Part 7
The boys are tearing up the cardboard boxes they used to haul leaves, throwing the pieces on the leaf pile. It feels like the pile is being spoiled. It looked much better when it was just leaves. Some of the big boys bring some sticks and limbs and throw them on the pile too. They seem a little wild, the big boys.
The air seems to crackle with some kind of fevered excitement. I’m kind of scooting on my bottom, edging back a little towards our front porch.
Two of the biggest boys appear, emerging from between two houses carrying parts of an old broken picnic table. They must have gotten it from the alley behind the court. They’re loud and full of themselves as they bring their find to the ever growing pile.
“That’s going too far boys.” a voice rings out.
It’s Mrs. Powell’s son, Len. He’s not too much past being a boy himself. He’s home on leave from the navy and the big boys quiet down. I feel less anxious now I know that Len’s here watching. The boys nod to Len kind of sheepishly and take the old table back where it came from.
I hear one of the bigger big girls say to another,
“Did you see Len Powell in his uniform yesterday?”
“DREAMY!” she answers.
When the two boys come back it’s full on dark. A clear Fall night and the stars are bright in the sky above Waverly Court. It’s getting chilly and the boys say,
“Let’s start the Bonfire, eh?”
Bigger boys pull out flip top lighters. Others use matches to light slips of newspaper and lay them on the dried leaves. The leaves seem reluctant to ignite, as if they’ve worked all summer long to shade us and now want to just lay in peace. Wisps of thick gray smoke begin to rise here and there.
“She’s catchin’!!”
shouts one of the boys, wild haired and smudge-faced in his dungarees and T-shirt.
A small blaze shows up “HERE!” Then “THERE!” And look, “THERE TOO!”
It begins to smell smokey, like it does when neighbors burn trash in the big wire cans back by the alley. Only better….cleaner somehow, good.
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