Trailblazer

As she strolled into the apartment, smiling at her detailed set up, she pondered on the inspiration. She sat down on the simple couch, in front of the simple coffee table, with a simple cup of green tea, while a simple ceramic mid-wag german shepherd grinned at her. On her phone she scrolled to the latest news item.

“HOTEL IN EL CERRITO BURNED TO THE GROUND. THIRD BUILDING THIS YEAR.”

This year? It was only June. She checked her calendar- to her surprise, today was her birthday. She was 32 today.

Her husband would have been 33. Her sister would have been 19. And her own child would have been enrolling in kindergarten.

When her complex burned to the ground, all those years ago, it was still a shock. A fresh news item. But just like gum, the news headline was worn out and unappealing in its toughness. She received a phone call from her therapist, Dr. Patrick.

“Goodmorning Kayla, how are you doing today?”

I’m about as neurotic as Eeyore, Kayla thought to herself.

“I’m feeling well today, Dr. Patrick,” Kayla replied. The phone was propped up against the dog, facing her at an angle that honored her jawline. The white curtains, next to the opaque couch, softened the sun so that her wood-dust skin dimmed in its natural glow. The therapist asked the usual introductory questions,

“Where are you right now?”

In my mother’s ugly old apartment, she internally groaned.

“In my apartment,” she externally replied.

“Do you feel like harming yourself?”

No… not myself. Never myself, she confessed.

“No,” she simplified.

And the conversation went on as always. Breathing techniques, vagus nerve, leaning into a hobby, support systems, and the possibility of joining a community of those who have lost their family. Kayla was praised for finding refuge in candle making.

After the conversation completed, and she had successfully rejected any pharmaceutical support, she walked over to the large window and got down on one jean-covered knee.

“I really did love you,” she said, holding a small circular leaf tenderly. She caressed and looked with watery eyes. All she saw staring back at her was a dying entity. A force that had become too dependent, too reliant, and lost resilience.

“But my love kills.”

Sighing, she picked up the pot that held the dead Centella asiatica, walked across the room, opened the door, and made her way to the garbage shoot. She gave the plant one tender kiss, a final one, then sent it on its journey.

She used to keep the pot that the plants were rooted in, but after being a serial re-seeder, she decided that each new start must come with a new pot. Burn the old bridge, to make room for the new. Not sustainable, but refreshing nonetheless. She heard the plant slide through the shoot, then shut it firmly and turned to walk back to the large gray door that led to the apartment she both loved, and hated.

Most who entered the small Oakland property were quite impressed. The painfully petite size was made large by a theme of persistent minimalism. She never had more than three guests over, because she only had four plates, four knives, four spoons, and four forks. Her couch was seated at the wall, and it was a fun grey color, harmless without a sign of heaviness. Across the couch was a coffee table, low to the ground with four coasters, and a small ceramic dog- the always mid-wag german shepherd.

Her bedroom was hardly different. Walls white, bed sheets white, even a white desk with enough width to hold a laptop, a notebook, and a warm mug. The plug that gave life to her phone never left its designated outlet. And the plug that provided energy to her laptop, was only shifted when she worked at the coffee shop across the street. Perpetually afraid of temperamental bolts of energy, she had an electrician inspect twice a year. Every year.

The bathroom is perhaps the only place where the knock-off minimalism could not be implemented. It was hardly her fault at all. The bathroom was a box. Toilet right next to a shower, which was next to a sink so shallow, only brazen teenagers would respect its depth. And without a cabinet, the shower’s small protrusion held endless hair care products, razors, toothpaste, and even some misplaced vitamins.

Most would say that today is not a day one should stay indoors. The sun was out, and it was rarely out for long. The weather was 68 degrees Fahrenheit. Sharp enough for a jacket, but the sun begged to leave it unzipped, at least.

Kayla was ready to go out and walk around Lake Merritt. The night before she had packed a bag. She and a coworker had agreed to meet and eat dinner together. It wasn’t a date, she made that clear to him, just some pleasant, platonic, male companionship.

She reached inside the fridge, pulled out the bag, and checked the contents. Two sandwiches: tuna, with mustard and onions, made on sourdough bread. Two trail mix bags, the kind with cashews and craisins, and two apples. Once upon a life, she made everything in threes. And it was for people who had specific likes and dislikes.

“I only like the trail mix with craisins,” her sister would remind, again and again.

“Honey, please, we’re out of apples again. I don’t know who keeps finishing them,” Michael said with a joking tone, knowing that he only ate one type of fruit.

“We should start packing more food. You know, you are eating for two.”

“You were,” Kayla corrected her own memory, “You were eating for two.”

And she looked down at the bag again, realizing that she was packing for two once more. Only this time, the second stomach was another man's.

After turning off all the lights in her apartment, unplugging all the electronics (save the refrigerator), and making sure none of her 20 candles would self-combust, she made her way to her door. She felt pleased to leave the apartment in peaceful darkness. She was sure that even if there was a fire in the building, it wouldn’t be her fault this time.

She opened the door and let out a short stark shriek. At the door was the coworker-who-knew-this-wasn’t-a-date-but-just-some-pleasant-platonic-male-companionship. As if in a duet, he released a similar musical scream. She stepped back into her apartment, before stepping forward again and laughing. He was laughing now too and bent down to pick up a brown paper bag and a small leafed plant.

Unable to contort her facial expression, she showed her surprise at his presence and the gift.

“I’m so sorry. My allergies have been so bad this spring, so I decided to surprise you and ask if we can’t eat dinner together here? And maybe at the lake next time?”

Kayla eyed him up and down. Let Michael still be alive, he would have immediately flagged this sort of behavior. Who ever said anything about a 'next time'?

“That’s fine, Leo, but why didn’t you call or text me?”

“I tried to, but there wasn’t any answer….” Leo sheepishly stood at the threshold of the apartment, wondering if he would ever be invited in.

Kayla, who was more than mildly irritated, checked her phone. She had placed it on ‘do not disturb’. But why would she do that? Frustrated by her mistake she shoved the phone into her back pocket. As if on cue, Leo let out a large, thunderous, sneeze.

Kayla eyed him. Her almond shaped eyes made quick work of the lengthy man. He was wearing tan pants with a white t-shirt covered by a bright orange button up. On the side of his light skinned neck was the creep of a tattoo of what looked like a red bird.

“Please,” Kayla pinched herself to force a smile, “Come in.”

Leo released a toothy grin that didn’t reach either of his eyes. She was very familiar with that type of fake smile. His nose ring shifted and twinkled slightly by the hallway light. Kayla was reminded that she had to go and plug everything back in. She was quite irritated.

After shutting the door behind the large, thin man, she made her rounds to re-plug everything necessary and turn on all the lights and open all the window blinds.

“Excuse the mess!” Kayla instructed from the bathroom, pointedly cursing herself for not installing a cabinet sooner. Before she closed the door to Kiara’s old room, which had now become a storage room, she made the aim to take all the pictures and stuff them under a pillow.

“What mess?” Leo chuckled. His laugh, even from the other room, was warm and reverberating. It reached her ears and caused her soul to flicker. She smiled a bit, but reminded herself to keep her joy in strict check. There was no need to spark something she couldn’t extinguish.

Kayla, fixing her hair, walked back to sit next to Leo. His brown eyes looked into hers, and he started talking- not at all swayed by the fact that he was in her home, nearly uninvited.

“I was telling others at work about what you helped me with. I’m not sure how you connected her bloating to ovarian carcinosarcoma. I was shocked. But that’s exactly why they call you Master Kay,” he laughed respectfully at the nickname.

“It wasn’t really me. Once Alia,” she noticed his confusion at the name,”You know- that small sonography tech,” he nodded, “Once she explained the readings, we came up with the possible diagnosis together. But you’re a resident for a reason, even us attendings miss things. And the rarity of this case is special- I’m sure you’ll never forget it.”

Leo smiled without his teeth, and then his stomach grumbled. Kayla sat up straight,

“Oh my,” she exclaimed as she unnecessarily smoothed out her tight blue jeans, “Did you bring any dinner?”

Leo’s teeth broke through, bright as the sun’s rays bouncing off her white walls. She was sure that if she put up a magnifying glass up to the tooth, her small coffee table would start smoking.

Leo reached down and pulled up a brown paper bag. He reached in and pulled out a bowl of pork. By the look of it, it was recently warmed up. He set it on the coffee table slowly, then opened the top. Soon, the entire apartment was dancing with the scent of a well seasoned pig.

Kayla reached to lift up the tupperware to put a mat underneath it. The moment she picked it up, she dropped it. The bowl was so hot, it burned her hand.

“Kayla!” Leo shot up to look at her hands, “I’m so sorry I should have told you that it was hot. Are you alright?”

His voice had real concern buried in it. The heat in the disappointment of himself flushed his face.

Kayla held her small hands tenderly, fighting back the tears that sprung up to eyes. She had been burned before, this was nothing new. After gulping the porky-air, the tears had been suffocated, and she was back under control.

“I’m fine, I just don’t know how you held it so casually. Weren’t you hurt?” Kayla looked at his hands for a sign of distress. She only saw a couple of black rings, and a tight, rope based bracelet.

“No,” Leo eventually replied, “I have a really high pain tolerance I guess. Lets run your hands under some cool water though.”

Leo’s large hands engulfed her own hand, and gently pulled her to the sink. Kayla looked at his hand, then followed the arm up to the ugly orange shirt, until she saw his tattoo. A phoenix. She wondered how such big palms could hold anything gently. He carried her hurt hands like a fragile bird that couldn't fly.

Leo started the water, then delicately guided her hands underneath it. Kayla shut her eyes at the initial pain, then sighed in relief as the burn faded away. She loved doing things that gave her this exact feeling. Warming things up, only to cool them down.

Leo walked back to give her space, then sat on the couch with a large 'oomph.' But as soon as relief set in, Kayla's anxiety returned.

“Leo?” Kayla started.

“Hm?” Leo replied, mouth full of pork that was likely to burn the tongue of any normal man.

“How do you know where I live?” Kayla asked.

She never recalled giving her address to anyone. She wanted it that way. Her work life, and her social life, separate. People who mix the two end up losing everything at once. She knew the feeling.

Even when her fellow physicians begged her to let them throw her a baby shower, she insisted that it be done in the breakroom. Anything to keep the joy safely contained at work.

“Oh, I thought you knew, I’m your neighbor,” Leo said, and then promptly stuffed his mouth with more pork.

Kayla slowly shut the water off. Without taking her eyes off of him, she opened the drawer, moved a couple lighters and dozens of half burned matches out of the way, and pulled out a partially burned hand towel to dry off.

“I had no clue you lived in this building. How long have you been here?”

“Oh, about 5 years or so. I can’t believe you didn’t know. I see you here all the time here,” Leo said, and then started choking and coughing.

Kayla, still stunned that she never knew her favorite resident was actually a resident in her building as well, rushed to grab one of the 4 cups, fill it with water, and hand it to the young doctor.

“Sorry,” Kayla watched as he grabbed the cup and finished all 16 ounces in two gulps. His long yellowed neck widened as each fist of water was forced down his elastic esophagus.

“Ahh,” he groaned obnoxiously, and leaned back into the couch, placing one huge foot over a disproportionately sized bare knee.

Kayla sat next to him again, though this time with her own dinner. She pulled out the doubles, kicking herself for preparing to share with someone other than her husband. It felt like a betrayal. She wondered when it wouldn't always feel like a betrayal.

“Is that for me?” He asked, with a twinge of guilt in his voice. He had not anticipated Kayla watching him eat his pig... like a pig.

“No, I mean yes, I mean, you’re free to it, if you’d like. I’m not quite used to the whole ‘cooking for one’ thing yet,” Kayla stumbled over her words, afraid Leo would take her action the wrong way.

Leo placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you so much. You’re always so thoughtful, Dr. Jordan.”

“Just Kayla,” she smiled and dodged his eye contact. She could tell he was getting too comfortable, so she decided to change the subject. He certainly took her action the wrong way.

“Why did you decide to pursue medicine?” An age old question that every doctor had a scripted response to. She hoped Leo would reveal his cockiness while talking about himself.

Hers? Kayla’s father walked into the doctor’s office once, explaining that he had spontaneous, acute, and unusual back pain. They chalked it up his occupation. He labored as a construction worker for over three decades by that point.

Work? It couldn’t be. He had never had a work-related injury. He was the type of man who was 15 minutes early to everything except a family reunion. He brought his 90% effort to work every single day, saving the last 10% to remind himself that he will always be able to find a better job if necessary. His excellent work ethic was complimented by his physical strength. He was, almost literally, as strong as an ox.

So when he tried to argue that he was very careful at work, he was promptly ignored by the doctor. He was referred to a physical therapist, and given a prescription for 800 mg of ibuprofen and a note to tell his work that he would need modified activities.

It wasn’t much longer before he was in dialysis. And then, he was dead.

Kayla looked at the simple ceramic mid-wag german shepherd, which carried part of her father’s ashes inside. Her sister argued against the cremation, but Kayla explained the burning him was something that would simplify him. It would bring him to a better physical state.

That was when Kayla found her first comfort in fire.

She looked back up at Leo. He was in the middle of his own medical story, but she had lost herself in thought.

“... so yeah, you were actually a real great inspiration. I remember when you came to my college to try and explain how necessary it is to see Black bodies in every aspect of medicine. I even asked you to give me tips on my application. And you eyed my tats and told me, ‘own yourself. Unapologetically.’”

Kayla stopped chewing.

“I’m sorry, wait. What are you talking about?” She was embarrassed at herself, but also curious to find out how exactly she fit into his narrative.

“It was you, Kayla. Your passion gave me the courage to keep trying. I passed orgo with a B+ that semester and even took over as president of WC4BL organization on campus. The same position you had,” it was now Leo’s turn to dodge eye contact.

He was proud of his efforts and his accomplishments, but being that he was now by his icon, he felt the nerves crawl back into his spine. Self conscious about his rambling, he continued to sip water from a clearly empty cup.

“You went to Cal? I’m sorry, we met before Methodist Hospital?” Kayla squinted her eyes, desperately trying to remember Leo in any situation outside of the hospital.

She had spoken to him while volunteering for a medical school outreach? And he was her neighbor? How had she missed all of this? They had been working together for just a year now. But still.

“Yes,” Leo was hurt. His mouth was shoved off to the side as he internally struggled with how he could be so incredibly unnoticeable.

Being forgotten was a running theme in Leo’s life. But he made sure no one would forget him ever again. That’s why he added the tattoos. It’s the reason why he chose the nose, over the ear, for his first piercing. It's why he had the phoenix on his neck. So that even if he was killed, he would rise up to be remembered again.

Leo discovered that people viewed him the same way they viewed the seasons. When it’s winter, no one ever remembers how good summer was to them. And when it’s summer, they curse it, and wish for cooler weather. Sometimes, one has to leave their mark, to be appreciated.

“Sorry- uh- can I use your restroom?”

Kayla got up and showed him to the box of a bathroom, and then walked back to the couch to sit down.

Had she really become so forgetful?

While Leo was washing his hands in the pitiful sink, there was a knock on the door. She got up to find a policeman.

Just, great, she thought.

“Hello ma’am, I’m so sorry for the disturbance. Someone has threatened the residents of this building, and we’re asking everyone to consider evacuating for the night as we check the building for any safety concerns. Do you have any place to stay tonight? If not, we will be able to set you up with accommodations.”

“I’m sorry, is it a bomb threat?” She countered, wondering why the threat wasn’t disclosed immediately.

“There is no evidence towards anything specific, but there were rumors of attempted arson.”

Kayla’s lips separated slightly from one another. The cool hallway air slipped into her lungs and she slowed her breathing. Flashbacks plagued her mind.

Waking up and choking. Michael wasn’t moving. Her being too weak to move him. Finding Kiara in the guest room bed, because she never wanted to leave her soon-to-be niece. The pain in her abdomen. The overwhelming heat.

“Ma’am. Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“Yes,” Kayla composed herself, “My mother’s. Thank you, officer.”

Kayla closed the door behind her, then leaned on it with her back. A shiver of guilt made a crown around her head, and a storm in her stomach.

Then she noticed... the bathroom light was still on, and the door was open. But Leo wasn’t sitting on the couch, nor was he in the bathroom.

Kiara’s old room light was on.

Kayla stomped over to the room and saw Leo on the bed, surrounded by dozens of unpacked boxes. He was holding a framed picture of Kiara, Michael, and her unborn daughter.

Leo looked up.

“Kayla, I’m so sorry.”

“We have to leave,” she simplified often for those who likely wouldn't understand her.

“I’m sorry, I know this was an invasion of privacy. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop-”

“No, I don’t care. We have to leave. Police believe that this building might be subject to an arsonist,” she said 'arsonist' with increased enunciation. As if it was a foreign word to her.

Leo’s mouth shut. His hand nervously scratched his phoenix. Kayla continued,

“The police are suggesting that we find somewhere else to stay tonight while they examine the building.”

Kayla’s phone buzzed.

“POLICE SUSPECT ARSON IN RECENT BUILDING FIRES”

“I- I don’t have any place to stay. So I’ll get a hotel room,” Leo mumbled, and he started to get ready to leave.

He had made things awkward. It wasn’t his first time messing up something he had really liked. He felt the urge to tear it all down, and start from scratch.

Kayla watched him shift past her. She grabbed his arm, instinctively. Her dainty hands couldn't cover the circumference of his forearm. Kayla noticed his dry skin. Leo turned back, confused.

“Come and stay with my mother and me. A hotel was burned earlier today, it may not be safe,” Kayla explained in a matter-of-fact manner, so that he wouldn't get the wrong idea.

Leo’s eyes glowed, as if embers landed in them. He nodded excitedly. He definitely got the wrong idea.

***

Leo, carless, took public transport for all his needs. He said he had nothing of value in his apartment, so they both were in Kayla’s sedan with only her things, on their way to the city to stay with her mother.

It was nice having a man in the apartment again, someone who could help her carry the heavy boxes. Leo was more than happy to help, pleased that Kayla hadn’t been too offended by his overreach. It was possible he wouldn’t need to start over. It was possible Kayla simply wasn't the type to ask too many questions. Leo liked that type.

Kayla parked in front of the old Victorian home and sighed deeply. The last thing she wanted to do was to burden her mother. She rubbed her sleep deprived eyes. When they opened, Leo’s hand was on her upper arm, petting it gently. He leaned- lips first- only to meet Kayla’s palm in his face. He noted the taste of pumpkin candle wax.

“Leo, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. But I am not interested in romance. Just friendship.”

After leaning back to his original position, he turned his head. But not quickly enough, for Kayla saw the blush rise up to his caramel cheeks.

“No, it’s alright,” Leo stumbled over his words, “I misread the situation.”

Kayla kicked herself. She knew this was a possibility, but when he asked her, she said yes. Even though she tried to make it clear that she wasn’t looking for a date, she knew that men constructed their own fantasies, and lived by those rules explicitly. Yet again, she had lost control over the situation. A bridge was now burning, one she had doused with gasoline just so Leo could drop the match.

When they got out of the car, Kayla drew him in for a hug, thanking him for helping her move her things. While wrapping her arms around him, she noticed that he smelled like oak and chalk, and felt a bit like a skeletal model she studied in Anatomy and named Bill.

When they reached the front door, Kayla rang the doorbell. It wasn’t long before her mother’s footsteps were heard rushing down to meet her daughter. They embraced, and they moved her things into her small home.

“And you, what do you want to drink?” Kayla’s mother asked Leo.

“Oh no, I’m sorry, I’m not staying,” Leo said, staring at his feet.

Kayla looked at him quizzically. She understood, of course, the potential embarrassment.

“Where will you stay?” Kayla asked.

“I’ll take the BART back and see if I can’t grab something I forgot at my place. Then I’ll head to Berkeley, and stay in a hotel there. I’ll take my chances.”

And with that, Leo got up, and left.

Kayla stopped to ponder the interaction. The neon boldness of Leo’s shirt. How his large hands swallowed her own. The comfort he possessed to walk into a closed room and dig around for photos. His tolerance for pain. As a medical doctor, she was used to taking signs and symptoms and looking for a diagnosis.

For the horrifically orange shirt- a typical case of poor heterosexual male fashion sense.

Considering the touchiness of his large hands- a possible diagnosis of physical touch as his sole love language.

When she reviewed his lack of response to a painful stimulus, she considered a lack of pain-receptors. Which could be genetic, but was likely environmental. Leo was likely calloused to burning things and himself. She could relate.

Kayla’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was already 11:27 PM, and she hadn’t anticipated staying up this late. A friend of hers was calling her, checking to see if she was alright.

“Kayla, good evening. Sorry for the late call. I was just checking to see if you were alright.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Kayla’s thin brows bent in quick frustration, but remembering the intention behind the call she softened her face, and her voice, “Thank you for calling, I’m doing well. I’m surprised you heard about the threat to my apartment.”

“Threat?” the friend asked, as if they were on two different pages.

“Yeah, apparently there were rumors about the apartment being targeted by some crazy arsonist,” she didn't know why she tried to sell the word 'arsonist' with the adjective 'crazy.' For all she knew, he, or she, could be very well in their right mind.

“Kayla...,” The friend trailed.

“Hm?” she couldn’t tell why his voice was disappointed, but also full of pity.

“Your building… it caught fire. It’s all over the news. I am so sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”

Silence.

“Kayla. Did you hear me?” Her friend's voice knocked on the phone.

I did it again, Kayla began to chant over and over again in her mind. The crown of guilt tightened on her forehead, like a bad tension headache.

“Yes,” is what she replied.

“Kayla, I am so sorry. Do you want me to come over?”

I can’t stop. Why can’t I stop? She bit her full lip, till just a bubble of blood popped and spilled down her lips.

She touched it with her ring finger, then slowly spread it across her lips. The same color she wore on her wedding day. The same color she saw that night when she was pulled out of the burning complex.

“Thank you, but I’m okay. Have a good night,” and she hung up the phone.

As if in a daze, Kayla walked to her old bathroom, and turned on the shower. She didn’t have to wait for the water, she always took her showers cold. She sat, allowing the water to hit her head and cool her body.

The water ran over her frame, rinsing off hundreds of darkened and jagged burn marks. Some of them old. Most of them new.

End.

This story is owned by the original author: Chigozie Maduchukwu. (Copyright)