Smoking Umbrella
“The way I see it, Charlotte… the only winning move in life is not to play at all.”
Kenneth lay with eyes wide open upon the bed, his gaze fixed to the rotation of the ceiling fan’s blade so that it did not, all at once, merge into the other three, but remained apart from them—independent.
His girlfriend, Charlotte, had just curled up beside him, dressed in her almost translucent nightgown—her figure traced in the moonlight as she crossed the room toward the bed; a slim, petite frame of a woman, with modest, yet enchanting breasts.
“It’s awfully stuffy in here,” she said, her voice muffled against the pillows and sheets. “Did you turn the heat up?” She turned reflexively toward the thermostat.
“It’s not even on,” answered Kenneth smoothly.
Charlotte turned to Kenneth, a slight smirk about her mouth as he lay undaunted by the thick air. She climbed out of bed; the thermostat was off. She climbed back in.
“Quite mild for the early spring, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Kenneth said, his tone placid, “quite mild.”
Charlotte sighed; her sigh morphed into laughter as she turned over beneath the top sheet and straddled Kenneth at the waist.
Her curtain of hair shaded her eyes, but Kenneth could see her sweet, innocent smile in the moonlight—a smile of affection.
She sat up, parting her hair. “What’s gotten into you?”
She leaned closer to his face again, her hair falling behind her ears so that he could see her eyes now.
“It’s nothing,” Kenneth dismissed.
Her eyes widened and her mouth fell agape. “Come on! Quit being silly! What’s the matter with you?” She playfully slapped her hands on his chest.
Should he tell her? No, she’d find out soon enough. It would be over before she could do anything about it. How precious she was in this moment, he thought. How adorable. She knew nothing of what was to come. Ignorance is bliss, so he thought.
How could he obscure the truth?
“Do you remember that old man whom I rented from? He had the house with a second-floor apartment; that was when we were first going out, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said. “According to you, he lazed about all day. He was retired, sure, but… there was something… just… off about him. He was quite odd…”
“Yes,” Kenneth beamed. “People thought he was quite odd, indeed. But what if I told you that he was a genius among men?”
Charlotte grinned, casting a dazed side-eye glance and fidgeting with her hair.
“Really think about it. That old man, he knew. He knew he was at the end of the road. Every stake he had in securing his future? Futile. Every hope of holding on? It was pointless. Who’s to say he didn’t do everything he could? His retirement wasn’t just the end of his working days. No. It was his escape. His avenue to complete serenity. Complete freedom! So tell me, what care should he have for the future of others? What care?”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping.
“The way I see it, Charlotte… the only winning move in life is not to play at all.”
Kenneth grabbed her by the waist and raised his lips to hers. They kissed for a while and both fell back on the bed, their eyes meeting each other’s.
“B-but… I don’t understand,” Charlotte said, only now heeding the full weight of Kenneth’s words. “If the only winning move in life is to not play, then surely you must be surrendering it to someone who will. Why do you think it’s acceptable to lack a will to change?”
“Because change is an illusion. We only have a choice to make based on choices that have already been predetermined for us. If free will means that we are the ultimate source of our actions, then what is really ‘free’ in choosing our actions? They haven’t originated from us, therefore they’re not ours.”
Charlotte turned over flat on her back and placed her open palm on her forehead. “Ugh… it’s awfully hot in here, Kenneth. Really, I can’t bear it…”
“Come on,” Kenneth said, massaging her other arm. “Go to bed.”
“I can’t. I physically can’t. It’s too hot in here.”
“Take a melatonin. There’s some in the bathroom medicine cabinet.”
“Ugh,” Charlotte groaned as she rolled out of bed. Her supple bottom jiggled in her panties. She rifled through the medicine cabinet: cough syrup, fish oil pills, vitamin D, caffeine pills—no melatonin.
“I’ll have to go downstairs,” she said, exiting the bathroom. “There’s none up here. There must be a bottle in the downstairs bathroom.”
Kenneth suddenly leapt to his feet, nearly getting caught in the bedding and falling over as he pounced between Charlotte and the door.
“No…” he said. “Let me go. I’ll get them for you.”
Charlotte appeared agitated now and threw up her arms. “What is the matter with you, Kenneth? I’m not a cripple; I can get them myself.”
“Please don’t, Charlotte,” Kenneth pleaded with her. “Let me fetch them for you. Please.”
“Don’t even bother,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’m not even tired anymore. I can’t possibly sleep like this anyway,” she said, fanning her face.
“What will you do then?” Kenneth asked hesitantly.
“I-I don’t know. I’ll watch something on the TV downstairs if you’ll let me!”
“Charlotte,” Kenneth said mournfully. “I’m sorry.”
“Just go to bed, Kenneth,” she said. “You’ve had a long day.”
Opening the door, there was painted along the wall of the landing a red-orange light that appeared to flicker now and again. She walked farther down the stairs and came to the landing. A faint crackle and popping noise could be heard off to the right, where the foyer separated the living room from the office space. Descending further, she saw it: an immaculate blaze of fire scorching the office space, with thin tendrils of smoke crawling along the ceiling and walls. The office was just beneath their bedroom upstairs.
She stood there momentarily, as if time had come to a standstill. Suddenly, Kenneth reached out and snatched her by the arm, pulling her back upstairs. He dragged her into the bedroom, throwing her from his grip so that she nearly collided with the wooden trunk at the foot of the bed. He slammed the door shut and stood against it, his arms outstretched, his chest dropping and heaving.
“Kenneth,” Charlotte said. An air of dismay laced her voice. “What—what has happened to you?”
“I didn’t start the fire,” he firmly answered. “The electric in the office has always given us a problem, hasn’t it? It’s a pity the landlord hasn’t done anything to fix it after weeks of my complaining! So be it! This is what he wants—it’s what I want, too!”
All conviction and hostility left her at once. She could now smell the fire beneath them, felt the warmth of the flames licking the ceiling below. She almost thought she could see the smoke curl through the seams of the floorboards and carpeting.
“We… we have to get out, Kenneth! The house is on fire!” shrieked Charlotte in her affirmation of life. She rose and ran to the window facing the street. Throwing back the curtains, she hastily undid the latch and pushed the window open. At first, it wouldn’t budge, but her unparalleled strength prevailed. The fire department had just arrived; their sirens blared, and the red and white lights of the engines painted a kaleidoscope inside the bedroom.
“Come on, Kenneth, we have to go!” Charlotte persisted.
Kenneth stood motionless, only turning his head ever so slightly from side to side.
“No,” he said. “No, I can’t let you go. I won’t let you!” He darted toward her and pulled her back from the window, but she latched onto the curtains in a strange tug-of-war. The bracket holding the curtains eventually gave way, and she fell backward on top of him, knocking the wind from his lungs. She didn’t waste any time saving herself and quickly sprang to her feet.
A fireman from outside called out, “Is there anybody up there?”
She ran to the window, gesticulating her arms like some deranged lunatic. “Yes, yes!” she cried out hysterically.
“Bring the life net,” the lieutenant fireman instructed his underlings.
A circular disk of fabric was stretched out just beneath the window of the second-story bedroom by four other firemen.
“Jump! Jump!” the lieutenant cried out.
Charlotte looked back. Kenneth had risen, his eyebrows furrowed and his features almost hideous in the red and white strobe of light.
“Kenneth,” she cried out at last as he made his advance toward her.
She made the plummet like a barrel roll into the life net. The wind, in that moment, whipped past her ears in her descent. All other sounds were briefly mute.
“I’ve got you,” said the lieutenant, helping her from the net.
As she looked back at the window, the silhouette of Kenneth remained. Bright orange flames engulfed the room, and he suddenly grabbed at his head. His screams were momentary, then faded as he collapsed out of view.
She sobbed into the chest of the lieutenant fireman.
“We’ve got ourselves a smoking umbrella,” the lieutenant said solemnly.