Dating : Burning Down The Neighborhood

The realization that stomping on the thorny brush was spreading the blaze, not extinguishing it, arrived faster than words. In an act of primal choreography, the girls synchronized all four of their legs, turned about-face and ran with the fury latent in all fourteen-year-old accidental arsonists. Their feet pounded earth like an ecstatic drum which grew hotter as lizards scurried away from the burning chaparral. They left a fiery labyrinth of twisting shrubbery to burn behind them on the expanse of uninhabited hillside that was, up until that moment, their favorite secret place.

The hill was well hidden from the windows of nearby modest mid-century homes, so the girls weren’t concerned with being seen darting up the water channel to the top of the hill. As they scaled the fence at the apex of the channel, they caught a glimpse of their terrible handiwork. Below, the fire had spread quickly and now 50 yards were blanketed in flame. The embers popped and cracked, and the scent of charred wood stuck in their nostrils and throats. They tasted verdurous smoke as they continued to sprint to Laurel’s family home on Windmill Street.

Once in Laurel’s house, they caught their breath, trembling with shock.

Laurel was the first to snap back to lucidity. She said that their clothes smelled like burnt campfire and they should change. Then, she promptly undressed in the living room. Jamie asked what time Laurel’s parents would be getting home, but Laurel was already headed to the family room in her underwear to turn on the tv. It was almost 6, the evening news would be on soon. Sirens pierced the suburban quiet. The sound frightened Jamie, who followed into the family room and stripped down to her underwear beside Laurel. The backyard was visible from this room, and Jamie could see a streak of black smoke ascending into the otherwise clear blue sky.

“Look,” Jamie said, facing the sliding glass door that lead to the backyard. Laurel didn’t respond and instead rifled through the tv channels searching for the local news.

“Look” Jamie repeated and took Laurel by the shoulders to swing her around for a view of the violated sky. They stood motionless, in their cotton panties and training bras, Jamie’s hands clammy with worry on Laurel’s shoulders.

“What are you lezbos doing?” Lance had come in through the front room without the girls noticing. “Holy shit! There must be a fire down by Dr. Norman’s house!” He exclaimed.

Dr. Norman was an English teacher who lived near the hill. His house was usually the target of TP attacks on Halloween. He had a secret sex dungeon in his basement that had been unused for the past five years, as he mourned a break-up with his partner of 10 years prior. His students noticed that Dr. Norman seemed more flaccid, bald, and stammering than in years past but had attributed this to aging in a boring town. He continued to write erotic comic book fan fiction online under a pseudonym.

“That’s what we were just saying.” Laurel offered her brother.

Lance nodded at the girls, squinting his eyes in judgement of their unexplained nudity. Then he shrugged and ran up the stairs to his room where he slammed the door.

Laurel and Jamie met eyes. Laurel softened with relief to be rid of Lance and expected her sentiments to be echoed in Jamie’s expression. Soberingly, Jamie was instead a watershed holding back the enormity of their miscalculation. Upon seeing the confused grief in Jamie’s eyes, Laurel quickly scooped her up in a tight embrace. Jamie went a bit limp in Laurel’s arms and let herself cry, resting her wet chin on Laurel’s shoulder. Laurel squeezed tighter and took a deep breath in. Her ribs inflated against Jamie’s ribs, reminding Jamie to breathe too.

“Your hair stinks like smoke.” Laurel whispered, “Come with me.”

With that, Laurel took Jamie by the hand into the upstairs bathroom. She shut the door and started the water in the shower. Jamie continued to cry as the girls undressed and stepped into the shower. With the water going, Lance wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“What if it spreads to people’s houses? Maybe we should call 9–1–1.” Jamie said through her tears as she scrubbed her arms.

“Someone else will call 9–1–1. Someone else already has.” Laurel assured as she shampooed her hair. “We should go grab our clothes from downstairs after this.”

Through the bathroom window, more sirens moaned in the distance.

“Everything is going to be fine. They are going to put the fire out. It won’t get to anyone’s houses. Even if it does, those people have insurance. They’ll probably make money off of it. Everything is fine.” Laurel continued to shampoo as she spoke, releasing a potent floral scent over her words.

“Nothing is fine Laurel! We set the hill on fire! This is seriously fucked up. This wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t smoking. I’m going to quit. I don’t want to smoke any more. This is bad. What if we get caught? We could go to jail! If I get arrested, my mom is going to kill me!” Jamie sputtered the words out while snot ran down her nose.

“Listen.” Laurel rinsed her hair and took both of Jamie’s hands into hers. “Quit smoking if you want. That’s great. But listen. We aren’t going to get caught. We can’t get caught. That means no one else can ever know about this. You can never tell anyone. I need you to swear.”

They stood in silence as the water washed over them.

“I swear. I won’t tell anyone.” Jamie offered

“Good. I need your word. I need more than your word. This is all going to blow over if we just stay cool. This is just for us to know and nobody else. I need you to make a blood oath that you will never tell anyone for as long as each of us lives.” Laurel’s pupils grew larger and she lifted her pink plastic razor.

“You’re stoned Laurel.” Jamie sneered.

“Give me your arm Jamie.” But Laurel already had Jamie’s arm, making her demand moot.

“Are you actually going to fucking cut me right now? You’re being psycho.” Jamie struggled to pull her arm back with no luck. Laurel was stronger than her and always had been.

Laurel took the razor to Jamie’s inner arm and hacked into it bluntly enough to draw blood with the frail Bic single blade.

“Ouch!” Jamie pulled her arm away and watched the tiny stream of bright blood dribble over the pale blue porcelain tub and into the drain.

Laurel nicked herself in the same spot on her inner arm, then grabbed Jamie’s wrist and held it to her own. The open cuts felt warm on one another and dripped into the pooling sudsy water at their feet.

“Repeat after me,” Laurel commanded.

“Fine.” Jamie agreed.

“I will never tell anyone, living or dead, human, plant, or animal, I will never journal or drunkenly or accidentally blurt it out, I will absolutely under no circumstance ever speak of this day to anybody ever.” Laurel’s words trailed in a circle, like the vortex of blood circling the drain.

“What? I don’t remember all that but yes I agree to what you just said.” Jamie agreed.

“No. Repeat it. I will never tell anyone. Now you.” Laurel wouldn’t let up.

“I will never tell anyone,” Jamie promised.

“Living or dead,” Laurel said.

“Living or dead” Jamie repeated.

“Human, plant, or animal,” Laurel said.

“This part is stupid,” Jamie replied.

“Human, plant or animal” Laurel repeated.

Jamie rolled her eyes, then repeated “human, plant, or animal.”

Laurel continued, “I won’t journal about it; I won’t blurt it out if I get mad or even if I’m drunk.”

“I won’t journal about it; I won’t blurt it out if I get mad or if I’m drunk,” Jamie repeated.

“I will absolutely under no circumstance ever speak of this day to anyone ever,” Laurel concluded.

“I will absolutely under no circumstance ever speak of this day to anyone ever.” Jamie resounded.

Laurel planted a kiss on Jamie’s lips and released her wrist. Jamie wrapped her opposite hand over the cut wrist, gave Laurel another kiss and stepped out of the shower.

“I’m borrowing some clothes,” Jamie said as she exited the bathroom. Laurel reached for a flowery bottle of hair conditioner and the bathroom door swiftly shut.