don’t you have more important things to worry about than my floor? I’m telling you, no one else has ever asked me about it. Zara glanced at Shawn and saw what looked like a cupcake with a candle in it, sitting on the counter. In his hand was a book of matches. Shawn studied her. “What?” he said, sounding irritated now. “You don’t like candles?” He struck a match and walked towards her. “Easy now,” he said, his eyes mocking her. “You’re about to trip and fall.”

Zara wasn’t sure if the match hit the floor, or if the floor rose up to meet it, but wondering about anything at all was pointless. She heard Shawn’s voice coming from the other side of the wall of flames. “You should be more careful, Zara,” Shawn crooned as the flames danced the way his eyes had on the day they’d first met. “You know, I’d said you don’t have to come over if you don’t want to. And if you come again, I’ll know that you like to get burned. But hey,” he laughed softly, retreating now, “Some women do.”