Thin Luck

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Kansas - Section 21-3718

Arson

I PLUNDERED THE small house for gauze. The power was out. The house was cold. My fingers were stiff and numb. Tony's feet were freezing, but his bleeding arm was my first concern. Our thirty-minute hike through the wet snow had been almost as bad as finding myself upside down in oncoming traffic on the highway. I had extracted him from the car just seconds before another car smashed into the Porsche. The sound of the glass shattering and metal impacting with metal still reverberated through my ears. I had wanted to help those people, but I hadn't wanted to get run over in the process. At least that's what I told myself.

My arms ached from carrying Tony. By the time I had broken through the back window of this house my back was ready to give out too.

I found a first aid kit in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom that was so small I wondered if it was an afterthought when the house was built. I turned on the faucet, but nothing came out except a gurgling sound. I knew from my summers in Maine that out in the country they use well water. A well required a pump and there was no power for the pump.

I used the freezing cold antiseptic wipes to clean off Tony's wounds.

He was crying, whimpering really, in order to save his energy. Little bits of snot were plastered to his face. He cringed when I wiped his face with the icy antiseptic. Once all the gauze was applied to his arm, albeit sloppily, I started hunting for a way to warm the house. He wouldn't bleed to death, but we might both freeze to death.

I took an inventory of flammable items. There were piles of mail on the kitchen table, well read trashy novels with bold titles on a bookshelf in the den, newspapers in a cardboard box, kindling and stacks of wood in a basket by the wood stove. Once the small pile of wood was burned the books would make a good substitute. From there I would break up the bookshelf itself. I wasn't going to haul wood from the shed. I worked quickly to start the fire in the wood stove, following all the steps my father had taught me. I couldn't remember everything, but I remembered his emphasis on building the kindling teepee.

The side of the matchbox was dull. It took three or four swipes across the beat-up box to get the match going, and even then I broke a few of the matches before they lit. The newspaper burned up too quickly. A fast flame, but it failed to ignite the log, or even the kindling. Soon there was smoke coming out of the stove. I worried about asphyxiation. I balled up more newspaper and flicked the cheap matches against the old strike box four more times until there was a hiss and a flame on the end of the little wooden stick. The newspapers lit up again, and this time the kindling caught on fire. I stood there, hoping the log too would catch.

Tony stopped whimpering when even the smallest flame started in the stove. Every boy has a pyro inside ready to burn his way out. As boys grow into men the only difference is how many mental extinguishers they use to keep their inner pyro at bay.

Once the fire was going I ran around the house looking for clothes to change into. Justin took survival training in the army and I interviewed him for a story in college. Warm, dry clothes were essential. I found a big flannel shirt for Tony and a pair of flannel pajamas for myself. There was an entire drawer full of hand knit wool socks. I grabbed a pair for each of us.

The quilt I held up provided Tony a little privacy while he changed into the flannel shirt and wool socks. His pants clunked to the floor like he was carrying rocks. "What have you got in there?" I asked, breaking the silence of the crackling wood stove.

"Nothing," he said. But I knew about boys his age. They were terrible liars.

The room wasn't warm yet, but Tony fell asleep in the warmth his own body created lying on the sofa under a pile of quilts. Once I heard his light snores I pulled his pants over to inspect from my perch on the love seat. His pockets were full of cell phones. The little thief had even stolen the phone I stole from the snotty woman in Connecticut. Only one had power.