GIRL ON FIRE

Michael Bible

I was lounging on the patio, halfway through my fifth mojito, when she wandered into my yard. She wasn’t screaming for help. She just walked over near the gazebo and sat on my brand new wrought-iron bench.

I couldn’t get the hose to work. I had to get buckets. I poured bucket after bucket, but nothing happened. Then I tried wrapping her in beach towels, but the towels caught fire. My leather jacket caught too, and I had to take it off and stomp on it. Ruined the jacket. I yelled to her, “Stop, drop, and roll,” but she wouldn’t listen.

She’d picked a pretty crappy day to combust on my lawn furniture. I hadn’t been to sleep the night before. Rent was overdue and I had a plane to catch. I was going to see my manager about my new record. I needed a break, bad. My brother, Ralphey, was on his way to pick me up. He was thirty minutes late.

“You want me to call 911?” Opal, my neighbor, called down from her balcony.

“I think she’s done what she’s gonna do,” I said.

“Well, we can’t let her burn down the neighborhood. I’m coming over.”

The flames were reaching higher and higher, burning the leaves off the low limbs.

Opal walked through the gate. Her little dog, Margaret Thatcher, pranced behind her.

“One of your groupies gone crazy over you?” Opal asked.

“I don’t know who it is,” I said. “Did you call 911?”

“They’re on their way,” she yawned. “You got something to drink?”

Her bathrobe flapped open in the wind and exposed one of her breasts.

“There’s a pitcher of mojitos in the kitchen,” I said, but she was gone before I got the words out of my mouth.

Then it was just me, the girl on fire, and Margaret Thatcher. For a second everything was quiet and still. Then Margaret Thatcher gave a little bark. I could hear the sirens coming through the neighborhood.

Opal came back out, stirring her drink with her finger.

“Why do you think she did it?” I asked.

She took a big sip and watched the girl on fire. “You don’t understand women,” she said.

The fire truck arrived. A shrimpy fireman and a plump firewoman. “What do we got here?” they yelled out the window. “Where’s the trouble?”

They drove into the yard and got out. The firewoman unfurled the hose and the fireman grabbed the nozzle. He was having trouble keeping his helmet out of his eyes.

“Ready?” the firewoman yelled. “Ready?”

“Give me a sec,” the fireman said.

“Come on,” the firewoman yelled. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Okay, fine, ready,” the fireman said.

“Ready?”

“I said ready already. Go. Hit it.”

The hose took off in all directions, lifting him off the ground like he was riding a huge serpent come to life. I grabbed Margaret Thatcher and hit the deck.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the firewoman yelled as she killed the water.

“I’m doing my best,” the guy said, catching his breath. “Lay off.”

“Well, you’re best ain’t good enough, rookie. Keep the hose down.”

“Why don’t you let me do my job,” he said. “And you do yours.”

“Your job is to keep the hose down, dickwad. Do it.”

He threw the nozzle down in the grass, “You know what. You’ve had a problem with me from day one, Nina, and I’m sick of it.”

“Do what?”

“I want to know exactly how you feel about me,” he said.

“You want to know exactly how I feel about you? What are you, twelve?”

“If I could just interrupt here for five seconds,” I said. “We got a girl on fire, remember?”

“Hey, I know you,” the firewoman said, turning to me. “You’re that guy with that song.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m that guy with that song.”

“Don’t change the subject, Nina,” the fireman said, pushing his helmet up out of his eyes. “What do you think of me? Tell me.”

He looked up at her. She looked down at him.

“You really, really want to know,” she said.

“Yeah. I really, really want to know.”

The flames went higher. Pretty soon the overhanging limbs caught the trees on fire and it spread to the gazebo. It went up pretty fast. Then it spread to the grass and went straight for the house. Opal and I tried to grab the hose but it was too late.

We watched the house go up like a tinderbox. People came out from the neighborhood and walked into my yard and put their hands on my shoulder. I held little Margaret Thacker and petted her. She was so scared she was shivering.

About an hour and fifteen mojitos later, my brother found me over at Opal’s. I was in a huge leather chair. Opal was in my lap. I was sucking her nipple.

“Where the hell have you been,” I asked.

“Good news,” he said. “I talked to your manager. Your song is burning up the charts in Europe.”

Then I said something smart and we all laughed. Then no one said anything for a very long time.