Change the Past? by Sarah Raplee

REMEMBER HOT PANTS?

Instead of going back in time to change one major thing in my life, I would like to change a few small things that would have made life more pleasant. Like that time I bought 'hot pants' just because they were in style. Or the time I let my husband talk me into buying a silver Chevy Citation with a butt-ugly-shade-of-red interior. I was never comfortable in either one.

THE FLAMING TAIL INCIDENT

During the 1990s I went through my ‘scented candle period’. This corresponded to my ‘cat lady period’. Cat number four, Bob, was a white cat with orange spots who loved to play fetch with pop bottle caps. One day during a family gathering, Bob jumped on the coffee table and deposited a white plastic bottle cap on the wooden surface. Then he looked around the crowded room and meowed expectantly. One of my teenaged sons picked up the cap and held it up, getting Bob excited. Bob crouched and wiggled his rear, ready to play.

A puff of smoke appeared above the cat’s tail. In his excitement he’d forgotten he shared the coffee table with my votive scented candle. Bob realized his peril a second later. Luckily when he ran through the house the wind of his passing blew out his flaming tail. If I could, I would go back and throw those candles in the trash. We were lucky we didn’t lose Bob, and that he didn’t set our house on fire.

Strangely enough, not long after the burning tail incident, the family were celebrating a birthday at our favorite sushi restaurant. My husband was lighting the candles on the birthday cake we’d brought from home when I realized my paper napkin had come in contact with one of the restaurant candles. I jumped to my feet and grabbed my water glass. Yellow fire brushed my husband’s sweater sleeve, sending a sheet of weird electric-blue flame across the fuzzy acrylic. I threw water on my husband’s sleeve, grabbed another water glass and put out what was left of my flaming napkin. O. ne of the kids burst into tears. A couple of adults leapt to their feet, water glasses in hand. My husband frowned at his wet sleeve in confusion, never having seen the flames which by some miracle had not burned him.

If I could, I would go back and have those candles removed from the table before our meal. (After our near-tragedy, the restaurant eliminated candles.)

And guess what? I just realized my husband’s sweater was the same butt-ugly red shade as the interior of that Chevy Citation. Maybe I should go back and destroy the sweater...