Wilde Fire

Chapter 1: April 2009

The silver casing of the lighter was only inches away from my face. My eyes were focused on the glowing flame, sprouting from the top like a flower out of a vase. "Watch this," Ben said quietly, and he let the flame go out. My green eyes were wide and intrigued, my mouth slightly ajar as I stared at the top of the lighter, waiting for the flame to spark again. The bright April sun glinted off the rough metal, nearly blinding me. Yet I remained transfixed, eager to see what new, unbelievable trick he had for me now.

We were parked beneath the canopy of oak trees that lined the river, the sun shining through the only open space between the crowded leaves and branches above our heads. A few dogwoods that had recently gone into full bloom stood just along the bank, the silky pink petals falling from the limbs and onto the gentle, rippling water. They were the kind of trees that people would pay to have planted in their front yards.

If there was one thing, besides fish, that Kala Island was known for, it was the trees. There were so many of them, so many different kinds and colors, heights and sizes; but the dogwoods always remained my favorite.

Ben, on the other hand, ignored the trees. Instead, he spent all of his time making fire. He would twirl the lighter in his hand, doing tricks with the little metal object before producing the flame. He would sit on the large rocks along the bank, tossing flat ones into the water as he rubbed sticks together, trying to make them spark. Sometimes, he would even just lay back in the grass, looking up past the canopy of oaks, and claim that if he stared at the sun long enough, he could create the fire himself. Ben always said things like that. Back then, I never thought anything of it.

"Your brother is weird," people would say, but I didn't believe them. I never did. I thought they were ridiculous for even thinking such things. Ben wasn't weird. He was unique. And most importantly, he was my brother. Mine.

I leaned against the front of the truck, struggling to step up on the grill and pull myself onto the dented hood. Ben noticed my struggle. He effortlessly lifted me from the ground, setting me on the hood of the truck before moving both of his hands back to the lighter. The wind blew through his long, auburn hair. The strands were sticking up in several random directions, and it was very obvious that he was in need of a trim. As if he would really listen if someone said such a thing out loud.

The last time our mother had told Ben he needed a haircut, she gave him a ten dollar bill and told him to be at the barber's shop by noon. Instead, Ben jumped into the truck, picked up his girlfriend, and spent the money on a glamorous fast food lunch. Ben came home smiling, a lip gloss kiss still fresh on his cheek. When my mother asked why his hair didn't look any shorter, he only laughed and said, "Sorry, Mom, but I'd pick Kelby Blackwood over scissors to my scalp any day." I didn't even have to ask him if he was telling the truth or not, because I knew it just by looking at him. Ben may have lied about a lot, but he definitely didn't lie when it came to his feelings for Kelby Blackwood.

Ben walked to the river, bending down by the slippery rocks and dipping his hand in the cool water. He got to his feet, rubbing his damp hands together. I didn't have a clue what he was doing. Honestly, I had only just recently found out why Ben always wanted to come down to the river in the first place.

"What's so special about a little creek?" I asked one day, clutching onto the door as he took a sharp corner, nearly tipping the truck onto its side. He had just signed us out of school early, after using his mom-voice on the principal, who had yet to catch on to his antics. We were driving fast. It was the third day in a row that he had signed me out early for this very reason.

"Because, Sidney Bean," he had said with a smile, "we can light up anything we want, and the water is right there to put it out." I knew exactly what he meant when he said the words "light up." I had been living with him for far too long, gone on too many adventures involving that one obviously dangerous thing that Ben just couldn't seem to live without. I saw so many things burst into flames during my trips with Ben, so many times where one of his hundreds of lighters would fly out of his hands and into the walls of an abandoned building, or worst of all, the belly of an innocent frog.