mike cook

Grownups lie to children. They tell them about the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, and the Tooth Fairy. They tell them about leprechauns, happily-ever-after, and wishing on falling stars. They also tell them wet matches won’t strike. Then the kid burns down the house and everybody is upset.

A brief summer rain swept past, wetting the grass, cooling the air and leaving the street full of perfect splashing puddles. My friend Kathy and I were gleefully skipping up and down the road hopping in every puddle we could find. After one such leap we found ourselves, side-by-side, looking down at a matchbook.

We were scandalized. It was a very bad and careless thing to just leave a matchbook lying about. Why some little kid could find it and start a horrible fire. Being six, and not little kids at all, we decided we had better pick it up before someone less responsible found it.

Kathy picked up the matchbook. She opened it. It was full, but mortally wounded. The match heads bled red where the water had soaked the sulfur tips.

â€SThey won’t light.” I said.

â€SI know!” Kathy answered scornfully. She pried a match from the pack and scraped it across the striker. The match head disintegrated.

â€SStop!” I made a grab for the matches. â€SThey’re not to play with!”

â€SThey don’t work anyway,” Kathy said. She shoved the matchbook into my hands. â€STry it. You’ll see.”

I pried a match from the pack and scraped it across the striker. The match head disintegrated. I handed the packet back to Kathy.

While we were â€Stesting” the matches and talking, we were also walking. We’d left the street, crossed the lawn and jumped the bank into Gram’s backyard. We were standing at the trail into The Gully.

Gram’s backyard wasn’t really a backyard. It was just a wide strip of grass around the edge of the house to keep it from sliding into the gully. The grass was wild, seed-topped and hadn’t been mowed all summer. Kathy struck another match. It lit.

â€SWhat do I do with it?!” She screamed.

â€SGet rid of it!” I screamed back.

She tried to hand it to me. I slapped it away. We both watched the match arc into the air and disappear into the tall grass. We stood frozen. Holding our breaths. Nothing happened.

â€SWhew!”

â€SThat was close!”

We orgtagvery.easyjournal.com Kathy tossed the matchbook away and we stepped onto the path to the gully. A noise made www.bloglines.com/blog/morewhywhy look over our shoulders.

â€SFire!” We both squealed at once. I was trying to climb out of the gully. Kathy was trying to climb through me to get in. We were both screaming. Gram came around the side of the house.

â€SWhat on earth are you two …! Fire!” She yelled for us both to go to the front yard. Then she grabbed the garden hose.

I crossed the front yard and went straight into the house. My eldest sister, Jean, was at the kitchen table eating Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup and reading a novel. â€SJean! Jean!” I yelled, â€SThe house is going to burn down. You need to come outside.”

â€SDon’t be silly, â€S Jean answered. â€SThe house isn’t going to burn down. I am getting married tomorrow.” Even at six I knew her logic was flawed. I grabbed her arm and pulled. She moved, but only to the kitchen window.

She glanced out, dropped her novel and trampled me on her way to the telephone. The window was above a utility cart too big for me to see over, but whatever she saw, it prompted her to call the fire department. Then she grabbed her wedding dress and drug it and me outside. She kept muttering, â€SThe damned house had better not burn down. I’m getting married tomorrow!”

Outside the whole neighborhood had arrived to watch the show. My brother and two of his friends were trying to push an old car out of the garage, which was already burning. They were struggling because the driveway had an uphill slope. My grandmother yelled, â€SLeave it! It doesn’t run anyway!” And my brother yelled back, â€SIt’s full of gas!”

Mrs. Jacobson came and pulled me across the street into her yard. Kathy was there, too. We looked at each other wide-eyed, but didn’t say a word.

Soon the fire trucks came. Three of them. And big men in rubber suits with huge hoses were running around, shouting back and forth and spraying barrels of water into the air. One hose coventry log homes the garage. One soaked the house, three poured water into the gully, which was completely engulfed in flames.

Handsome and Grumble Jays grumbled because their tree fort was burning. They weren’t much concerned that the garage was on fire – of course with the car safely in Mrs. Jacobson’s driveway, there was no thrill left there.

Kathy and I huddled in Mrs. Jacobson’s skirt. I was doing a lot of praying. Kathy probably was, too. The flames drowned. The firemen quit yelling. The neighbors wandered home. Gram and two firemen approached Kathy and I. Gram said. â€SYou two need to talk to these men. You tell them the truth. You hear?”

They separated us. I had no idea what Kathy was saying. The fireman asked, â€SDid you set the fire?”

â€SNo!” I answered emphatically.

â€SDid your friend set the fire?”

â€SNo!” I answered again. Then I told him that we were going to the gully to play and we heard the fire before we saw it. Then we got scared and started screaming. Several yards away, project runway season 4 episode 6 told almost the same story. The cause of the fire was determined, unknown.

Don’t think I got off scott-free. Before he left the fire chief told Gram, in front of me, â€SMa’am, sometimes these summer grass fires can smolder for a long time before they flare. There’s still a lot of grass, pine needles and tree roots down there that could be holding live coals. Keep a close eye on the area.”

As they left Gram took me around to the backyard. The red shingles on the back of the house were blackened. Charcoal water dripped from the roof. The basement windows were covered in black soot. I looked up at the kitchen window and saw Jean peeking out.

The west and north sides of the garage were charred as well. The tree fort was still intact, but the rope and board ladder was gone. Every where I looked, blackened stubble, soot and ashes reined.

Several times through the afternoon and evening Gram would look out the windows toward the gully. I knew she was looking for fire. She stood at my window for a long time that night when she put me to bed. I asked if we were safe. She said for me not to worry. That wasn’t a reassuring answer.

All night long, over and over again, I sat up in my bed and stared out the window, certain I was going to see fire blossom. And for the remainder of the summer I would wake in the night, startled, and sit staring into the gully, Freaky Friday never played with Kathy again.