I placed my arm across his shoulders as I sat down next to him on the curb.

The fire raged on across the street, reflected in his eyes which were now expressing many emotions: sadness, confusion, fear, and anger. They were eyes that asked a million questions. There were no answers at the moment, and I gave none. The only thing I could give was my solitary attempt at comfort.

My neighbor had moved into the house across the street only three months ago. He and his family — his wife and child — were kind and kept to themselves. He was always traveling for work; I would often see him coming and going, tackling housework in the late evenings or on weekends. She would run the house in his absence, taking care of their little girl and any household needs. They worked diligently at making the house their home.

The one positive I could see reflected in his expressions now was the fact that his family was not home at the time of the fire. He would eventually have to break the news to them that their home and all the memories inside were now ash, but the important thing was that they were still alive.

The smoke curled up into the night sky as sparks from the fire danced around in the darkness. In that moment, I could feel his shoulders soften as if a weight had been lifted. Perhaps it was the knowledge that it was only objects burning in the fire and not anything worse. Maybe it was him realizing the burden of home ownership and his daily routine had been lifted, at least temporarily. Whatever it was, his tension had eased a small bit.

We both watched as a family photo cracked and burned, sending a large cinder into the air. It swirled and danced along with the smoke, losing itself in the darkness as memories began to drift back into existence, reflected in his eyes.

The man ran around the yard, giving chase to his daughter who was laughing uncontrollably. His wife set up the camera and quickly waved them over as she got into position. They wrapped their arms around each other with smiles as the camera snapped a family photo: father, mother and daughter with their new home in the back.

The flash engulfed their smiles as the cinder fell to the street, becoming nothing with the darkness as he let out a long breath. I looked over and saw tears cutting through the soot on his face as they fell to the cold concrete below.

I supported him as his body trembled quietly in the night.

---

In response to the January 25th writing prompt from Writers.com:

Writing Prompt: Quiet Tenderness

Write a piece that begins with a small, almost invisible act of care and tenderness, empathy and love. Not a grand gesture. Something inefficient, minute. Something that doesn’t fix everything.

Then let the piece drift.

Change shape if it wants to.
Let time bend.
Let the voice fracture or repeat.
Let the logic loosen.

The only rule: don’t justify the tenderness. Let it exist without earning its place. End the piece somewhere quieter than you expected.

Attribution:
Cover photo by Teslariu Mihai on Unsplash