Myna
Hale sat in the empty grass lot as the burning blaze grew higher.
Smoke released from her mouth as her cigarette dangled between
her fingers as her hand rested on her knee. Lights flashed atop
the police squad cars and fire trucks as the sun began to set.
Holding the last bit of her cigarette in her mouth, Myna pulled
her hair back into a hair tie giving her a long blonde ponytail.
“Myna!
Myna, what happened?” Jenna Garrison moved closer to her
next door neighbor. A final puff of smoke escaped from Myna’s
lips as her cigarette was extinguished.
“I
have no idea. I went around the corner to the store and came back
to this,” Myna said standing. Water streamed onto the almost
charred three bedroom house. “That house was so quaint and
perfect. You must be devastated to lose everything.”
“I’ll
live.”
“As
long as you are okay, but where’s Jon? His car is here,”
Myna looked to the silver Bentley that sat at the curb. Her lips
parted as she looked down at the sidewalk and then to her close
friend.
“I
don’t know.” Myna stared back at the smoldering house
as a small grin appeared upon her face.
Myna’s
day began as regularly as possible. Jon Hale woke minutes after
his wife finished cooking the morning breakfast. Moving down the
stairs, the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, toast and eggs floated
through the air. Jon’s gray crisp suit fitted his slightly
muscular body as he slid onto a bar stool opposite the stainless
steel kitchen his wife stood in.
“Good
morning, sweetheart.” Myna greeted her husband with a large
smile, placing a large plate of two pieces of buttered toast and
eggs, sunny side up, in front of him.
“Have
you seen that folder I had last night?” Jon held up his briefcase
and began rummaging through it.
“Is
it in your office?”
“Go
get it,” Jon said, still digging through his briefcase. Myna
knew that it was another command her husband gave constantly.
She moved reluctantly to the office of her administrative husband.
“Myna!
You know I hate my eggs like this. I like them scrambled.”
Myna dropped the brown folder into Jon’s lap as she looked
at the plate.
“I’ll
fix it.”
“No
matter. I’ve to go. Where’s my coffee?”
“Freshly
brewed.” Myna handed the silver thermos to her husband. She
offered her ruby lips for a good bye kiss, but was shunned with
the closing of the front door.
Myna
moved from the counter and went about her regular “housework."
Opening the hidden wine cabinet, Myna revealed a half bottle of
pure vodka. The clear liquor swished around the bottle as she
hopped up on the counter.
“I
don’t deserve this,” Myna took a large swash of the
colorless spirit as she leaned again the wall.
“I
would kill for something better.” Myna looked around the
kitchen at the dishes that sat piled high, odds and ends scattered
everywhere and uneaten food and trash piled into the trash bin.
Unlike the housewives on television, she was not desperate for
sex or the perfect family. Myna wanted a life without the struggle.
She wanted a life different from her mother and commanding and
abusive father. It must have been the vodka or Myna’s Russian
roots, but as she looked at the empty house and thought about
her life, she came up with the idea to get rid of all her annoyances
and get what she desperately needed.
Jon
Hale entered his home from a long day of work and business luncheons.
Jon’s expectation of a home life was coming home to a clean
house and a large, hot dinner waiting for him. Jon loosened his
tied as he moved to his office but stopped in his tracks as he
saw the kitchen as it was that morning.
“Myna!
What the hell is going on?” Myna sat on the counter, Indian
style, the newspaper in front of her.
“What
are you doing?”
“Reading
the newspaper.”
“Did
it, at any time today, occur to you that you should have cleaned
up?”
“It
did, but I got busy.”
“Doing
what?”
“Stuff.”
Myna looked deep into her husband’s angered eyes.
“You’ve
been drinking.”
“You’re
smart.” Myna let her Russian accent slip from her lips.
“Clean
up. I’m going to be busy doing my work. Something that’s
important. Don’t bother me.” Jon headed for his home
office.
“I
wouldn’t dare think of doing that.” The door slammed
and locked. Myna hopped from her counter seat and retrieved the
special surprise she had made earlier. The odor of Russian rye
liquor filled the air. Myna began her plan to clean the kitchen.
She took one last swig of the liquid and began to cover the kitchen
floor with it. The odor of Russian rye liquor filled the air.
Within ten minutes, she emptied five bottles within the kitchen
and near her husband’s office. Two bottles were left as she
grabbed her packet of cigarettes and lighter. Myna placed her
ear to Jon's office door. The sound of Jon’s voice was all
she could hear through the thick wood door. She silently placed
the first vodka bottle onto the floor near the door with the white
rag extending from the bottle.
The
sun shone bright in the western sky as Myna Hale walked out of
her house. In her left hand was the second of her homemade Molotov
cocktails as she held her lighter in her right. She turned to
face her perfect little house with its picturesque windows and
beautiful lawn. She imagined the perfect life that she was to
have in the perfect little house she always dreamed about.
“Nothing’s
perfect.” Myna lit the rag that hung outside the bottle.
Quickly throwing the bottle through the front pane window, she
moved away into the street.
The
fire inside grew wilder as Myna moved to the empty lot from her
house. The grass was still damp from the rain of yesterday. She
settled in before the finale she waited for. It was as if the
roof jumped from the house as the liquor bomb exploded, starting
her new dreams.
“It’s
clean now, Jon.” Myna pulled out one of her nicotine sticks.
The little flame licked the end of the cigarette as the larger
fire licked at the inside of Jon’s house. Myna blew a small
stream of smoke into the afternoon air as screams neared her along
with sirens.
“I
need a drink.” Myna smiled on the inside as she watched the
crowd gather.
