Fire In My Heart

Candle Maker

Rosaline sent him right back down memory lane when she finally opened up her door and showed him what was on the other side. “This is where the magic happens,” Isabelle said, clasping her hands together and letting him take it all in. 

Daniel knew to a degree what Isabelle did but seeing her work room was not only inspiring because of the mess, but also oddly exciting. She was so focused on being clean all day long that finding her at her loosest was fascinating. Even more so was just how tight of a space it actually was. She practically worked in a closet, and at his first glance and the slant in the ceiling, he was nearly positive it was. 

The longest wall ran the width of the shop and was lined with multiple metal bins with sectioned off wells all in the process of heating colored wax for what he recognized to be the sizes she sold. To the right of him was a desk built into the wall with cubbies filled with wicks, both long precut and treated strings of it and others that were footed with metal bases for wicks that stood in jars. The rest stayed on spools for the end of the day’s inventory to be refilled. Idly he wondered if she really had as much business as she made that seem but he was quick to learn just how many of her candles made it out the door in a glimpse of a passing smile alone. 

Isabelle lined the walls beside it with metal tools all magnetized for safekeeping and quick use and stow. To the left she had shelving and boxes for after her products cooled, as well as hooks from the ceiling that she would situate on a metal hook and reach to hang them. It really was a well thought out space. The wax and dye had their own separate area in the building given the fact that she was a firm believer in keeping them in their own spaces. Melting the wax wasn’t the problem. It was separating colors after the fact. There lied the problem and the waste of leaving items where they didn’t belong. 

A lot, he thought, could be said about that… and even then he thought about his thirteen year old self again. 

After Isabelle introduced him to the space then propped the door open behind them. 

“It can get stuffy in here and we don’t want you passing out or burning yourself,” her words came to him softly, unintended to hurt him, to which he nodded, then continued looking around. 

The first of her projects took him through a number of calculations, making sure the proper dye was added to certain wells, and the time she left the candles to accumulate more wax around the surface she dipped was another. Isabelle worked methodically, making sure each was at the same time, lifting each time and giving the dip a count. As she carried on, doing the same with each color, he was surprised to see this older woman be able to lift such a heavy piece. 

Daniel licked his lips each time he wanted to ask her if he could help but she was busy teaching him, expecting him to follow along, not to look out for her. 

When he finally did ask, she lost her count, and he delivered it. 

With a nod, he took over, carrying out each step with perfection and when it was finally finished she had him hang it. Leftover droplets still managed to splash down onto the floor between them but she paid no mind to it. Next she moved to her metallic knife rack, pulling down one very specific knife as well as a few other oddly shaped metal pieces. She bent down and pulled up a metal pedestal and moved towards her desk, arranging her items just so. Finally, she asked him for a hot iron and to plug it in an outlet above them before retrieving the candle which was holding its warm temperature. 

 “This, like time, is an unforgiving process,” she said, spinning the pedestal just enough to decide where to start her cuts. “The layers, I like to think, are like stages of life,” she added, “Time and life…” 

Isabelle cut into the candle, pulling back the wax in stages which showed a beautiful arrangement of color bursting from its center as she went. 

“Each of these moments, these petals, are choices that we make throughout our life through the time we’re given. Every single one, even the mistakes, have reasons,” she said as she pulled the tip of the cut wax around and melted the base of the candle to tack the top to it. She did this for every last petal she cut, even the small intricate ones. “Even the pieces that pull us from our core beliefs can rebuild what we are.”

Her message laid on pieces of wax pulled from its center with no other place to go but out, only to create pinwheel flowers with the entire piece. 

“Nothing is missing from you,” she finally said, placing the last element to the exterior of the candle. “You are already whole and just beginning to bloom.”

Daniel frowned at that, being pulled back into the present.

“If you don’t I understand…” Rosaline continued, breaking his concentration.

“Oh,” Daniel struggled to keep his attention on her and not the rest of Isabelle’s message. “No, you’re… I…” he huffed. 

“I get it,” she smiled softly. 

“You do?” he questioned. 

“Yeah. Monday’s are hard…” she replied, her grin widening as he realized what she said. 

This was the longest Monday of his life, considering it was Thursday and all. 

“Yeah,” he finally replied, smiling as he went. “They are…”

Daniel nodded carefully considering what it was she was after, then asked, “How many do you need?”