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Authors: Jack Gantos
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this,â Gary said, and handed me a pack of matches. âI think the diesel has spread around good enough by now. Toss a match over the pool.â
I struck a match and flicked it toward the pool as if I were lighting the Olympic torch. Flame on! I thought to myself.
As soon as the match hit the surface a choppy crown of lime-green flames shot up and rapidly spread in an ever-growing circle until nearly all the poolâs surface was on fire. An acrid black smoke swirled above the flames. I began to cough. It smelled like burning car tires.
âTurn off the pool light,â Gary instructed Frankie, then scuffed in his white fake-alligator loafers toward the diving board. Frankie flipped the switch and the backyard darkened except for the pool, which was magical with the green flames swaying back and forth like waltzing doll dresses.
âLetâs go,â Frankie said, and dove in first, without much splash, like a stealthy seal.
I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it on a plastic chair, then I took the deepest breath I could and jumped in with my eyes closed. I touched the bottom with my hand, righted myself, and then swam underwater toward the deep end. I felt around for the drain, found it, and anchored myself to it with my fingers. Before the first explosion I was actually enjoying how beautiful it was to look straight up at the bottom side of the flames on the water. I had only seen fire from above and was always tensed up as the flames angrily knifed at the air with their sharp blades. But when looked at from below, the flames stood up like small sails as the wind glided them across the glassy surface of the water.
It was musical to watch them until the first muffled explosion of an M-80 detonated and a rolling shock wave traveled through the water. When it reached me the pressure in my ears was painful, like a hand-slap against the sides of my head, and I instantly pushed off the bottom and went straight up. I broke the surface and took a deep breath and worked my jaw around to pop my ears, then dove over like a seal back down toward the drain. A blast went off close to the bottom of my feet and a pulsing ring of water elevated me like I was a sea offering on the palm of Neptuneâs hand. I turned over onto my back and slowly floated to the surface, where my lips parted the oily water between the flames, which had lessened and were now spread out like a field of blazing campfires. I breathed quietly as I watched Gary. He had his eye on Frankieâs snorkel, which cut through the surface of the shallow water like a sharkâs fin. Gary lit one M-80, then another. He threw the first one in front of the snorkel and the second behind it. The explosions sent a lime plume of flaming water ten feet into the air. Frankie didnât surface. Dogs began to bark inside the Pagodasâ garage.
âWhat theâ¦?â someone said from a lawn across the canal, his words carried on the breeze.
âTheyâre doinâ it again!â came a second voice that was neither a manâs nor a womanâsâit was something mechanical, as if it were the voice cranked out of a rusty windup toy. Then I realized it came from one of those throat devices some old ex-smokers press against a flabby gray hole in their neck after having surgery to cut out their cancerous larynx.
I hugged my knees and half exhaled as I descended toward the drain. Once I touched it, I drifted upward very slowly, inch by inch, like a bubble of tumbling air toward the flaming surface just beneath the diving board.
Gary was pacing above me. The horseshoe cleats on the heels of his shoes gouged white shavings from the fiberglass diving board. He shifted to the left, then stepped to the tip. The board creaked as it dipped downward. He was after Frankie, not me. After all, I was a new friend in training, kind of a pet. He might make me fear him, but he wouldnât hurt me. Not yet, anyway.
From the main boulevard a police
I struck a match and flicked it toward the pool as if I were lighting the Olympic torch. Flame on! I thought to myself.
As soon as the match hit the surface a choppy crown of lime-green flames shot up and rapidly spread in an ever-growing circle until nearly all the poolâs surface was on fire. An acrid black smoke swirled above the flames. I began to cough. It smelled like burning car tires.
âTurn off the pool light,â Gary instructed Frankie, then scuffed in his white fake-alligator loafers toward the diving board. Frankie flipped the switch and the backyard darkened except for the pool, which was magical with the green flames swaying back and forth like waltzing doll dresses.
âLetâs go,â Frankie said, and dove in first, without much splash, like a stealthy seal.
I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it on a plastic chair, then I took the deepest breath I could and jumped in with my eyes closed. I touched the bottom with my hand, righted myself, and then swam underwater toward the deep end. I felt around for the drain, found it, and anchored myself to it with my fingers. Before the first explosion I was actually enjoying how beautiful it was to look straight up at the bottom side of the flames on the water. I had only seen fire from above and was always tensed up as the flames angrily knifed at the air with their sharp blades. But when looked at from below, the flames stood up like small sails as the wind glided them across the glassy surface of the water.
It was musical to watch them until the first muffled explosion of an M-80 detonated and a rolling shock wave traveled through the water. When it reached me the pressure in my ears was painful, like a hand-slap against the sides of my head, and I instantly pushed off the bottom and went straight up. I broke the surface and took a deep breath and worked my jaw around to pop my ears, then dove over like a seal back down toward the drain. A blast went off close to the bottom of my feet and a pulsing ring of water elevated me like I was a sea offering on the palm of Neptuneâs hand. I turned over onto my back and slowly floated to the surface, where my lips parted the oily water between the flames, which had lessened and were now spread out like a field of blazing campfires. I breathed quietly as I watched Gary. He had his eye on Frankieâs snorkel, which cut through the surface of the shallow water like a sharkâs fin. Gary lit one M-80, then another. He threw the first one in front of the snorkel and the second behind it. The explosions sent a lime plume of flaming water ten feet into the air. Frankie didnât surface. Dogs began to bark inside the Pagodasâ garage.
âWhat theâ¦?â someone said from a lawn across the canal, his words carried on the breeze.
âTheyâre doinâ it again!â came a second voice that was neither a manâs nor a womanâsâit was something mechanical, as if it were the voice cranked out of a rusty windup toy. Then I realized it came from one of those throat devices some old ex-smokers press against a flabby gray hole in their neck after having surgery to cut out their cancerous larynx.
I hugged my knees and half exhaled as I descended toward the drain. Once I touched it, I drifted upward very slowly, inch by inch, like a bubble of tumbling air toward the flaming surface just beneath the diving board.
Gary was pacing above me. The horseshoe cleats on the heels of his shoes gouged white shavings from the fiberglass diving board. He shifted to the left, then stepped to the tip. The board creaked as it dipped downward. He was after Frankie, not me. After all, I was a new friend in training, kind of a pet. He might make me fear him, but he wouldnât hurt me. Not yet, anyway.
From the main boulevard a police
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