AFTER THE FIRE

My Duty. My Routine.

It hand been several months at this point since we lost mother in the fire. Hanna had taken it especially hard, but she focuses the anger inwards and doesn’t speak much anymore. Probably not for the best, but it is something.

As we wander from one dusty burnt out town to the next she follows just footsteps behind me.

I can hear the soft steps in the dust and dirt as she keeps a steady pace. I can hear the occasional hurried step to keep up when the distance between the two of us gets to be too much for her. She wears her old worn out hi-fi stereo headphones that are much too big for little head, listening to music of what seams to be an ancient past nowadays. She always wears them. Always.

She needs me more than ever, but she is stronger than she thinks. I do fear that she may not hear incoming danger when the time comes. She always wears them. Those old shabby things.

The only time she takes those things off is when she sleeps. Well actually, I take them off for her. It is my duty. My routine. Every evening when we have found a place to take cover from the elements. I remove them from her sleepy head. I take her small dirty, little iPhone and charge it for her. So it will be ready for her.