Eight

Nineteen years ago, almost to the day, I found my love of fire. What eight year old doesn't like fire? I suppose I should be a little more clear. I discovered my love of setting fires. I was quite an apt little arsonist. It all started when my brother told me there was no santa. Yes, there was a time I believed that pathetic lie. Christmas time was the only time of year that brought any kind of joy into my angry life. I was livid. Not at my brother, and not that there wasn't a santa, but that my parents had lied to me. Every year my father took us out to cut down a tree and had us decorate it, demeaning us the whole time, so santa would come. Bastard! I knew I had to get even.

That night, after everyone was in bed I sneaked out of my room and tried to devise a plan to destroy my parents. Killing them wasn't an option. My father slept with a gun beside his bed and was faster than me, so that was out of the question. And my mother was sometimes kind, I couldn't think of a great reason to kill her. As I was sitting in the den staring at the ridiculous tree it dawned on me. Burn it. If the whole house burned and everyone died, so be it. I got a book of matches and a cigarette. I lit the cigarette, something I had done with my brother too many times, took a couple puffs, then set it under the match book like it was in a tent. I went back to bed, calm in my decision.

What seemed like hours passed, but it couldn't have been that long. I heard my older sister scream for our parents and that's when everything started happening really fast. Mother gathered up all us kids and father was trying to put out the fire. When the fire department arrived most of the den was in flames. I was thrilled. They had lied to me so that's what they had coming. A few days later we moved back in. There had been no serious structural damage to the house, but it was the last time we celebrated christmas. I eventually told father what I did because I wanted to see his face. I told him it was his fault for lying to me, he didn't see it that way and I didn't sit for a week. That was typical of our relationship, us lashing out at each other.

This is my most memorable christmas... what's yours?