Burning at the Stake

10. Burning at the Stake

Big ups to Dad for keeping the old Halloween costumes in the basement. If I hadn’t spotted the much needed zombie accessories in the costume box, I would’ve been screwed.
Bobby snickered as he tossed a mullet wig on my head and started singing lyrics to a Bon Jovi song. I shook my head at him as he butchered the words and went behind a dusty bookshelf to try on some shredded clothes.
“Dude, you got some crazy old shit in here. Look I think I found your Cookie Monster outfit from third grade!”
“Bobby, don’t even go there Mr. Raggedy Ann.”
“RAGGEDY ANDY, HIS NAME IS RAGGEDY ANDY!” retorted Bobby as I struggled to squeeze on some old pants.
“Whatever. You were still a doll. At least I was a monster.”
I heard Bobby scoff and the next thing I knew, the whole box of costumes was hurled at me. After having an all out brawl, throwing costumes at each other for about ten minutes, Bobby looked at me up and down with an expression of approval plastered on his face.
Before we headed off to Bobby’s house, I grabbed some old make up hidden in the pile of costumes, and a pair of worn leather boots I kept in my closet to put on when we got there. When my masterpiece was finally complete, we were off to Bobby’s house, leaving a surprise mess in the basement for my mom. I knew I was going to get a lecture when I came home about doing my part to clean up around the house and not leaving my mom with more stress. But I didn’t care. I was going to a Halloween party. And not just any Halloween party: Bobby’s Halloween party, the biggest party of the year. I had to admit, I was actually pretty excited.

My excitement dissolved when Bobby and I finished decorating his house. It wasn’t the decorations that bothered me. In fact the house looked like the inside of a genuine haunted house when we were through with it. Nevertheless, I became anxious when Bobby reminded me that we had to go pick up our dates for the dance.
I was not looking forward to this. Not in the least bit.
After one last look around the house, and a modest thumb’s up, Bobby ran over to the key holder by the front door and motioned that it was time to get the girls. However, I did not move a muscle as I began to sweat like I did when I got a pop quiz or nearly got caught smoking in the boy’s bathroom or something.
Bobby just about slipped inside his car when he realized I wasn’t following him. He eventually came back inside and shut the door behind him, giving me a puzzled look.
“Come on, Sammy, let’s go!”
I had to come up with an excuse. I had to think of something. Anything. I just had to stall.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I asked. I actually did not know if this was going to work but when Bobby looked at me in my ridiculous attire and then looked down at him self, we both became aware of the missing link. Bobby forgot to put on his costume.
“Smart move, Raggedy Andy.” I sniggered.
“Shut up,” he said as he handed me his car keys.
“Start up the Jeep and I’ll be right there.”
I looked down at the keys in disappointment, realizing that there was no way out. I had to take Val to the dance.
“Right-o” I sighed, as I made my way out the door.

I sat in the passenger seat of the ivy colored Jeep, and stared at my reflection through the rear-view mirror. The bruise on my nose seemed bluer and my eyes sat on large pillowy bags caused by my recent lack of sleep.
I grew restless and began to search Bobby’s dashboard for a cigarette. I needed something to calm my nerves. I found a Marlboro pack wedged between his registration forms and quickly picked it out. When I opened this box of opportunity, I found four cigarettes and a Spider-man lighter. Just enough for me and Bobby. Perfect.
I smiled and held a cigarette between my shaking fingers and pursed my lips to the sweet butt of the nicotine haven. I pressed the switch on top of Spider-man’s head and I could feel the smoke circle in my mouth and flow through me.
I exhaled and a cloud of smoke protruded. I suddenly felt a piercing sense of regret. I wished I had never said yes to Val.
I shuddered and shivered from the frigid air that seeped through the cracks in the door. I took the keys to the Jeep out of my pocket and stuck them in the ignition. I twisted the metal and once the car started to purr, I dove for the heat switch and turned it on full blast.
As soon as I did so, Bobby walked out of the house in all his glory, practically gleaming in his outfit. Yet he had the most stupid grin on his face.
He was a fireman. Of course he was a fireman. The fireman is the essence of Bobby, clearly encompassing all of his best qualities. He was a rescuer of people in distress. He was a person you could count on in dire times. He was a hero. But, like a fireman, these qualities had their disadvantages and perilous consequences.
I was always afraid Bobby would get so caught up in being the hero that he would be ignorant of the impeding flames that would inevitably consume him. I was always afraid that being so selfless would eventually destroy Bobby, would crucify him like the martyr he was. The stakes were too high. Of course, this was coming from the person who’s always in distress.
Bobby opened the door and hopped into the driver’s seat, still smiling.
“You like?” he asked, as he set the car in reverse and pulled out of the narrow driveway.
“You would be a fireman.” I sneered.
“I figured Lauren would enjoy it,” he said. I detected a pinch of giddiness in his voice that almost made me choke on my cigarette. I definitely did not look forward to the red head joining our company and ogling over Bobby.
Bobby noticed the disgusted look on my face.
“I don’t know why you don’t like her. She’s really nice,” he responded somberly.
Sure, she was nice, but she had a disheveled air about her that made me feel awkward and maybe kind of sad for her. You could tell by the almost worn down expression on her face that she had had too much. It’s kind of like being able to tell how far or how much someone had jogged just from their tattered shoes. You could tell that she was only an empress, a high class socialite, because she was forced to be. Sometimes, I thought Lauren was just a large-breasted air head, but when I actually took the time to notice her…she was just damaged. Damaged by all the alcohol, parties, and boys, she was simply worn out. As I thought about it, I realized that I didn’t really hate Lauren McCann. I just hated the idea of what she was supposed to live up to.
I took the cigarette out of my mouth and coughed again.
“She’s…not so bad.”
The cough subsided and I took a long drag, as if the cigarette would take me to an alternate dimension where this wasn’t happening.
“Light me one, would you?” Bobby pleaded.
Spider-man accomplished his duty once more and the flame that protruded from his fingers licked the end of a cigarette I pulled out for Bobby.
I handed it to him and he just let it hang from his lips as opposed to savoring long drags like I did. He was calm. I was more like the accused criminal having one last cigarette before he was to be hanged.
“Sammy, I can’t wait! I’m so excited to charm my fiery-red headed mistress!” exclaimed the overjoyed Bobby through his cigarette as he sped down the road of some residential area.
I rolled my eyes at him. “You’re like a kid in a candy shop.”
Bobby let out a scratchy laugh, and all of the sudden, the cigarette that caressed his lips fell from its domain. It landed in one of the frayed holes in his tattered jeans, searing his skin.
“Fuck!” he cried, as he abruptly pressed on the brakes.
I was flung onto the dashboard, as Bobby quickly unfastened his crimson red belt with a buckle in the shape of a fireman’s hat. He reached into his pants, still yelping in agony as the cigarette proceeded to burn his flesh. I watched, still plastered to the dashboard, his desperate and tormenting search for the smoldering burden trapped between his thigh and his tight jeans. A torrent of profanities escaped from his quavering lips until he finally picked the cigarette out of his pants and simply let it drop to the floor of the car.
He bit his lip while groaning in pain. I slowly readjusted myself, noticing that I still had my cigarette between my cracked, dehydrated lips.
“Jesus Christ, Bobby,” I grunted.
“Are you okay?” he asked, contritely.
I adjusted my chair to be able to lean back and massage the area near my shoulder that made brutal contact with the dashboard. Note to self: listen to those “Buckle Your Seat Belt” commercials.
Bobby ripped the hole in his pants until he could easily reach a finger in and feel the sweltering burn. He flinched.
“I’m fine,” I answered as I noticed Bobby was in considerably worse condition than me. Why was he asking if I was fine? Why wasn’t he more worried about himself?
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine Bobby, really. It’s not your fault. Is your leg ok?”
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m more surprised than in pain.”
I watched as the burn on his thigh grew red and his face developed more signs of agitation accordingly. Bobby bent down and picked up the cigarette from the near the gas pedal. He rolled down the window and slowly dropped it out as if to say “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.” As he did so, I noticed that the carpet mat on the floor of the car was burnt too.
Since the car was at a halt, I figured it would be safe to throw out my cigarette as well. I rolled down the window and flicked it out as if to say “Goodbye and good riddance.”