Did I Leave that Damn Candle Burning?

I spent the better part of an hour worried that I'd left a candle burning at home. I couldn't escape the idea during my walk to pick up dinner that my newly purchased Whole Foods candle was responsible for setting the whole neighborhood ablaze. An intense mental tug-of-war ensued: I, accidental arsonist had destroyed everything my wife and I owned, or, everything was fine. With a few blocks behind me, I made the courageous decision to block out the former and continue on my journey to pick up my pasta.

A pang hit the side of my stomach. Is this anxiety or betrayal? How could that $24.48 amber, smoke-and-incense scented candle intended for tranquility do this to me? I knew it was too expensive, I shouldn't have justified it to myself as a "need" last night. The warning signs were there - it burned weakly, its scent nearly overpowered by the ashes of my real incense. I am almost positive the lack of aroma is precisely why I snuffed it out earlier in the day. But I couldn't be certain.

As I pressed on, those anxious feelings continued to build. 6 blocks out from my house and I started to look back to ensure that I didn't see a black plume of smoke or hear sirens wailing. I began to walk a little bit faster, hoping to outpace some of those thoughts. Once I rounded the corner, the house would be out of sight and I could live with some normal thoughts again. Instead, I stopped to look up some Reddit threads from other people that convinced themselves they left candles burning. The results were fleetingly helpful, with most commenters saying it was unlikely to burn the house down, and that anxious people would never leave a candle burning in the first place. But what if I was a careless anxious person, and what if this was an especially malicious candle? Downvote.

I had reason to believe that I was a careless anxious person. In college I recklessly threw away some cotton balls in the bin where my roommates ashed their bongs. The wall immediately caught flame and the firemen were called. We stamped it out before there was any serious damage, but the image of that black-charred wall sticks in the mind. I'd considered that history could repeat itself here: all it would take is for a large truck or small earthquake for "The Desert" candle to jump and roll off of my table and fling itself into my bin of paper scraps. I walked a bit faster.

I had 30 minutes to kill before picking up my food, so I popped into the local bookstore. The owner carried on a long conversation with another patron about young adult LGBTQ+ recommendations for their niece. How rude, I thought. Don't they know that some of us here have presumably lost everything in a raging house fire? I picked up a Clarice Lispector novel, engaged in some awkward small talk with the cashier in my panicked state, and fled the premises. At least I'd have a new book as I rebuild my life.

I popped into the restaurant and picked up our pasta dishes. The order was ready to go so I was able to make a quick getaway. I started on that mile-long walk back in what could best be described as "a hurried pace." All this time, all I could think about was firetrucks outside my house, surveying the charred lot where our house once stood. I thought about how my wife would almost certainly try to reassure me that it wasn't my fault, but I would be able to read her disappointment on her face. I thought about how friends and family might reach out to start a GoFundMe for us, but all I'd feel is shame. "The Desert" is the culprit here, but it feels like there are plenty of people pointing fingers at me.

The walk back is filled with restaurants that decided today was a great day for barbecuing. Unlike The Desert candle, the smell of smoke was palpable on the walk home. Unlike the candle, it was not a relaxing scent. 15 minutes out and I was a straight shot from my house, but I wouldn't be convinced my house wasn't burning until I was inside. There weren't any clear signs anything had burned down yet. No firetrucks, concerned passerby, or plumes of smoke. As I opened the gate I expected a wave of calm to wash over me, but it never came. Rushing inside and inspecting the unlit candle did little to wind me down. It may take a day or two before I build up the courage to light this particular candle again.

I think I may be prone to some disordered thinking.