The Cowering Inferno
My friend Clinton and I had a bit of an unintentional tradition when we were growing up. Actually, it only happened twice, now that I think about it, but the two times it happened really created an impression on me.
We would go to his house and celebrate the Fourth of July. One year, probably when we were in 7th grade, we shot off a rocket that landed in his parents' peony patch and set it ablaze. This was a bit of an issue, because it was a big for-profit peony patch, and it was some moments before we figured out that the thing was on fire. We had to go out with his dad on their John Deere lawn tractor with shovels in tow, and spend over an hour shoveling dirt onto the flames. The peonies didn't sell well that year, I suppose.
Then the next year, things got crazy.
Clinton had one of those Girder and Panel sets that were very popular in the '70s and '80s. More or less, you had a bunch of small black I-beams that you could build a building's infrastructure with, and then there were plastic window panels that you could attach. All you could really build were various Sears Tower-knockoffs, but it was pretty cool.
Well, you get to about eighth grade, and you figure you've outgrown a toy like that. Who needs to build midget skyscrapers when you can learn to drive and look at pornography? Not us.
Everybody knows that toys that need to be destroyed and the Fourth of July are like freebasing for kids. Something's going to get destroyed, and somebody very likely set on fire.
We cackled with delight at the havoc we would wreak on the mother of all skyscrapers. We imagined these things just being absolutely blown to smithereens, a sort of juvenile plastic WTC. Unfortunately, all we had were firecrackers, but so what? We'd string a few together, and then, watch out!
Well, it took us probably an hour or so to blow off all the panels, one by one. The overall structure was weakened, and the angles weren't exactly at 90 degrees any longer, but damn if that structure wasn't still standing there, mocking us and our feeble little boy materiel.
Finally, Clinton said, "Fuck this." He emerged from the garage with a giant red gas can, and poured gasoline on the still-standing structure. The only thing this Towering Inferno was going to be missing was Fred Astaire. (As an aside, I'm guessing 9/11 pretty well killed the syndication fortunes of the Towering Inferno, no? Better make sure to TiVo the Poseidon Adventure, just in case they strike an ocean liner next...)
So Clinton pours it on, and we light it up. It burns. And burns. And burns. But it's a slow burn, not at all to our liking. More that than, the structure itself isn't burning so much as the ground around it. The problem seems to be that the gasoline obeyed the laws of gravity, and more or less settled into the ground. Damn this structure! Will it not fall?
I decide that this is all bunk, that we didn't waste an hour of our lives to watch some ground fire dance around a plastic structure. And why wasn't it melting faster? I wanted to see this baby engulfed in flames. Clearly, what was needed was more gasoline.
Now, you've probably heard that old adage about "pouring gasoline on an open flame". I'd like to say that I had heard it, and I probably had. I'd like to say I thought about that before I picked up the gas can, but I didn't. Fire has a strange power to make you sometimes not think, but rather, just do.
What I did was pick up that gas can and start dousing. I reared that can back behind me, and then thrust it foward to get the maximum amount of fluid out of the can and onto the girder and panel set.
Then things got weird.
We were in this little area beside Clinton's garage, surrounded by trees and a small greenhouse and the garage. Suddenly, the entire area seemed to be orange, and noticeably warmer. Hot, in fact. And very orange, like fire. All around. And there was a noise, a sort of whoosh and sizzle and the sounds of Clinton yelling something. Was it encouragement? Was it satisfaction at seeing our building crumble? Or something else? I really couldn't tell, because I was momentarily distracted by this new place I was in, which I suppose was similar to the sun.
And then, almost as quickly as it appeared, that world was gone. There was an odd smell in the air, and the leaves on one of the trees seemed to be on fire. And there was Clinton, standing with an odd look on his face, looking at me, who was still holding this large metal gas can.
I was unharmed, though stunned and perhaps a little concerned upon realizing what I had just done. But there was no time to be reflective, because when I looked down at the nozzle of the gas can, which I was still holding, I noticed that there was a steady and large flame that seemed to be shooting out, very close to my leg.
Well, I'm not stupid, or, more accurately, I was smarter than I was five seconds earlier. I knew instinctively that this was not a good thing. My reaction was to drop the can. That may have been right or wrong, but it didn't change the circumstances much at all. Now on the ground, the can was shooting a rather large flame out of the nozzle. I believe at that point, we also both ran away about 10 feet, only to run back, realizing that if we didn't take care of this situation we were going to catch hell from Clinton's dad, who probably didn't want to have to go on fire duty a second year in a row.
I recall a lot of hopping about and yelling, though at this point it was definitely panic-inspired. I did the first thing I could think of: I bent down and I blew on the fire. This had no effect other than to cause me shame and ridicule down the road. It's hard to describe exactly how futile this action was, or how idiotic I looked while trying it. Not to mention that I put my face inches away from a large bomb-in-waiting.
Left with no other options, since Clinton was apparently only able to gawk and scream, I began to beat the fire out with the only thing I could find...which happened to be the paper bag full of the remaining firecrackers. Yes, this might seem like the spectacular last domino in a chain full of mishaps which finally results in setting off the disaster which was so richly deserved, except...it worked! I beat the flame for all I was worth, and magically, it disappeared without setting off any of the fireworks. The whole episode probably took 30 seconds.
I stood and looked at the carnage. The trees were singed, the Girder and Panel set a mere black blob of plastic on the charred earth. We wiped our hands, congratulated ourselves on a job well done, and got the hell out of there as fast as we could.
I am certain that if we had been old enough to drink beer, we would both have died.
4:11:47 PM 
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