Sophomoric Juveniles

“Where are you going? That's right, run off!” The further away Doug-- my best buddy-- sprinted, the louder my voice became. “I never should have listened to you!” He disappeared through a hedge in my parent's yard. Now fully out of view, I screamed, “Never again!” at the top of my lungs.

I was left on the sidewalk alone with the burning palm-tree. Well, not alone. There was, of course, the unknown old lady in the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the street honking her horn; HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK!

Oh, that's going to help a lot, lady-- I wanted to say. Jesus, I thought, honk some more! She did. There seemed no end to the help this old bag was prepared to offer.

The flames had now engulfed the top most part of the tree, not only the brown fronds that hung limply beneath the green ones at the top, but the green ones too were now burning. Smoke curled high into the summer Sunday early afternoon on this, my once quiet street.

HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK

I held my previously white tee-shirt uselessly in my hands. When this began, I had tried heroically to flog the flames as they raced up the tree. I couldn't even reach the flames now. My shirt was black.

Suddenly Doug was back,a pale, sheep-like look to his face. “Let's make a run for it!” he said.

“We're in front of my parent's yard!” I said. “This is your fault!”

“I didn't hold a gun to your head.”

And off we ran down the street. The honking faded behind us as the Caddy-lady remained at her post wearing down her battery. Leaving the scene of the crime, I realized I was listening to Doug again.

He was quite a persuasive fellow.

300 Words