let it burn!

On the afternoon of his seventh birthday, I set Alex Row on fire, I was six. It was all about his Dum present a baseball glove. It surprises people to learn that summer days can get really hot in the Alaskan interior. July is fire season, but it was a windless day, so dad was planning a controlled burn near our cabin to clear the brush. He had let it get out of hand while mom was sick. A lot of thangs had gotten out of hand while mom was sick. me, dad and aunt Jemma. we were miles from any real town or even a road that was more than a rutted dirt trail. Dad was draining all the gas out of the lawn mower into a small pail. "Why can't we just go get some gas?" " Stop whining, Ros. There's no wind this morning. It takes a good hour to get to a gas station. If the wind kicks up while were going to town, we can't get the burn done. we can make do." Dad handed me the pail. "Take this and pour it into the bucket outside. Don't get any on your cloths. be quick about it, still have to drain the snow machine and the generator. How stupid was it to make a hot day hotter by tending a fire? I was sick of working hard all the time. I was tired of "making do" the Alaskan way. being poor, fallowing dad's orders. I gave the lawn mower a Toe brushing kick. Dad laughed, " you get mad at me, you kick the tire, I don't get a Bruse, the tire doesn't care, and you're the only one hurting. How's that Woking for you, Ros?" As I poured the last pail of gasoline into the bucket, Dad came out of the shed. " I don't wanna fight with you all day, Ros lose the attitude. " My head hurts" "your head hurts whenever there's work to be done." Dad snapped into his "I-will-be-obeyed." voice I tuned him out. I'd heard the same lecture on hand work a million times, and I was about ready to throw the gasoline on the house so we wouldn't live in the bush anymore. He stopped his lecture when we heard a car and then saw the dust swirl on our excuse for a road. " I thank its Aunt Jemma, I said. Dad's face went so tight I could see lumps where his jaw was. "And Shes here for another fuss," Dad said. "The woman won't leave me alone." Aunt Jemma's rental car bucked to a stop in front of our cabin. She got out and slammed her door, rounded the back, opened the trunk, pulled out boxes. "What the hell does she think she's doing now?" "Stay out here and Straten up the shed for me, Ros." He slapped his lighter on the hood of our truck and headed toward Aunt Jemma. they were already arguing before they hit the porch. About me Again. My mother died in April and Aunt Jemma had been hammering at dad since then to let her take me back to "civilization." As much as I was sick of the Alaskan was, I didn't wanna leave. It meant leaving dad, where I had memories of mom. which I couldn't imagine, even if he made me mad. Aunt Jemma and dads arguing made my head hurt. it reminded me of... the other arguing. mom and dads. I always thought that was my fault too. I could hear their voices. Like hail on our cabins tin roof. "Pigheaded..." "my son..." "lawyer..." " over my dead body..." " she died because she couldn't get decent care in this..." The hollow inside me filled up with red mean. I banged a snow Shevel against the wall in the shed to drown out their storming with mine. But the yelling from the house let words pop between the beats of metal against wood. Then Alex row trotted up to the doors of the shed. "Ros, you here? come out. I want to show you something." " I got work to do. my dad says to clean up the shed. go home," "come out and see my birthday present, it's the best baseball glove anybody ever had," I stepped out of the shed to send the little snot on his way, bobby was waving the glove in the front of my face. " My dad gave me a bike" but I don't know how to ride a tow-Wealer yet. This is from my mom. she said it will make me the best player on the team. the glove was a beauty. the leather was the color of leaves when they first drop to the ground. and to was on Alex row's hand " nothing can make you a good baseball player," I said " " you can't catch a ball, not even if you had a glove twice that size. " Your just mad Cause your too poor to have a glove," he waved the glove again, taunting me with it. "You don't even have a mom to give you one," he pushed it towards me, then jerked it away. I glared at it; my head throbbed as the voices in the house rose. Alex shoved the glove towards my face again. I wanted to ruin it. ruin the glove. the birthday glove. I grabbed the bucket. I sloshed the gasoline on the glove. It splashed all over his arms and shirt and dripped down his pants. some even spattered up on his face. I don't think he knew what I threw on him. he sputtered when he called be a bitch and pulled his hand out of the glove. Cradled it against his chest. but then I had the lighter. had flipped it open, had flicked the wheel. And as soon as I saw the blue spurt of flame... I pitched it as the birthday baseball glove. pitched Alex Ros into flam.