Big Questions

We're staying in a cabin of sorts, me and my family and distant relatives I didn't know existed, kids crawling everywhere, yelling at each other.

It was very late, the fire had died out, and my two-year-old sister Saraiah told me she was tired. It is something difficult to notice, when it is late and there are so many other children to go to sleep, so I picked her up and took her to our parents' room, where a big soft blanket was folded in half with a pillow on the floor, waiting for her.

The room was empty and quiet, adults still talking and children still playing all over the rest of the house. I looked around for her pajamas, and considered taking off one of my shirts and giving it to her, but she seemed comfortable enough with what she wore already. She got under the covers as I looked around for her water cup. The house we are staying in belongs to mormons, delightful family folk with beautiful homes.

A tiny clay statue of an angel holding a baby rested on the nightstand. I knew my stepdad didn't like sleeping with statues, so I picked it up and put it in a dresser drawer.

"That an angel?" Saraiah asked.

"Yeah, it's an angel," I said. She patted the blanket beside her, and I lied down next to her.

"Was it a good day?"

"Yeah, good day," she said.

"It's nice, having family?"

"Yeah. Shady, remember that movie? Remember Rio?"

"Yeah, I remember Rio."

"Rio 2?"

"Yes."

"Remember Stitch?"

"Yeah, I remember Stitch."

"Stitch 2? "

I was staring at the dresser drawer, thinking in that terrible way our brains think. "Saraiah, do you know where the angels are?"

"Nope."

"Where are they?"

"Um, I don't know. Shady, remember Epic? That tiny movie? Tiny bugs?"

"Yes, I remember." We watched the ceiling. "Saraiah, do you know where God is?"

"Shady," she whispered. "See that TV?" She pointed at a television in the room that I had failed to notice. She was quiet for a while, thinking about movies, describing to me the ones I hadn't seen. "Remember that house? Boy fall down? Oh, he so funny!"

Then the conversation slowed, and she ran out of movies. I listened to the wind in the mountains outside.

"What's gonna happen to us?" The question floated to the ceiling, a quiet and pitiful exhale.

"Shady," Saraiah whispered, placing a small and loving hand on the side of my face. She looked into my eyes. "It's okay. It's okay, Shady. Remember the fire? Remember marshmallows? I want go back fire, get warm." She almost got up, but I stopped her.

"The fire's all gone, Raiah, it's dark now."

"We have more marshmallows tomorrow?"

"Yes."

She layed herself back down and held my hand. I thought about fire and I thought about Elmer and how he called me that night when we were thirteen, when Sally first came out, and I thought about his voice on the phone when it broke and I thought about fire and I thought about Elmer and his little pudgy six-year-old hands in the snow. I thought about hands in a church and hands in a locker room and hands in the fire and how Elmer is getting baptized this Sunday, what hands would hold him, and then I thought about marshmallows.

It suddenly occurred to me that Saraiah hadn't brushed her teeth.