For years, when I was little, when I wasn’t little anymore, I felt my way to the bathroom at night, refusing to open my eyes in the dark. As long as I kept my eyes closed I was safe. I would have one more second before I knew, and this was worth all the bruises on my shins, even once a broken toe. This was worth it, the not knowing. The refusing to.

Any second the light would click on in the living room and there I would be and not asleep. If only I had been asleep I would have been safe, of this I was certain, but I wasn’t. Perhaps I would have to act first. Jump up, scream, make a noise loud enough to surprise it. Roar at it maybe, roar it away from me fast and now.

Click. The light came on. I leapt up from behind the crib screaming, my chest heaving, the breath not behaving in my throat, and there I was. Another me, smiling. What I’m trying to tell you is that I was right there in front of me, wearing my long brown coat. My hair was done up nicely. I even had a little make up on. I was standing there smiling in the smoking burning light. What I’m trying to tell you is that the red lips framing her teeth were mine. I grabbed the baby, thank God I did. Thank God I thought to grab him. He didn’t wake, he was hot and limp against my shoulder. The me across the room frowned a little and then I ran and the me that didn’t have the baby took one second to realize that I was running and I used that second to throw open the door to E’s room and grab her too out of the dark and then I was running for the door and I would never make it and who was to say anyway that making it to the door would mean we would be safe. Who was there really that could say that?

There was a burning smell that became stronger as I ran down the hallway, and the heat in the apartment suddenly rose like hands against my face, pushing me back. I wrapped us all in my arms and ran down the hallway, with me, the other me, I knew, coming after. We were both just as fast as each other.

Stop, I heard her say, in my voice exactly. Stop. What are you doing? And there was fear in her voice, which of course was mine, a wild fear that I hadn’t expected. Give them back to me, she said. Then there was smoke and real flames and my hand grabbed the door handle and it was so hot that my skin smoked and stuck to it. The apartment was on fire. There was real fire all around us, eating everything up. The apartment was on fire and all the locks were done up tight.