Rischt! A Bonfire Suite: Orionis

you’re not going to steal his breath tonight; he’ll hold it for as long as he can, longer than he holds it at swimming on Thursdays. If you want it, you’re going to have to come down from the night sky. But you can’t move, so no, his breath will not be stolen this November night. His Mama has wrapped him up in the itchy jumper and red coat, and she wears her black puffer jacket and purple scarf. She tells him to look up, otherwise he’ll miss the start, but she doesn’t know what will happen if he looks at you, she doesn’t know you’re a thief. He wishes his Mama would stop looking up, but she loves the stars, especially the big saucepan. It’s just like the one she uses to cook bolognaise for dinner, and he twirls the spaghetti around his fork to make shapes in the sauce. His Mama loves the shapes the stars make, like one of the dot to dots in his book, and she likes the shapes of the moon too, whether it’s a full circle, or cut in half like a birthday cake, or when it grins like the Cheshire cat. He used to think the moon was a big white button, holding the night together like a coat, and on the other side of the button there was another boy staring up at it. This boy looked exactly like him and had the exact same name and the exact same voice. They’d both be looking at the button and wondering what would happen if it broke. Would the night split apart? Would the stars fall out of the sky? But he doesn’t believe that anymore. His Mama told him that every person is different, so there couldn’t possibly be another boy, and she tells him the moon is not a button on a coat, it’s a thing far out in space, like you. You seem a lot closer to him though, and if you reached down, you could very easily steal what’s his. He won’t even look at the moon now unless he’s behind his Mama’s bedroom window. That’s where he first saw the fireworks over Mabonford. She sat him on the edge of her purple bed with a mug of hot chocolate, and she pointed out the swirly blues and loud reds and fizzy golds. She asked him if he’d ever seen something more beautiful, and he told her that she was far more beautiful. His Mama went out that evening, as she does every Wednesday, and when she goes out, he misses her. She puts powder on her cheeks and colours on her eyelids, drawing her lips with dark red from a golden tube. His favourite thing is when she puts on her purple earrings, the ones shaped like diamonds, and she lets him pick out her perfume. He almost always chooses the square bottle – the one that makes her smell like roses and golden syrup – that makes her smell like his Mama. She still smells of it when she gets home and gives him his goodnight kiss. He sleeps very well then, knowing she’ll be in the purple room. Her smell is very weak now though, so everyone must have put on their own perfumes tonight, or maybe the bonfire smoke is just too strong. He’s not like the other people in the park, chatting and looking up into the night – he’s clever. He keeps his head down and stares at his Wellington boots, which have dinosaurs on them from his favourite cartoon, but you can’t see them very well because they’re covered in mud. He always looks at his feet when he’s walking, he has to in case he falls over, and he’s scared to fall and cut his hands or knees because that’s when he imagines what his skin looks like underneath. Little yellow bumps that are squishy and dark. He doesn’t like thinking about that, so sometimes he scribbles it down on a piece of paper and hides it at the back of his drawer, never to be seen again. Mama wipes up the bright red blood and puts a plaster on the cut, so he doesn’t have to see that again either. She kisses his knee after that, telling him every kiss is magic, and that they’ll make him feel better. His Mama’s kisses will keep him safe, but he has to remember to look up when he’s walking. He has to be safe now too, but he can’t look up to ask her for a kiss just in case you catch his eye. His Mama won’t kiss your knees if you fall down, at least, he hopes she won’t. She keeps telling him to look up though, that he’ll miss the start otherwise, and that he’ll never see something more beautiful. She’s far more beautiful, he says, and she laughs as his face begins to burn. He can hear the bonfire roar, he knows it’s angry, and he knows that the huge flames will burn your feet if you try to step down from the sky. He feels safe, so he looks up, just to the trunk of the nearest tree. The smoke makes the branches look like the veins in his wrists. He wonders what his skin looks like underneath, but he doesn’t have his piece of paper or his drawer, he just has to be brave, and say his name, in full, over and over until the thoughts are gone. That’s what his Mama tells him to do. He has to whisper it, so you won’t hear him, and you won’t see the clouds coming out of his mouth. He knows this is one of your tricks to get him to look up at you, but he won’t. Nothing will get him to look at you. Nothing. Nothing. The loudest gasp he has ever heard. A huge explosion like the sound of a wooden club being smashed into mud. He longs for a kiss from his Mama, but at any moment, no-one will be able to breathe. At any moment he’ll see what his skin looks like underneath. He grabs hold of his Mama’s jacket and buries his head, breathing fast, but she just strokes his hair and tells him to look up. She doesn’t know she isn’t safe, and that he wants just one small kiss. But he knows he has to be brave; he has to show you that you can’t take what’s his, not his Wellington boots with the dinosaurs, and definitely not his breath. He opens his eyes and looks to the side, just enough to see the hundreds of legs standing in the park. They’re still standing. He can hear screeching, and they gasp again. He needs to be brave. He needs to protect his Mama. He moves his head so he can see all of the faces; they’re lighting up with different colours. They’re still standing. They’re still breathing. If they can face you, then so can he. He is brave. He is clever. His toes curl in his Wellington boots, and they scrape on the bottom. He says his name, in full, over and over, then counts to three. He pulls his boots out of the mud. He grabs his Mama’s hand. He turns and looks up…