Rosa on Fire

Rosa at sunrise. She feels a photo taken at that time of day shows her best side

“Daddy, daddy, daddy I’m on fire!” cried Rosa dramatically as she threw herself at her father as soon as he walked in the door from work.

“What?” asked George looking over at his wife who as usual stood in the doorway of the kitchen, even though it was a place that was off limits to her due to her inability to boil water without burning it. “Rosa, you feel fine to me,” George was still baffled by her behaviour. Sybil merely shrugged her shoulders. George put Rosa down and held her at wings length. “What are you talking about young lady? I don’t see you on fire.”

“Yes, daddy, I’m on fire. Mummy says that there will be a heat wave tomorrow. Look,” and she pointed out of the window at the little bits of snow on the beach, “look they’re smoking.” George laughed as he noticed not smoke but steam from the snow as it evaporated.

It had been a particularly harsh winter this year. One that was completely unexpected, and no one had made allowances for. All the prior winters worth of warm clothing had been packed away in boxes now in storage units not close to home, because they had bought into the global warming myth. And so, most of the Sandpiper community on North Topsail Beach were still walking around in their summer feathers and flip flops. George, before he flew off to work that morning, had managed to find a small lightweight rug to wrap around his body and even with that, taking off was a little tricky. His wings nearly gave way under the weight of the rug, and he had thought of calling Moshe who drove an Uber, but he finally managed to get airborne. Though he was exhausted when he landed in the car park of his office building in Surf City. He waved briefly to Rabbi Krupnick who had been visiting the bank and hurried into his building.

Ever since Timmy and Melanie had broken up, he felt there was no need to involve himself in a superficial conversation about climate change with a Reform Jew. Later that day when the sun finally managed to make it above the horizon, it first evaporated the clouds before turning its attention to the little bits of snow that had fallen during the night. George discarded the rug, neatly rolling it up and putting it in the closet in his office for another day though he hoped that day never came. On his way home as he got closer, he as he did on every other day, tried to imagine what greeting he would get from his 7 year old daughter. Every day, it was something different with the exception of ‘daddy how much did you miss me today’ and this day she did not disappoint.

“No Rosa dear, that’s not smoke, that’s steam.”

He expected Rosa to agree with him, but instead she put her wings on her hips and replied, “mummy says that tomorrow is going to be a heat wave. And if mummy says that, then that’s what will happen. Right mummy?” By this time Sybil had turned and slipped into the kitchen where she came up against Julia, who in no uncertain terms pushed her out with, “a hi dad how are you,” back into the hallway. “Right mummy?” asked Rosa again.

George looked at Sybil, who looked right back at him pleading for him to intervene. “What mummy meant Rosa dear by a heat wave, is that for the last couple of days it's been very, very, cold and tomorrow the temperatures are supposed to be much better and so it will feel like a heat wave.”

“So I’m right!” replied Rosa not missing a beat. “So that is smoke coming off the snow.” Was it worth George’s effort to correct Rosa, when he knew full well that the one thing Rosa did better than his other two children was to create chaos? No, it wasn’t and so George did what George did best, and that was look out of the window and say again to the dismay of his wife, “I guess it looks like smoke.”

Sybil at that moment wished she hadn’t given up cigarettes many years ago, because she would dearly love to have one right then and say something like, “guess who’s smoking now?”

Rosa smiled her little childishly evil smile and turned to her mother, “thank you mummy.”

And Sybil did what Sybil did best and that was just say, “you’re welcome, Rosa,” and then wait for her husband to come by and give her a peck on the cheek. George obliged and then holding her wing walked into the kitchen because he could smell dinner cooking.

Julia was about to shoo her mother out of the room but realised with her father there was probably no chance of Sybil getting into trouble. “What are you making Julia dear?” asked George raising his head and taking in a deep breath, “smells wonderful.”

“Well dad,” replied a contented Julia, “it’s a recipe I saw on one of my websites and it’s called Cioppino.” George looked at her for a further explanation when she stopped there.

“Sounds Italian,” said George as an enticement for her to continue.

“Yes, it is dad. It’s a seafood strew. It has fish and mussels and clams and squid…..”

“And octopus,” shouted Rosa now standing at the door realising she was no longer the centre of attention. A position now being held by her sister. “I hate octopus.”

“You’ve never had octopus,” replied the other three in unison.

“I don’t have to eat it to hate it. It sounds bad.”

“Rosa dear,” began Sybil and then on second thought decided Rosa was only trying to be relevant and so she stopped.

“Rosa dear,” picked up Julia, “there’s no octopus in it. So why are you even saying that?” “Elizabeth said there was.”

“No, what Elizabeth said was that sometimes it has octopus in it as well. But this one doesn’t.”

“Oh,” replied Rosa her mind whirling, “but you would’ve put it in there if you had some, Julia.” It was then that Rosa realised there were limits to her cuteness and that she was certainly testing the boundaries. Maybe she needed to get back into their good graces seeing the others shake their heads at her. “But thank you for not putting octopus in it, sister,” she continued with one leg crossing the other, “because if you had, I wouldn’t be able to eat it.” Julia turned and stirred the pot.

“What else is in it?” asked George picking up the conversation from where it had left off when Rosa inserted herself.

“Celery,” Julia added, “and fennel and onion.”

“Funnel?” asked Rosa believing that her not being part of the conversation went against her good graces. “Isn’t that what the smoke is coming out of?” Rosa ran over to the window and pointed to the steam coming off the snow. “See, the smoke is coming out of the funnel.”

“Dinner will be ready in about half an hour,” shouted Julia and George grabbed Rosa by her wing and led her outside where she couldn’t be a nuisance anymore.