Undetermined Origin

The doorknob was clacking in the jamb, clumsy and unfamiliar. The lock turned over, clinking, and a boy stumbled into the room. He balanced a swaying wedding-cake tower of boxes, then thunked them to the ground. He had a key. He was moving in.

I watched him arrange his things on the shelves. Someone plugged in a radio, and tinny cacophony filled the house.

I couldn’t let him stay.

Small things at first—I faced pictures backward, turned off the television. Had hackles-raised standoffs with the dog and creaked the closet door open at night.

I didn’t mean to start the fire.