(no subject)
Ash hung in the air, the damp humidity pulling it slowly towards the brown, sticky earth. We all sat on blankets, those brightly colored Disney-themed comforters that come rolled-up in plastic at dingy shopping malls. They always begin to prickle when they're taken out. Mom makes me wash blankets before I put them on the beds.
I didn't wash this one. I left our gray house on Cherry Street just as soon as it got dark, and floored the old red Buick all the way to Ames. I bought the blanket with 101 Dalmatians grinning out of the squeaky plastic; it cost $6.59 and smelled like new factory dust. I put it in the back seat, and tore out of the parking lot, dodging the speckling of late-night shoppers. No one should be in an Ames parking lot on the Fourth of July.
Chris told me to meet him at the far left corner of the small beach. I parked almost a half-mile away, and stumble through bushes and weeds to the beach, not along the road. I don't want anyone to see me, lugging the blanket still in its protective plastic wrap. The plastic makes "scree-scree" noises as it rubs against low tree branches and sticks to my back. I haven't heard any booms yet, so I know I'm not late. I hope Chris is there, waiting for me in a white T-shirt and Levi's. He'll give me a cigarette, and cover my waist with his arm. Chris has a tattoo on his arm, a small navy-blue mermaid looking blankly over her shoulder; you can't see her breast, that's why I know it's not a dirty tattoo. Chris isn't dirty, but Mom says he's too rough.
I am stupid, I trip over a wet log, something that fell last year and is rotting slowly into the dirt. I trip and fall onto a root, my knee bleeds beneath my pink skirt. I should stop and wipe the mud out of it, but I know I'm going to be late as it is. I brush the gooey much off as I pick myself, up--it'll be OK. Stupid girl, stupid girl. If Mom asks, I'll say I was chasing a neighbor's dog. She'll know I'm lying, she'll know I went to see Chris. I don't care.
The trees suddenly stop, and I see light all over the beach. Campfires shine lurid orange on the water; it looks like someone dumped a whole can of orange tempera paint into the water, the tide pulling it out in long streaks towards the dark horizon. Chris is standing at the water, his back to me. I can see the bulge in his back pocket where he keeps a squashed pack of Marlboros, they always smell like him when I bring one to my lips. I feel like I am burning him up, breathing him into my nose and lungs, then blowing him back out in cool, conical arcs, a beautiful ghost of Chris lingering in the air around my head. He turns and sees me, motions to me. I walk fast, now holding the blanket in front of me with both arms wrapped around it.
He laughs when I spread it on the ground, and asks if I like to watch Disney movies. I tell him these blankets are good and cheap, and if he wants a silk throw rug to date the Queen of England. He pats my hair, he was only joking, besides, Dalmatians are nice dogs, his uncle had an old one who used to play with Chris. His T-shirt looks iridescent and orange, all the campfires shining off his chest and shoulders. He gives me a cigarette, and I light it off his, our moths four inches apart and burning smoke pouring from between them, like we're two metal sculptures being fused by straws. I say this, that we are like big, magnificent statues in Paris, and a kind old man is welding us together, forever. Will your Mom be angry if she finds out? He asks me, holding my hand on the prickly blanket and looking almost at my eyes. Yes, yes, but it doesn't matter. Chris uses a bandanna to clean the cut on my knee. I'll put alcohol on it later, anyway, it doesn't hurt.
The lake becomes still, and the fires are almost perfectly reflected in the murky water. I stare into it, watching the flames curl and eddy like stories of hell. Purple explodes above the water, sending little waves through it, shards of light pour across the sky, and a child screams out in fright of the resounding boom from the fireworks. I lean into Chris, and we both lean back. Green and red and blue and yellow flowers across the sky, and the sparks chase each other lazily back down to the black water.