Something Was Wrong. My Nightgown Was in Flames

When a body is reduced, all at once, to a crude dichotomy of hot and cold, what happens to your soul?

I CAUGHT FIRE on November 16. I was on a patio, lighting birthday candles on a pan of frosted cinnamon rolls. I had on a cotton nightgown like a Victorian ghost. First a finger felt hot, and then an industrial furnace seemed to blast behind me. It was so very hot. Something’s wrong, I thought or whispered, turning to confront what I imagined was a steel…