The flames scorched my limbs as I ran through the house. The blanket around my body was no match for the wicked fire threatening to engulf me. Where are they? The flames were becoming impenetrable. I found myself mentally cursing my parents for investing in a wooden house. How could they be so foolish! I continued searching for them, calling their names. But, the fire was roaring throughout the house. I felt water start to pool in my eyes but immediately evaporate. As if nothing could survive a heat this great. 

 “Tigris!” I heard someone shout as I snapped back to reality. Rolling my eyes, I continued walking. God, I hated that nickname. It was given to me because of the scars on my arms. The ones that imitate tiger stripes. The ones I got from the fire all the years ago. 

The cold air made me shiver as it filled my lungs. I always enjoyed the winter, especially the trees. They had the amazing ability to drop their unwanted leaves. I always emulated them. Plus, they made the walk home much more bearable. 

On rare occasions I might take the train, but as anyone can imagine, that isn’t exactly a joy to do. Everywhere I go, people shout out my nickname, whisper about my condition, criticize my baggy clothes or anything horrible about my life.

Every word they say is true and it hurts, but I never show it. It is better to just ignore everyone. I pass the movie theater and car garages. I pass the beggars lying on the brown crumbling sidewalk. Every day they lay there on a blanket wrapped in the coats that the kinder people give them. I wish I could help them, but I’m too worried that my problems may lead to the exact same situation. 

I finally made it to the trailer park, my home; rows and rows of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. And possibly the only ones on this island that don’t call me Tigris. I walked up to trailer thirteen and found a familiar face waiting to greet me in the front yard, by the fire pit. It’s not a real yard, of course, but there’s a bit of grass, so we like to imagine it is. 

“Hello, Emilie! How was school?”

“Same as always, Aunt Jin. I’m just happy to be home for the holidays now,” I reply

“Well, I’m just happy you and your sister are both home now for a while. Your sister is  inside waiting for you. Dinner will be ready soon,” Jin smiles.

“Thanks, Aunt Jin,” I say. Aunt Jin isn’t our real aunt, though. She’s just a kind old lady that found us on the streets as kids. 

As soon as I walk in the door, Lily jumps into my arms. We both hit the floor, but neither of us mind, so I just hug her. 

“I haven’t seen you all day! Where were you this morning?” she asked, still on top of me. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I went in for extra tutoring.”

As if one cue she removed herself from me and stood up, “That’s a lie. You’re a straight A student. Tell the truth.”

I walk over and sit on my bed in defeat, “I went to the house.”

“Again? Em, that’s the third time this week!” 

I don’t know why but I felt ashamed. The fire was years ago. I’m a high school senior now. I should be mature enough to accept my parent’s passing. But I can’t find it in me.

I can’t even let go of the memory of our old shabby house. The old wood on the outside of the house was dark with dirt today. I even saw large chunks of metal and wood falling off the mucky windows. And, you can’t even go on the porch because it collapses on itself. The lightest weight in the world could crush the porch like a leaf would crush an ant. 

After dinner, we all sit around the small campfire in the front yard. Lily threw some sort of sand in it that made the fire turn alluring colors like blue and pink. Some flames were even a dark red. 

Red like my mother’s blood stained shirt when I found her in the crumbling house. The ceilings were collapsing, but I managed to get Lily out. I ran back inside to get my parents. Just then, the fire started getting worse. Fiery red and orange flames were consuming the house. I was able to make it to their bedroom but there was a wall of fire blocking the entrance. 

I grabbed the closest thing I could find, screaming from the pain and threw it at the door, which crumbled to pieces at the contact. 

Holding the blanket closer to my body, I ran through the flames and found my mother on the floor crushed by a beam. The blood on the floor was boiling. It was too late to save her from the falling roof that had housed us all these years. 

 I don’t dare cry or scream her name, the smoke is too thick. So, I try to focus on finding Father, he may still be alive. I run through the room, but the smoke is getting worse. The sting is building up in my eyes, making my vision blurry. “Father!” I cry but I hear nothing. I tried again, “Father!”

“Emilie?”I hear.

I look around trying to locate him but no one is there. “Emilie!”

Lily and Aunt Jin are looking at me very concerned. “Are you okay, dear?” Jin asked. I open my mouth to answer but no words come out, only tears. 

Later, all I can do is stare at my body in the mirror, at the scars that gave me my nickname. At the girl who was too late to save her parents. 

I walk out of our tiny bathroom and into the one room we all share. I put on my usual gray oversized sweater and baggy jeans. I grab my red beanie, the one that belonged to my father. I head out, trying not to cry as I walk toward my old home. For once, I don’t mind the people on the streets calling out “Tigris.” 

After an hour of walking, I made it. And there are no children to mock me as they play in the park across the street. No people out on their porches making sure to draw more attention to me then was needed. Even the loud cars with the engines that pop are nowhere to be seen. No one here but me and the house I used to love.

Soon enough, I find myself on my knees crying just outside the porch. How could I have let it happen? Why couldn’t I save them from the fire? From the falling roof, that they always said we were so lucky to have. I could’ve saved them from the house that they spent so much of their lives saving up for. 

I think about how weak I am. I think about how I am not brave enough or strong enough to save them. I think about how I should have called 911 sooner. I think about how maybe that could have saved them, even saved me from the scars on my body. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

I turn around and see Lily standing behind me. Her bright red hair was tucked under a winter hat. Her eyes are tearing up. She wore the one winter coat I could afford her, a pink coat that was too small but she loved it all the same.

“What?” I asked.

“I said it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t cause their deaths. You tried, that is what matters. And you still have me. And I love you.” She was on the ground with me now. “The fire happened ten years ago, you were only ten. It wasn’t your fault. Please talk to me. I’m your little sister after all.”

“You’re only twelve. How could you understand?” 

She looks at me very seriously and says, “try me.”

So, that is how my road to recovery began. Just by talking with my sister, Aunt Jin and eventually a therapist.  I went to medical school on a scholarship, studying to be a doctor. Lily is in high school now, and she’s the brightest in her class. These days, Aunt Jin and her are living in a townhouse. I live there, too, when I’m not working. 

I still miss my parents, but I’m doing much better now. The process of recovery and acceptance is not an easy one. And, I suspect that part of my pain will always stay with me. But that’s okay, because I have people who love me and want to help.