I placed the black candle on the new coffee table and lit the wick. My eyes trailed from the satisfying white flame to the Old English script on the glass casing: Think of the Puzzles Robin Owens | Mathematics Faculty
The day before, James and I had borrowed a friend’s flatbed trailer and trekked to a garage sale. I was in a feet-dragging mood playing the supportive girlfriend to my optimistic, teacher-of-the-year-winning boyfriend with whom I’d just moved in. “It’s perfect. We’ll take it,” James smiled at the gruff homeowner who gave me the creeps (though, I’ve been told I have that effect on people too, not much of a smiler). No negotiating, no what do you think, Maggie? Just handing over a crisp one hundred for the largest coffee table I’d ever seen. Think of the puzzles! I’d imagined him saying as we loaded the table onto the trailer, a rich mahogany rectangle the size of a lifeboat. “Will this even fit in our living room?” I blurted. “Don’t you think it will destroy our shins? Look at these edges. I see no mercy here.”
Extinguished by blood alone Forevermore one must atone
James would never approve of such a macabre household item, but I didn’t approve of the coffee table, and here we were. I blew. I pinched. The flame burned on, black wax pooling in the center. Unsettling. Fascinating. At the sound of James’ footsteps, I snuck the candle to the half bath we never used, set it on the counter, and shut the door. He came around the corner, then. I kissed him on the cheek, promptly forgetting the inextinguishable candle existed.
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