Fire is the great fixer. Dad taught me that. His last words were, “Boy, if you’ve got a problem, fix it with
fire.” Then the cancer took him. We never even hugged. He kept making me repeat it.
The next day, I got in a wreck. I suppose you heard this on the news. Exchanging info, I was suddenly
overwhelmed and tipped a lighter to the pool of gas beneath my car. Took care of that problem! And
when I got home, my landlord started nagging me about the rent I was behind. Problem: rent. Solution:
fire. I watched the blaze from across the street.
Day two. I hid from the cops and kept fixing problems. This alerted them more quickly. The answer to
the cop car was gasoline. Then I solved a dog that barked at me. I scorched all my hair and went to the
store to get something for my burns, but had to burn down the store instead. Sure, problems turned to
ash, but fire has a way of catching.
Today is the third day since dad died. Mom, I know he found me disappointing, and I was only looking to
say goodbye, but what did he mean—mean about the fire? I think the problem might really be me. I’m
the problem. The problem and the fixer. Problem: me. So- lution: fire. I know what he was trying to say.
“Boy, you were always a problem. Fix this with fire.”

INVIA LE CORREZIONI